"Give us what you have!" The elven man roared, holding in his hands two glinting scimitars. Mike froze at this, around him were six figures, and they did not seem to have the best intentions.
Their teeth were gnashed and he could sense the blood lust that they exuded towards him. He slowly raised his clenched fists to his head, he would not go down without a fight.
"He has nothing, look at him, that's a pair of pants from the guards we killed the other day and he is no elf."
"He took it from the corpse." Another said, and they all burst out laughing. It was ridiculous to rob one that was that desperate, one that would steal from the dead.
During their course of laughter, Mike managed to look across them, capturing the faces of those that had murdered the bunch. Of the six, two were hooded, their faces hidden, and the others…
His eyes widened as he looked through those happy faces. Humans, other humans. Three of the four that he could see were human or rather, they looked human enough. He really wanted to believe that they were fellow kindred, it would ease the hollow loneliness he had felt since coming to this world.
He joined them in their laughter, forced and awkward, and simultaneously they stopped theirs, giving him a terrible cold eye, and he stopped. He was still in a trouble.
"You are of what tribe?" One of the humans asked, putting forward his sword. He was of medium height, short-haired of black and brown-tanned, and he was young, young enough to be a friend of Mike. He was clad in a tight clothing of black with a loose black robe which made him seem bigger than he actually was.
Of course Mike didn't understand what the man meant, he merely looked stupefied. The man who had asked the question slapped his face in annoyance.
"He does not understand us, could his tribe be a distant one? Perhaps close to extinction?"
"Perhaps."
Of the three humans, one was female, and was quite peculiar. Her face and her hands were the color of peach—all other parts of her were clad in black clothes. Her hair was orange, short and rough, and her angular face was adorned with freckles. The weapon she held—her two short blades, Mike could sense something within them, could sense flickers of radiance, however he was not sure, he would be had his reserve not been so low. She wore a terrible frown, and he averted his gaze.
The last one was the oldest looking of the three, middle-aged in facial appearance with a rough thick black beard, he was the one who had inquired of Mike of his possible possessions. Though clad in black tight clothes and a robe, Mike could tell that he had significant brawn, he was large and tall, and his face had that look that told Mike that he was all too familiar with killing people. Of the three, only glancing at him made Mike feel truly afraid.
And then the last was an elf, long-eared and a pale-blue, with long blue hair tied into a ponytail. Mike could not tell whether they were male or female, and frankly it did not matter.
What he needed to do right now was to have this situation tilt to his favor. He already understood that they knew that he could not speak their language, he had to support that notion, he had to speak.
"Hey there, as you can see, I am of no trouble." He said in a slow, and robotic manner.
The group merely looked at each other, hoping that at least one of them understood the words the stranger had just uttered.
None did, the language was not of their world.
"What language was that?"
"You are the smart one here, don't ask me."
"It seems no one knows."
They argued.
'I am glad I found those pants when I did.' he could not imagine how silly and uncomfortable it would have been had they met him utterly naked, with nothing covering his scrawny legs and junk.
As they bickered, the tension that was present simmered, and Mike relaxed. He could tell that they were not going to kill him, they were all too curious about him to do that, and perhaps he could use their help.
He glanced at the radiance containing blades again and then at the woman who held them.
'They must be aware of the energy,' he thought. Though he could not sense an iota of the energy within any of them, the blades convinced him enough.
'I have to make myself more interesting.'
He held out his right hand, and of the six, only the young male bandit watched him.
'Come on.'
Trickles of radiance streamed from his core, and gathered at his palm, ultimately manifesting into a spell. A gentle visible gust of wind hovered over his palm.
"Ohhh!" Said the double-swords wielding woman, and the group stopped to pay him attention.
Mike saw the mouth of the older male, and whom he perceived to be their leader go agape. Yes, he was special.
'They would have no choice but to treat me with respect now.'
"A Rave!" The man exclaimed. The group created a bit of distance between them and him, though they still had him surrounded.
The wind died, and Mike ran his eyes across them telling that he meant no harm.
The eldest held out his arm instructing that they should stand down. He walked forward to Mike, and stretched out his hand for a handshake.
"My name is Algar."