Chapter Text
“A barbarian’s rage is a natural and wonderful phenomenon, but those temporary heightened emotions can have side effects while not raging.”
Gorgug stares dubious at the pamphlet his parents gave him. He had been sitting in the parking lot of Lair Actions and Repair Actions staring down at the flaming heart for some time before finally deciding whatever information they wanted to impart on him couldn’t possibly be that embarrassing. They always mean well after all, and after the Frosty Fair they have been a lot less… encroaching, in their attempts to educate the young barbarian on some delicate matters of life.
Gorgug is pretty sure he can guess what the rest of its contents are after reading the first line of its tri-fold pages. In the precious few lessons Porter taught about the potential consequences of raging, he mentioned the term “emotional bleed.” As best as Gorgug understood, sometimes your anger can stay with you after your rage has ended, leaving you with a lasting hostility directed at the target of your fury.
Gorgug ponders why his parents would give this to him, and perhaps more pressingly, where had they even found this pamphlet?
He does not get the chance to ruminate for too long on these questions, as he is pulled from his thoughts by a quick tapping on the driver door window of his van.
Gorgug jumps in his seat and looks around for the culprit of the sound, finding no one. He rolls the window down and his head out, getting just his eyeline high enough to peer at the Night Yorb mural on the roof. Seeing it still intact he breathes a sigh and sits heavily back into his seat.
“Gorgug.”
“Gyagh!” Gorgug flinches at the sound of a familiar monotone voice. “Oh! Hey Mr. Skutt- uh, Ginger.”
The kobold man was standing just below the rolled down window, just out of Gorgug’s normal line of sight. He was holding a large wooden box with both hands, big enough that gorgug couldn't see the cold blooded man’s face. He also seemed to be struggling a bit under its weight.
“I’ve got pot pies.” Ginger informs, his voice wavering just a bit under duress.
Gorgug looks down at the Kobold man for a moment, not connecting any dots. Then his unvoiced request clicks in the half-orc's head. “Oh! Would you like some help?” Gorgug offers, quickly rolling his window up and turning the Hangvan off.
“Please.” Ginger affirms, his voice growing uncharacteristically high with strain.
Gorgug opens the door and slides from his seat, grabbing the wooden box from the smaller man. The box had a decent heft to it, its contents clearly not just pot pies.
Ginger took a moment to catch his breath. The older artisan leaned far back and Gorgug could hear Ginger’s back pop at an almost alarming volume. A quiet sigh escaped the kobolds lips, and he returned to his usual posture.
“Thanks.” Ginger said casually and patted Gorgug’s shin in appreciation. He then began making his way across the parking lot.
Gorgug nods and quickly followed next to him, matching his longer strides to the Kobold man’s much much smaller ones.
The pair wordlessly enter the shop/home of the kobold, and Gorgug’s eyes find the bored stare of Mary Ann’s behind the cash register. She eyes him for a moment, before her gaze flicks down to the Quokki Pet crystal in her hands chirping for her attention.
Ginger makes his way over to the short sales counter catching his daughter’s attention as he approaches.
“Can you close up?”
“‘Kay.”
Ginger thumps his tail against the ground and cruises over to the door leading to his workshop, and the rest of the Skuttle home. He looks back at Gorgug expectantly (or at least Gorgug felt like he was looking expectantly) and holds the door open.
Gorgug looks from Ginger back to Mary Ann while making his way over. As he passes the counter, her eyes flit up to his for a split second in an expression he absolutely cannot place. Just as quickly she looks back down to her crying Quokki pet and begins tapping away at the buttons below the crystal screen, soothing the virtual creature.
Gorgug breaks his stare, focusing on Ginger's small back as he enters the woodcarvers workshop.
Ginger clicks on a light next to the door, and the familiar smell of sawdust and a few aromatic spell components fills Gorgug’s head as he steps into the space. Gorgug is reminded at once of the smell of work in his own home. Ironically even though he lives in a tree, Gorgug is much more used to the smell of the oils and exhaust of his parent’s engineering projects. It is the smell of Gorgug’s childhood, and an acquired scent to be sure. Ginger’s workshop was much more naturally appealing. Fresh cut wood and crushed flower petals and phosphorescent moss. The smell could just as easily be found carried on the wind in a forest as it could here in a backroom at the edge of Elmville.
Ginger began quickly and efficiently stowing tools and packing away various projects in different states of repair.
Gorgug then remembers he is holding a moderately heavy box of unknown contents (besides promised pot pies).
“Uh, where should I set this?” He asked, finding his voice again.
Ginger did not look away from his meticulous cleanup process, instead tilting his head towards the stairs and gently sweeping his tail against Gorgug’s heels.
Gorgug was confused by this gesture, but not wanting to interrupt Gingers clearly practiced routine, he crept over to the base of the stairs, still awkwardly holding the box and watching the kobold.
