#13: We Prefer the Term ‘Mentally Enhanced’ — Realmfall: Foundations

Gorranach

The Specialist’s blood splatters have barely finished landing on Gorranach when his hand flits to touch Leila — gold rushing to her. So fast he is that the air makes music, like the slice of a blade. For some reason the music sounds like Nix’s instrument. Heard it so many times the past week — the only explanation. Fast he is too when he is suddenly next to Varg. Or the world is slow; it has to be one of the two. Or both.

“Amazing prowess as always.” He says at normal speed for his quickness — which is fast right now. “I’ve been wondering — can I take care of your stick when you die? I will statistically outlive you.”

“Did you notice that last shade had a skull?”

“That wolf.” Gorranach’s head speeds left to right as he inspects Varg’s wounds again. “I have a theory it was still infused by that storm. Don’t ya think?” He suddenly has his notebook out, watching Varg with wide eyes, awaiting the answer. He has already put the notebook away, bored. “Your stick. Could I just hold it?”

Varg Raeed

“No, no… The wolf… Not the wolf… Ghosts, and Claire, and walking corpse, and giant ghost, and…” Varg calms down somewhat as Gorranach sits next to her, squinting at him. He was talking fast — too fast for her scared, drunken mind to properly follow.

“Stick… You’re gonna take Varg’s s-stick? Please, warchief… Varg already blessed to be alive after ghosts! Real ghosts… Just let an orc keep stick in these strugglin’ times, un… Unless…” Hic. Varg gets up to her full height, grinning down at Gorranach. “Unless warchief thinks he can take it??”

Gorranach

“What?! How dare you suggest I’d steal another’s work, I ought to—” He takes a moment to analyze the grin on Varg’s face. “I see — you meant a challenge, didn’t ya? Not exactly civilized, but if you insist then let’s see if you fare better than that door there.”

Gorranach gently sets his shield against the wall, then rushes at Varg, ready to wrestle her to the ground.

Varg Raeed

“URAH-HA!! This will be honour! Let’s go!!” Varg’s grin becomes wide like an animal as Gorranach rushes at her. This was just what she needed to come back to reality and forget about ghosts — she’d never had the pleasure of wrestling him before.

However, Varg’s grin quickly fades as she realises how… fast Gorranach seems to be. Or was she just slow from the alcohol? Either way, wrestling a shorter, bulkier, fully armoured man was not as easy as Varg’s mind had made it out to be — and just before the moment of impact, she feels a moment of fear. This would be like wrestling a badger with the strength (and hair) of a bear.

“BRRGH!” Varg grunts as Gorranach tackles into her, a gravelly SLAM sounding against the wall. Pushed against it, she briefly looks for a handhold on Gorranach, but her fingers find no purchase against his mail or helmet. She briefly considers grabbing his beard but, even in the heat of battle, knows that’s not cool. Varg instead attempts to roll her body sideways so she’s no longer trapped against the wall — various weapons falling from her belt onto the ground in the middle of the impromptu match.

Gorranach

With horror, Gorranach notices Varg’s poor weapons clattering on the ground. Trying to inspect them for scratches caused by the impact with the stone floor leaves him distracted, giving Varg the opportunity to sidestep and use his own momentum against him. His chainmail rattles loudly as he bounces off the wall instead.

He rushes to the fallen weapons, turning them over to make sure. Satisfied, he hands them to Varg. “Perhaps this isnae the right place nor time. And you really ought to get these fastened better — what if one of those zealots grabs one of ‘em in battle?”

Varg Raeed

Varg stops her charge at Gorranach after he bounces off the wall, arms spread in a mid-tackle pose. Gormlessly, she stares at the weapons, then stares at Gorranach. “Then Varg use… Fists?” She blinks, then shakes her head. “A-Argh! Warchief, you wrestling with a warrior — how you not show any fear?! Gorranach not even scared of the spirits!”

“Varg thinks warchief more scared of bend in his shield than ghost…”

Gorranach

Gorranach stares back at Varg. Even as fast as his mind is racing right now, it takes him a preciously long time figuring out whether Varg could mean that as an insult or a compliment. Having decided there really is only one way to interpret it, he says: “I’m glad you see also the importance in maintaining one’s equipment.”