Historical Adventure Quest: Part 1, Fellow HAQer (Patreon)

"What about him?" asked Trundel. The Dwarf sipped at her cup of coffee in one big, ham-sized hand, full lips conforming to the Styrofoam beneath her attractive feminine beard. She motioned with a jerk of her head at a hulking Troll who was squashed into a back corner of the coffeeshop and typing away on a laptop that looked more like a tablet to someone of his immense size.

Casting his crystal-blue eyes over towards the person his friend had mentioned, Davian the Elf inspected the Troll for several seconds. The reason for their attention glittered at the man's bulky, knobby-skinned wrist: a charm bracelet of sterling silver bearing several shapes and designs hanging from it. Even from here, the natural sharp eyes of the Elf could pick out two shields, multiple stars woven into the chain, and even one one. Five years of experience in the League, two active characters, and a participation in a sanctioned convention. Impressive, but fairly standard.

Davian turned back to look down at Trundel with a small grin, lifting his own cup to his delicate lips and sipping at the delicious hot chocolate mocha he had ordered. His own bracelet jingled on his wrist, covered with numerous symbols, charms, and decorations that declared him to any other fellow HAQer for what he was: a gigantic nerd with way too much time on his hands. "Not a bad pick, but he doesn't have the shields turned outward on the chain, so he isn't looking for a new game."

Trundel huffed, blowing out her dainty whiskers at him before she beamed. The Dwarf settled back into her seat, propping her stout legs up on the metal frame of her chair. "Well we can't all max out our Perception can we?" she teased.

"Elf eyes are not a meme," Davian shot down at her huffily. "I could just as easily make the joke you know how much spare change I'm carrying in my jacket pocket." He purposefully patted his faded denim coat's left breast, making his wallet within jingle. He could have sworn he saw her ears flick at the sound, even above the muted but still present clamor of the happily-packed coffee house.

"Forty-seven coins and five Golars," she noted, not looking at him. "But I concede the point." Then she smirked, turning to look back up at him and flicking her long, red braid over one shoulder. "Besides, we both know who you really wanna ask to join..." Her hazel eyes began to drift over toward the counter.

Davian cut her off with a furious tap to her shoulder and a scowl that he knew wasn't all that intimidating on his fair, Elven face. Still, he tried his best to look surly even with his cheeks heavily flushed as they were from knowing who Trundel was talking about.

She chortled in amusement and chugged the rest of her drink. "Whatever, broski," she told him, then checked her phone. "Oh sweet, Luxxi texted! Aww...that dork..." She beamed at her phone, scrunching up her nose and dimpling her cheeks beneath her whiskers. She kicked her heavy booted feet in a decidedly feminine gesture. "He was stocking the shelves and was thinking of me."

Davian rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning, she had a rather infectious smile. "You two are sickeningly cute," he told her, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. Out of the corner of his eye, the elf glanced over to see her still fawning over the message her boyfriend, another member of their Guild, had sent her. It wasn't from trying to pry, his eyes just naturally latched onto the rather humorous picture Luxxi the Gnome had sent his Dwarf girlfriend of him perched on a ladder while organizing a shelf full of Owlbear-O's. He looked away, even his happiness for his friends' relationship darkened by the slightest shadow of jealousy. Again, his eyes panned, without him thinking about it, over to the counter and the person standing behind it.

A heavy slap to his back caused him to start, nearly dropping his drink. Trundel again let out a basso chuckle. "You know, if you don't make a move one of these days, you'll never know if she was into you too or not."

He snorted, still getting his breath back from even her light tap to his shoulders. "I highly doubt someone who consistently spells my name wrong every time I order a drink here is all that into me." He held up the said cup, turning it so that the name, inked in black onto the side next to the store's logo of a sharp-toothed humanoid with pointed ears scowling from the Styrofoam surface, was visible to her.

Trundel grinned cheekily as she read the name there and then looked back up at her friend. "You know that's an Orcish word, right?" she asked, sounding smug. "Not your name?"

He blinked and turned it toward himself again. He wasn't familiar with Orcish, a harsh and often guttural tongue but still beautiful to look at and hear. His gaze traced along the spiky designs of the lettering but its meaning escaped him. "What's it mean?" he asked. "I just assumed it was my name since...that's a D, right?"

"Dahkin," Trundel read off, still grinning. "And why would you assume I speak Orc? You know our species used to be locked in brutal war off and on for about five thousand years before the Settling of the Accords, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Davian put down the cup and crossed his arms down at her. "Your character sheet says you speak Orc, so I know you do."

