Grog Pt 2

For a moment, Grog's friends stood frozen, stunned by what they had seen. Their leader, nearly seventy pounds heavier than Oreon, had been hurled through the air like a rag doll.

Oreon stood with his fist clenched, anger sharpening his voice as he stared down at Grog. "Don't..." he breathed, "...ever speak about my mother."

Sprawled among the fish barrels, Grog groaned and clutched his jaw as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He stared blankly at the sky for a moment, dazed, before his gaze sharpened.

His gaze snapped to Oreon, blazing with hatred. "You—you little shit!" Grog roared, scrambling to his feet and scattering fish and broken wood. "You're dead! You hear me? Dead!"

Grog lunged, throwing a wild punch. Oreon stood his ground, glaring as the drunkard's fist closed in on his face.

But it never reached him.

A hand shot out, catching Grog's wrist mid-swing.

Sylvanie stepped between them, her eyes cold as she faced Grog. "That's enough," she said softly, her voice edged with disdain. With an effortless twist of his wrist, she forced him to one knee, drawing a pained grunt.

"Gah—let go! Get your dirty Elven hands off me!" Grog snarled, wrenching at his trapped arm. Sylvanie's grip never loosened, and her stare never wavered.

"Dirty?" Sylvanie tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "That's rich coming from someone who smells like he bathed in cheap ale." She tightened her hold just enough to draw another pained grunt. "You know, I was trying to behave today. I really was." She glanced at Celestia with a playful yet strained look, then turned back to Grog. "Sister, correct me if I'm wrong. We were minding our own business, but the moment this lummox saw us, he started hurling insults." Her teeth clenched.

"He even had the nerve to spit at us—and then at you." She glanced at Celestia again and twisted Grog's arm a little farther. He groaned as the crowd looked on. "So, now that you finally have my attention..."

Grog's face went red—partly from pain, partly from humiliation. "Let—let go of me, you damn--!"

"Ah-ah-ah," Sylvanie cut in sweetly, tightening her grip just enough to make him let out a childish scream. "You should watch your mouth. It's caused enough trouble already, don't you think?" She looked down at him with open contempt. "Now... what was that you said about teaching elves their place?"

The crowd fell silent. Grog's crew stood frozen, unsure whether to intervene. One of them cautiously stepped forward—

"I wouldn't," Sylvanie said without looking at him, her tone almost bored. "If I were you, I'd stay right where you are." She raised her head and met the eyes of Grog's men. "Unless you'd like to end up on your knees too."

The man froze mid-step, his face paling. He glanced at his companions, but they only shifted uneasily, unwilling to intervene.

Sylvanie flashed the man a dangerous smile. "Good boy." Then she turned back to Grog, still kneeling with his wrist locked in her iron grip. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes—your lesson."

"I don't need lessons from some damn knife-ears. Piss off and—!" Sylvanie twisted Grog's wrist again, cutting his retort, eliciting another scream.

A wider smile appeared on Sylvanie's face, but it was cold. "Oh, but I think you do." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow still carried across the silent marketplace. "You see, the problem with people like you is that you think that just because you throw your weight around, people are supposed to bend to you, respect you."

"But look around." Sylvanie gestured toward the crowd. "Does it look like they respect you?"

Grog's gaze swept the marketplace as his face reddened. The crowd met him with pity or disdain but never respect. Even his own crew shifted uneasily and avoided his eyes.

"I'll answer for you: they don't," Sylvanie said. "They tolerate you. There's a difference." She released his wrist with a small shove, sending him tumbling backward. "They only put up with you because most of them are probably decent people who want no trouble." She crossed her arms. "But I'm not from here. I don't have to tolerate you."

"The Elven girl speaks the truth, Grog," Gretta said as she watched. "You've been a pain in everyone's ass lately." She glanced at the crowd, then at Oreon, who leaned against her stall and observed in silence. "You're always picking fights, running your mouth, and insulting any woman who rejects you. You and your cronies are making it impossible for this town to live in peace."