Do I… just go up alone into their house? That doesn’t feel… uh… I don't really know how I feel about it.
Gorgug once again resolved himself to an “I guess this is what’s happening.” mindset, shrugged and began climbing the stairs. Once at the top he paused before trying the door. He could hear Ginger still wrapping up his day, and tending to his workspace. Gorgug went through everything that happened in his head, trying to analyze the interactions leading to this moment just in case he had read something wrong, and was about to just walk into someone's space uninvited.
Remembering nothing of note, he steeled his resolve and tried the handle. He finds that the door is indeed open and the low warm lights were on.. With a gentle push he lets the door swing open, and steps through the threshold of the Skuttle living space. Gorgug remembers to kick his shoes off to line them next to the door before looking for a place to set the mysterious box he had been entrusted with. He settles on the picnic style dinner table where he had enjoyed a wonderful meal a few days before.
Gorgug feels like an intruder as he tentatively steps through the kobold's living space. Before, he had an express invitation and a person that lives here leading him by the hand. He is once again comforted by the mellow cinnamon-vanilla scent wafting off a few lit candles on an end table near the entrance to the dining room. Gorgug can't help but relax, given how exceedingly comfy the space is.
The half orc rounds the corner leading to the dining room, noting one of the lit candles was near the end of its wick. He sets the box on the table, and turns to leave, not wanting to linger in a room not visible from the entrance.
As he comes back into the living room he takes a second look at the sputtering candle. It was one of a few tall thin candles, each one sitting atop a hand carved and lacquered wooden basin collecting the pooling wax in a small circle around the candle. Each wax basin looked more lovingly polished and carefully stained and coated than anything Gorgug had seen from Ginger. Gorgug itched to hold and inspect one of these enchanting and simple items, but could clearly intuit that these items were not for him to touch. That though the Skuttle family had welcomed him into their home, they had not welcomed him to handle something as heartfelt and captivating as these items.
The sputtering of the smallest candle’s flame stole Gorgug’s attention from the immaculate bobeches, as it flickered in a few final stuttering gasps of life. A final bead of wax rolled down as the flame died and became a thin wisp of rising smoke.
Gorgug tenses.
His body reacting in an unconscious but familiar ready-response. The room was quiet besides the almost imperceptible sound of flames burning away on the other candles. Gorgug could feel in his bones something profound and arcane was about to occur, his instincts telling him to be ready for anything.
Then, the thin wisp of smoke emanating from the burned out candle freezes in the air, remaining suspended like a hazy stream in the space above the table.
Gorgug feels a shift in the living room.
The uncanny feeling of a comforting presence. Like the embrace of a long missed but friend he hasn't met, or the warmth of a love he did not get to share.
He hears a song playing. No, its just one voice. A single voice singing in a melody he hadn’t dreamed could sound so sweet alone. A note of laughter woven among the music.
Gorgug feels wetness against his cheek, and he realizes he is crying. The tear is wiped away by whatever benevolent force is swadling him in this magic of pure heart and love.
The candle sputters back to life.
The pool of liquid wax surrounding it begins to roll up the edge of the candle. The smoke descends back into the flame as candle as it melts in reverse. Building droplet by droplet until the candle is intact and taller than any of its neighbors. The flame flickers once again, and the candle begins its process over, melting slowly, calmly, normally, just as its neighbors are.
Gorgug is afraid to move. Afraid to disrupt whatever beautiful and hauntingly peaceful magic had just occurred.
A small hand slips into his.
He looks down to see Mary Ann looking at the candle’s tiny flame. Melancholy evident even behind her neutral countenance. She stares unblinking at the warm orange glow.
Gorgug can't speak. His words caught in his throat, and the look of deep emotion behind the kobold’s eyes staying his tongue. He can sense Ginger in the room with them as well, but he can't take his eyes off Mary Ann.
She feels small.
Usually any contact made with the Barbarian girl feels as grounded and firm as any giant or monster Gorgug has come against before, as strong as a raging demigod teacher, and sometimes stronger! But now, in the quiet of her home, and the cold after that wonderful presence left, her hand in his just feels impossibly, impossibly small.
Gorgug does the only thing his body will let him. He interlaces their fingers and squeezes. Just hard enough that she can feel he is doing it.
She doesn't break her gaze on the flame, but he feels a tiny squeeze back.
He hears himself ask a question, only realizing he was speaking after it hung in the air.
“Who was that?”
But Gorgug knew. He could tell from the love and warmth he felt in that moment of magic, as well as the cool emotion pouring off Mary Ann these moments after that warmth had left.
Ginger answers. His voice low and growling. A name in Draconic and the translation in common Gorgug could understand after.
“She was Taralis. My wife. Mary Ann’s mother.”