"Maybe you should stop reading other people's character sheets," she shot back cheekily.

"You make me help you edit it every session!"

"That doesn't mean you're supposed to read it," the Dwarf teased. She checked her watch. "I'm gonna be late for my shift, but I'll text you later, ok?" He sullenly sighed but nodded. They clasped hands and then smacked their bracelet-clad wrists together, making both silver bands clink loudly. She began to back away from him after clambering down out of her chair, four-foot height now barely clearing the table top, pointing back up at him with a big hand. "Ask! Jeremiah said we need a new player before game! And even if it isn't about that, ask anyway!"

"I'll do what I can, about the game anyway," he promised, pointing back at her then tapping his bracelet with his opposite palm. "Sky's High," he swore, using the historical mantra of oath-binding.

"Earth's Strong," she returned, winking once, and then turning to exit the coffee house. With a jingle of the bell above it, the Dwarf woman was gone.

Sighing, Davian returned his attention to his now completely alone table. He checked his phone, hopping onto the HAQ League message board to look for any updates or messages. Jeremiath, their Guildmaster, had put him in charge of monitoring the recruitment thread they had posted when Hackle the Gnoll had been forced to leave the group. He would miss the guy's uproariously good-natured humor, as well as the savage dependability of his likewise Gnoll character, Bludhark.

A five-man team was not a bad group really for the HAQ league, but their Guild had been hoping to overtake Lquillian's Fortress soon. They were out a front-liner, left only now with Trundel's Dwarf Sentinel and Luxxi's Gnome Artificer, who technically wasn't built for heavy melee combat. The remaining members, relegated to the back line of ranged and support, included his Mage, Gillindorf, Bartel's Dark Elf Assassin, and Fauna's Satyr Priestess.

Seeing no news, Davian sighed wistfully and went to take another drink of his mocha. Nothing but drops graced his tongue, and those lukewarm. He mumbled unhappily and then, like a magnet drawing a nail, his eyes panned over towards the counter. The barista on call was currently handling making a large cappuccino for the next person in line, passing it over with surprising grace and gentleness despite the huge hand that held it. He watched her take the man's money and document it, stowing it in the register before turning to the next.

He thought about going to get a refill, if only to delude himself in getting to interact with her one more time before he left, but he sighed and thought better about it. How lame would he look going up to try, once again to use his best charming smile, which always came across as nervous and shy, to her before his nerves would fail him and he'd again just mumble thanks and hurry away. It was the same ritual every single time, and the sheer memory of it made his long ear tips burn and his face hide a bit more behind his golden-blonde hair, what little of it wasn't currently bound behind his head in a loose ponytail.

He got up, delicately palming his cup like a goblet set with fine jewels, as he walked slowly towards the doors. He was almost to them when a text message alerted him to pick up his phone. He rolled his eyes to see Trundel had sent him it. All it said was, ASK!

All right! he sent back huffily. I will!

Steeling himself and hating his friend for forcing his crippling social anxiety to once again be locked inside of the line of waiting customers for the second time that day, he trudged up towards the counter. Each step made his stomach tighten and he almost wished that the line could have been longer. And yet, in no time at all, he was standing in front of the polished green counter top. His eyes lifted warily to look across it and towards the woman standing there in front of him.

As ever, his gaze trailed up across the green apron tied tight, almost like a corset, and straining to contain the muscular physique of the woman. Up, higher and higher, his Elf eyes climbed, across a swell of prodigious feminine charms that pushed the apron, and dark work-shirt underneath, to no doubt their utmost tautness. A single, white nametag broke up all that dark green and black, bearing the moniker of "Lenore" in the same spiky black lettering but in the Common tongue. He looked up from the placard and still higher his vision climbed, over a burly, thick neck with skin as dark green as a forest at twilight, until at last he lighted upon the beautiful, harsh, Orc face of the barista looked down at him.

Lenore was tall, not tall like Orcs usually were but statuesque even for her kind, at least almost a full liet (3 feet) more in height than him. Her hair was a heavy, raven-black mop of cowlicks and tousled curls, hanging down enough to partially obscure the top half of her features. Her eyes, white pupils within black orbs, were piercing and slitted as she gazed down at him impassively. Dark lithoderms, knobby growths of bone that stuck up through her skin common for her kind, dotted her cheeks and down her jaw to her throat in the most delightful patterns, as well as several along her forehead from what little he could see of it. Her tusks jutted out from her full lips, and her ears had multiple piercings of Proving tokens festooned onto them.