Clearly enraged, Grog pushed himself up from the ground, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "You—you don't know what you're talking about, old woman!" He spat, his voice shaking. "I do what I have to do to survive in this shithole!"

"By harassing people?" Gretta shot back. "By drinking yourself stupid and picking fights with anyone who looks at you wrong? By being a public nuisance?" She shook her head. "That's not survival, Grog. That's just being a miserable bastard who complains about things he can't change."

Encouraged by Sylvanie's words and Gretta's support, the crowd murmured in agreement. Several people nodded, their expressions hardening as they faced Grog.

"She's right," An older man called out from the crowd. "You've been causing nothing but trouble, Grog!"

"Yeah!" Another voice joined in. "Always picking on Oreon, picking fights with everyone!"

The crowd's murmurs began to peak as more voices joined in agreement.

"We can't even enjoy ourselves with you around!"

"What's wrong with you? Why do you always have to be such a headache!"

Oreon relaxed as he watched the scene unfold, a faint smirk on his face. "Well, would you look at that," he murmured to himself.

Grog scanned the crowd, his face burning as his chest heaved with ragged breaths. The murmurs continued, and his crew began to look at him with growing sympathy.

"You—all of you—" Grog stammered, his voice cracking. "You're nothing but cowards!" He jabbed a finger at the crowd. "Siding with some damn knife-ears instead of one of your own! What happened to loyalty?" His gaze swept over people he'd known for years—people who had tolerated him, shared drinks with him, and laughed at his jokes. Now they were turning against him.

"Loyalty?" An older woman stepped from the crowd, her weathered face stern. "You don't even know what that means, Grog. Where was your loyalty when you stole from my stall?"

"And you knocked over my stall last week when you were drunk!" A merchant added. "Broke half my pottery!

"You've done nothing but walk around acting like you own the place!" A male voice came from somewhere in the crowd.

The accusations came one after another, each speaker emboldened by the last. Grog stood with clenched fists and a face twisted in fury, but panic crept in, driving him a step back.

"You...you!" He snarled, forcing himself to take a step forward. "You think you're better than me?! You think I'm the problem?!" He pointed accusingly again, this time towards Oreon, then Sylvanie, and finally Celestia. "This town was fine before these Elves showed up! Before this brat started bringing non-humans in!"

"Oh, please." Sylvanie rolled her eyes and casually inspected her nails. "We've been here less than a day. From the sound of it, you've been causing trouble for years." She glanced at Gretta. "How long has he been like this?"

Gretta sighed and crossed her arms. "Too long." She studied Grog with a conflicted look, pity flickering in her eyes. "You've been spiraling ever since the Order purified your town, and instead of being grateful that some of you survived, you strut around as if you call the shots. Using your fear to establish some dominance when you had none to begin with.

"Don't you dare—" Grog's voice broke.

"We've all lost something, Grog," Gretta cut in, her voice firm. "You're not the only one whose town was ransacked and purified by the Order. Everyone here has lost someone—or everything—yet they don't take their grief and anger out on others. We honor the dead by living and giving thanks that we escaped death's door. But you..." Gretta shook her head.

The words struck Grog hard. For a fleeting moment, grief—perhaps even shame—flickered in his eyes before anger consumed it.

"You—" His lips trembled. "You know nothing!" Grog shouted, his voice cracking. "You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw, so none of you get to judge me!" He clenched his jaw, hands shaking at his sides. "You don't get to tell me how to live with it." His anger flared again. "I don't need a lecture from a pack of cowards!" He wheeled toward Oreon, eyes burning with hatred. "You! This is all your fault!"

