Hard Luck Hermit

“Man am I glad I got a haircut,” Corey said.

“Yes, you’re very smart,” Tooley said, as the wind whipped her powder-blue hair into her face. “Help me with this.”

As the presence of kites might suggest, the Festival of Kites involved a lot of incredibly high winds. The wind was blowing so hard Tooley had a hard time standing upright, much less keeping her hair in order. She hadn’t had the foresight to braid it beforehand, so her hair was at the mercy of the same winds that buoyed a thousand kites.

The unique geography and climate of the region turned the festival valley into a sort of natural wind tunnel, resulting in a perpetual gale. The annual surge of wind held deep cultural and religious significance to the local populace, which had over time evolved into an excuse for a bunch of curious offworlders to throw a party. The winds that supposedly carried the spirits of the dead got used to sail novelty kites, and the bells that the dead spoke through got sold as souvenirs, and the mourning libations were used to get drunk, as Kamak was about to prove.

“Have fun with that,” Kamak said. “I’m finding the nearest place to sit down and get a drink. You people enjoy yourselves.”

The plans to regroup at the end of the day had already been made, so no one bothered chasing Kamak as he vanished into the crowd. Farsus pulled out a map of the festival valley and looked for an interesting diversion.

“Hmm, a cliff-scaling race sounds interesting,” Farsus said. The festival had no combat to speak of, so he sought to challenge himself in other ways. “Care to participate, Doprel?”

“Nah, I think I’m just going to wander around the festival for a bit,” Doprel said. “See what I see.”

“As you will. I will see you all later.”

Farsus headed out, and Doprel wandered away while Tooley was still fixing her hair. While it was impossible for him to vanish into the crowd as Kamak had, he did put some distance between himself and his crewmates. He had something specific in mind he wanted to enjoy, but it was not anything to do with the festival itself.

As Doprel cut his way through the crowd, people moved out of the way to accommodate his massive frame -but only barely. The finned ridges on his arms brushed against shoulders and bumped into backs as people put very little effort into stepping aside. Most people would’ve considered the lack of personal space an affront, but not Doprel. For him, it was a delight.

To most of the universe, his species, the Doccan, were either an anomaly or an enemy. Even people who didn’t see him as one of his emotionless, thieving kin tended to see Doprel as a hulking monstrosity they were better off avoiding. For years, almost everyone around him had treated him as a freak or a monster. The fame of saving the universe from Morrakesh had changed that. His distinctive appearance was still instantly recognizable, but recognizable a hero. Now most people at least passively accepted him, if they weren’t actively interested, as a small group of festivalgoers approaching him now were.

“Wow, are you Doprel?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

The festivalgoers seemed delighted. They were all young, possibly children (or just from some species that looked childlike), and apparently easily excited by the presence of a “celebrity”. One of them actually giggled with delight, furthering Doprel’s theory that they were children.

“What were the Horuk like?”

“Like the ugliest bugs you can imagine, but uglier and bigger,” Doprel said. “And obviously, trying to kill you.”

“Wow,” one of the kids said. “Could you beat them in a fight?”

“The little ones were easy, the problem is there were hundreds of them,” Doprel said. “And then when you got higher up the ranks, they were super tough.”

“How many did you kill?”

“Did they make a noise when you squished them?”

“Did they smell funny?”

“I don’t know, yes, and yes,” Doprel said. The three questions began a barrage that showed no signs of stopping. The dozens of questions that followed were often morose, and more often inane and pointless, but Doprel answered each and every one without hesitation.

It was nice to not be a freak.