He gulped hard as they traded gazes for a solid few seconds before she abruptly held out her massive paw of a hand toward him. Her fingernails were black, blunt claws, her knuckles dotted with yet more lithoderms, and she had scars all over her hulking forearms from what he could see of them. She had to be one of the biggest women he'd ever seen, and not to mention one of the most beautiful. It was what made all of this so much harder.

Her black lips parted, showing off a silver piercing and her bright pink tongue rolled forward against her top fangs before she spoke. "Well?" she asked, voice husky. She arched a studded eyebrow down at him. "You want a refill, right?"

Wordlessly, he nodded and finally averted his gaze. He handed over the cup, fingers just barely brushing the solid, rough ones of hers. He saw the jingling band around her wrist more closely now. One shield, turned outward, at least eleven stars, a monster skull, and an axe. Wow. And he had used to think his League bracelet was impressively festooned. His sharp ears heard the hiss of the machine she used to refill his cup before it was being handed back to him as delicately as if it were made of glass.

"Here you go, Dahkin," she growled. He glanced up at her face, thinking he almost saw a slight lift to her lips. He blushed and reached for his wallet. She surprised him by shaking her head, thick hair waving. "No need. On the house. You're only here every day, a free cup now and then won't break the bank."

"T-thank you..." he mumbled and took the cup from her. His own band jingled as he did so.

Her sharp eyes latched onto it before suddenly she was leaning in across the counter, latching a massive hand around his forearm and looming above him like a giant as she inspected the symbols there. "Woah...nice..." she growled. "Eight stars huh? You actively running?" He nodded sheepishly. "And is that a Drake?" she asked, thumbing over the mark in question. "Don't tell me you've run Argauthax's Arsenal?"

He swallowed but grinned, mustering up the courage to respond. "Y-yeah we have. My Guild ran it when it first came out, before the rewrite that put Glaugin the Gluttonous on the opposing side than he should have historically been."

She whistled past her tusks. "That's impressive. Always nice to see a fellow HAQer. I just moved here from Tuskwall."

"Yeah?" Davian asked, eager for the conversation to continue. "Did they have a League there too?"

"Course they fucking do!" she barked out, crossing her arms over her chest proudly. "All Orcs though, so we don't get to do a lot of the Eastmarch, Stormbridal, or Kleftstone modules. I came here for college."

"Really? Me too!" he beamed up at the Orc girl. "You go to Vtexian's?"

"Just started," she commented gruffly. "Lost as fuck though, place is a lot bigger than I'm used to."

"I could show you around sometime?" he offered, hoping against hope.

"That'd be sweet," Lenore growled, setting his heart to racing and his stomach dancing with butterflies. "Maybe sometime we can talk shop or League shit."

He was about to respond immediately and joyously when someone coughed nearby. He glanced behind him to see a Satyr man and his wife standing there, amused but obviously wanting to get past him to the counter. He blushed hard and stepped back. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered to them before he hurriedly held up one finger. They nodded and he looked back up at Lenore again. "Can I have your number?" He hoped that wasn't too presumptuous to ask.

She grinned down at him, flashing her sharp teeth and tusks more openly, then nodded down at something. "Check your cup, Dahkin," she grunted, then turned past him to address the waiting customers.

He hurried back out of the line, face flushing bright red, and out of the coffee house. Without thinking about it, he lifted the steaming cup to his beaming lips and sipped. Fresh hot chocolate mocha graced his tongue, perhaps just a bit too hot, but he didn't mind. He glanced at the spiky black writing on the cup and then started, amazed. Inked there were ten unmistakable numbers set in a sequential line by the same hand.

Her number. His stomach exploded like an erupting volcano of fluttering wings and sunlight and he almost crowed with joy. He had gotten her number! He raced home to his college apartment, quickly as he could without spilling his drink, texting Trundel the good news. She immediately responded with a gif of a popular chubby Dwarf comedian doing an effeminate squealing motion, which always made him laugh. Dennec Farlough was a riot.

He sent the number a quick text, bearing only the message of Dahkin to the number and waited with baited breath. She didn't respond for a while and he began to become disheartened before his phone abruptly chimed an hour or so later. He read it quickly.

Sorry, just got on break, it said. Another line of text immediately followed it. Look at you, being all eager and shit. That's hilarious.

I couldn't believe you'd actually given me your number, he admitted. I had to at least make sure you knew I was grateful for it.

I could tell. He blushed a bit, settling back into his dorm bed. His roommate was out at the moment but he would see Bartel at their next HAQ meeting. Hopefully you were also serious about showing me around sometime. I suck at navigating new places. Never left Tuskwall before.