"Huh?" Oreon blinked slightly, confused, as he pointed to himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you!" Grog spat, taking a lurching step toward him. "Ever since you showed up in this town, everything's gone to shit! First, it was just you—some nobody orphan with no past, no family! And now—now you're bringing elves here?! Non-humans?!" His voice cracked with hysteria. "But you'll pay for it..." He took a step back, retreating slowly. "You and all your rash decisions- it's all going to come back on your shoulders. You'll see; these people will see." He angrily turned his back, but not without glancing back at Oreon. "The problem isn't me...it's you; it's always been you." He jerked his head forward and stormed off with his crew, quickly following behind him.

Grog's words struck Oreon harder than anyone realized. He lowered his gaze, knowing that only the elves, Lena, and Meara knew he was the Purifier's son. In a way, Grog was right—or so Oreon began to believe.

An uneasy silence settled over the marketplace as Grog and his crew vanished down a side street. The crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring among themselves. Some cast sympathetic glances at Oreon, while others shook their heads at Grog's behavior.

Gretta sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Oreon, don't listen to him." She said quietly, looking over at him. "That man's been drowning in his own misery for so long, he's forgotten how to do anything but drag others down with him." She sighed again. "He's probably figured it'll be easier just to blame someone else for what happened to him."

Oreon said nothing. He stared at the spot where Grog had stood, fists clenched and trembling at his sides. Words seemed trapped behind his lips—thoughts he could not, or would not, speak.

Sylvanie noticed immediately. Her playful demeanor faded as she studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She exchanged a glance with Celestia, who had picked up on her sister's signal.

"Oreon..." Celestia began softly, stepping toward him. Before she could continue, Oreon released a deep breath.

"I'm fine," he said slowly. Lifting his head, he forced a faint smile. "Really, I'm fine." He glanced at the remaining onlookers, then at Gretta. "Sorry about all that. I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand."

"Sorry?" Gretta scoffed. "Boy, you knocked some sense into that fool!" Gretta said happily as she playfully but aggressively wrapped one of her strong arms around Oreon's neck, earning a playful yelp from him as she pulled him closer, laughing. "If anything, I should be thanking you! I didn't know someone like you could hit someone that hard! You sent that man flying!" She exclaimed.

"Gre—Gretta, you're choking—me." Oreon wheezed, struggling against her forearm.

Gretta released him with a hearty laugh and slapped his back hard enough to make him stumble. "Ah, sorry! I got carried away." Grinning, she headed toward the grill. "Come eat. I'm not letting you leave on an empty stomach. After all that excitement, you must be starving." She stopped with her back to him, tightening her grip on the spatula. "Oreon... I know that oaf's words got to you. I don't know what happened before you came here, but don't believe him. You've done great things, kid, whether you see it or not." With that, she returned to the grill.

Oreon stood frozen for a moment, his shoulders tense. Gretta's words seemed to linger in the air, like a shield, almost allowing Oreon to relax as he inhaled deeply at the sound of her grill sizzling.

"Come now, don't let my cooking go to waste!" Gretta yelled back at the trio.

"Well," Sylvanie said, breaking the tension as she stretched her arms above her head. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving." She started walking toward Gretta's stall,

Celestia fell into step beside Oreon as they headed toward the stall. "She's right, you know," she said, matching his pace without looking at him. "You've done more good than you realize. I've known you for barely a day and a half. Yet I've seen you fight, stay composed in dangerous situations, and put your life on the line without hesitation." She glanced at him, then looked ahead as they continued toward Gretta's stall.

"I've also seen how people look at you here. How they speak to you." She glanced at him again from the corner of her eye. "People don't react that way to someone they see as the problem."

Oreon didn't respond immediately. He just walked beside her, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze still fixed somewhere on the ground ahead of them.

"...I appreciate that," He finally said, his tone matching hers. "But sometimes I wonder if—" he stopped himself, biting down on the words before they could fully form. He shook his head. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Celestia didn't press him. She nodded with quiet understanding. "If you ever wish to talk about it," she said gently. "I'll listen."

Oreon glanced at her, and for just a moment, his body relaxed a bit. "...Thanks"