Anytime you want, he promised. I'm Davian, by the way.

I know who you are, pipsqueak, you come in almost every day. I assume from your constant staring that you've picked up my name too? She sent an emoji of an Orc sticking their tongue out past their tusks to tease him.

I have, he admitted, blushing again. I just never had the courage to actually try and talk to you.

Elves being scared of Orcs, tale as old as time.

He blinked at the line of text. Was she worried he was? Had he somehow offended her?

These thoughts and a million other ones followed before they were interrupted as she texted again. Or maybe you just never made it past my tits. Not that I blame you on that. So hey, I had a question to ask you.

Anything! he fired back with barely a second or so passing between receiving her text and responding.

Oh really? Anything? he felt like she was teasing him but he didn't mind. It was thrilling to even be talking to her. But cool. Is your Guild Anti-Tusk?

He blinked at the words on his screen. No, why would they be?

Baller. Because the last few times I've tried joining a group, they said they didn't want to play with an Orc. Like Orcs can't be League-members or some drakka-shit. Or maybe we can, but racism is still a thing I guess.

We have never discriminated against anyone for something so stupid or silly. We have a multi-racial mix in our Guild. He looked over proudly at a framed picture of them all dressed in their LARP gear from the latest convention, where they had participated in Fizzol's Fantastic Tournament Brawl and lost in the semi-finals. He still blamed himself for not decoding the ancient temple's riddle faster, but they'd still made it out alive and with good loot too.

What's it called?

Zonriath's Reckoners.

He waited for a while for her to text back, making himself a snack in the meantime. He blinked as a media attachment made his phone vibrate twice, followed by a singular buzz that was a message. Opening them, he saw a linked League character sheet. Do you think you could post this on your message board? I'm actively looking for a new crew.

Absolutely! he told her before he had even stopped to think about it. He hovered his finger over the icon of her obvious character sheet, unsure if he was supposed to read it over or not. Those were usually for Guildmasters to look at, not fellow players. He technically was allowed to under League charter since he often helped Jeremiath run sometimes and knew all the rules, but still it wasn't polite. Another text again startled him. Feel free to check me out if you want. I even have pics of me in LARP gear of my toon. I gotta get back to work, but I'm off in the next few hours. Don't fall in love while I'm gone, Dahkin.

Shrugging, Davian wasted no time in doing so, trying to distract himself from the blush that had grown from reading that last line. The link took a while to load but once it did, he scanned over it furtively, and with growing amazement. His eyes went wide as he looked over Kulgara, Scourge of Ithel, at her list of accomplishments, accolades, even a Curse-mark! It truly spoke as a testament of how nerdy he was, but her character sheet was just as sexy as she was, and no less intimidating.

On a whim, he opened his phone's Bluefang connection to his laptop and started a call with Jeremiath. The screen went dark as the call was accepted, followed by the scraggly view of the Satyr man appearing upon it. He adjusted his glasses, obviously having been working out when Davian called. "Hey man, what's up?" he asked.

"Have you found a replacement for Hackle?" he asked urgently. Jeremiath shook his head, long ears waving. "I'm sending you a League character sheet," he explained, tone serious. "Look it over okay?"

His Guildmaster nodded, immediately also just as serious, and opened the link, screen visible in the reflection of his glasses. His brown, sheep-like eyes went wide. "Where did you find this Boss monster?" he asked incredulously. "If it wasn't for the formatting and HAW ID number, I'd swear it was a BBEG or something's top general."

"I met someone who plays here, local, but doesn't have a Guild yet," he explained. "They are looking for a group and asked me to post it for them." His eyes went wide and eyebrows lifting meaningfully.

Jeremiath obviously understood his message. "Ohhhh..." he drawled, then grinned wide. "I get you...Hells yes man, that is a great idea. I'll snap her up right away, list her on the Guild as soon as the application is done pending. I'll even sit on it as it cooks." Davian beamed back at him gratefully. The athletic Satyr then crossed his hairy arms, grinning cheekily now. "So...this the Orc barista Trundel's been talking about?"

Immediately, Davian blushed and scowled at his older friend. "Yes, for your information," he retorted haughtily. "I even got her phone number!" He tried to sound as if he were bragging.

"No way!" Jeremiath crowed. "Star's blessing man!"

His façade of superiority broke and he hid his face in his hair, grinning stupidly. "I know...I know...!" He took a deep preparatory breath. "Do you think we could get her into our next session?"

"Uhhh, yeah?" the Satyr chuckled, goat-like braying tone grating through the speakers on the laptop. "We're gonna need it after all. I'll let you know as soon as...oh damn it's already accepted. She must have a fast-track pass or something. I'll look up her license." He looked away from the chat-call, scanning across a page of text. "Active five years...dang. She doesn't look older than you either. Impressive record, no deaths, that Curse mark is gonna be interesting. Apparently she pissed off a Lower Seven."

"Wow...I cannot wait to hear her tell us the backstory of that," Davian mumbled in amazement. "...Is it sad how much of a nerd-boner I got from reading all that?"

"From what Trundel's said about her, I bet it ain't just a nerd one you got for this chick," chortled Jeremiath.

"Shut. Up," the elf growled.

Raising his furry hands, the Satyr nonetheless continued to chuckle. "Well I'll have her accepted here in a second. You found a badass new member no matter what the situation of you two is. And even if she doesn't stick around, I'm happy to recommend her to other Guilds. League's gotta look out for one another."

Davian nodded, waved goodbye, and ended the call. He ate his meal and played a video game, pausing it every time he got a buzz from his phone. It was never her, however, and every time it was like a small let down. Even so, his patience rewarded him at last a couple of hours later.

Off work, her message read. Getting dinner but I got an alert on the HAQ app that I've alreayd been accepted by a Guild?! O.O

He grinned, feeling proud of himself, and grateful to Jeremiath, for acting so fast. Yeah, I hope that's all right? I wasn't sure how fast you'd want to jump into the call of duty, but Kulgara sounds like an absolute beast and badass. We would be honored to have her.

So it WAS your Guild then?

Yeah...He admitted. Sorry if that seems...poachish. I couldn't resist showing you to my Guildmaster and he wanted to snap you up ASAP.

I guess I don't mind, lol. But however will I get over being so desirable? She sent him another emoji of a winking beholder, an odd gesture given the singular eye, but it came across and he laughed. So can I assume from the name that you're one of those hardcore HAQers?

If we aren't playing for historical relevance, we don't see much reason in playing. Keeps it real, you know? he told her, hoping that didn't sound too elistist.

So I can't play as some pretty little elf chick with her tits hanging out?

He pondered that, feeling abruptly guilty. Her character sheet had implied, as also playing an Orc of such considerable, in-depth annotations of cultural, combat, spiritual details for Kulgara, that she was a hardcore Leaguer too. But not everyone was. Some people just liked the escapism, to play as something different and experience stuff from another point of view. And some truthfully just liked the true fantasy aspect of it all. His group wasn't like that, but so were a lot of other Guilds. Maybe he had made a mistake. He wilted in his seat. Probably not...plus we really...need a tank. I'm sorry...

xD Dude, Dahkin, I'm kidding! Orc Power for Life! He immediately let out a sigh of relief. Another message came then. Besides, I knew you were staring at the shop. Ain't no Elf girl gonna compete with what I got *Bounce Bounce*. Davian's face went bright red at the visual. But hey, thanks Dahkin. It means a lot for someone to go to so much effort for me when I'm new. I'll pay you back sometime.

There's no need for that! he sent hurriedly. Then he paused, tentatively going out on a limb. But...maybe we could go...out for coffee sometime?

She sent an emoji an Ogre rolling on the floor laughing. I work at a coffee shop, you newb. But I won't say no to lunch. Great to have a new friend to hang with.

Of course! he beamed, trying to completely blow over and forget the 'friends' part. Maybe she just wasn't into elves. That did crush his spirits a little. By the way umm...can I ask one question?

Fire away.

Why do you always write Dahkin on my cup when I come into the shop? Is that the Orc version of my name?

There was a long pause where he waited with baited breath but it seemed that she wasn't about to respond immediately. No sooner had he set down his phone, begrudging his shattered hopes that she didn't see him the same way, that his phone pinged with an alert. It was a link rather than a text to a Common to Orcish dictionary website. Take a look yourself. I'm gonna get food then head home for the evening to work out. Text you later.

Shrugging, he plugged the website into his phone and typed in his name to the translation bar. After a minute or so of waiting, the response came back. "Davian, Elf name," he read off. "Translates to...Davvor in Orcish." He blinked, glancing at his cup again. No, clearly it and her texts said Dahkin. He tried that as a name but it didn't result in anything. He instead plugged it into a general Orcish translation and went to go to the bathroom while it loaded. When he returned, he saw it had finished, so he pulled up his phone from where he had left it on the bed and laid flat on it as he read the translation.

Dahkin. A name word, noun. Used to define someone as cute, attractive, or someone the speaker may have a carnal or emotional interest in. Davian's eyes went wide as saucers.

TBC