Chapter Text
The start of the next glass was more somber than the glass before. The others patted his shoulder or his back to wish him luck as they prepared to head out again, and after they drank their potions, Witherfall handed him a few of her spectral crossbow bolts, “just in case.”
None of them suggested that the Overworlder wouldn’t come back. It’s what they all would have done, in his position: return with backup to assess the threat.
And then they left. And Technoblade was alone again.
He tried to keep himself occupied. He made sure his quiver of bolts was organized and secure on his hip, he made sure his crossbow was within reach, he made sure the meat was secure in one of the tents. Once all of that was ready, he sat down with his knife. Fireborne had given him what little leather was left over after the clothes were made, and he made good use of it despite how little space he had on the pieces, writing about the air currents that he could still feel. They were stronger this glass, and he hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.
It was half a pile or so after the others had left - right when the Overworlder had appeared last time - that there was a quiet rustling in the trees.
Technoblade stood, holding his crossbow but not raising it yet. He tried his best to look wary but approachable, the way traders looked outside of the bastions.
Slowly, the Overworlder broke cover. He had a gold pauldron strapped to his shoulder this time, which Technoblade took as a good sign. He had dealt with piglins before. His hands were open and held up, showing that he wasn’t holding a weapon.
Technoblade cautiously crouched to set down his crossbow. He had his knife still, and his axe was nearby, but hopefully the gesture would show that he wasn’t an active threat.
The Overworlder relaxed a little, then reached into his bag and took out a small bar of gold. He cleared his throat and said “Trade?”
Technoblade blinked. That was trader’s cant. A distinct dialect used only outside of bastions, made simpler for Overworlders. This one had a distinct Overworld accent, and it was obvious his mouth wasn’t suited for it, but it was recognizable.
“Trade,” Technoblade echoed, crossing to the tent with the meat and dragging it out into the open.
He seemed surprised at the sight of the meat, the big black things at his back puffing up and ruffling slightly. Were they limbs?
Cautiously, Technoblade picked up a large piece of the meat and walked over to the Overworlder. He really hoped this wasn’t a trap or a trick.
The Overworlder held out the gold, trading it easily for the meat. He nodded appreciatively. “Health to your sounder.”
A soft snort of surprise escaped Technoblade before he could stop it. The word “trade” was almost always the only word Overworlders bothered to learn; this one knowing the traditional thanks for a good trade was… unexpected, to say the least. Hesitantly, he replied “And to yours.”
The Overworlder tucked the meat into his bag, then paused. He spoke slowly and carefully, obviously less familiar with less common words. “This place… safe?”
Technoblade chose not to correct his grammar. He was obviously trying his best. “Safe, yes.”
“Safe…” The Overworlder paused, making a face as he searched for the words.
“Safe for me, also?” Technoblade offered.
The Overworlder nodded, baring his teeth in the way traders said was not a threat. “Yes, yes, safe!”
Technoblade was fairly certain they had just reached a truce. That was good. That was excellent! If this was a member of the sounder that owned this land, then they shouldn’t have to worry about being attacked here. He turned back to the fire, gesturing for the Overworlder to follow. “Come, come.”
“Come?” the Overworlder echoed with confusion. This sound was more mangled than the others. He was obviously unfamiliar with the word.
Gestures would probably help more than speaking. Technoblade walked back to the fire and sat down, then tore off a chunk of meat and held it out to the Overworlder.
Slowly, he walked over to sit down as well. He took out another bar of gold. “Trade?”
“No trade,” Technoblade corrected him, offering the meat. “Take.”
He seemed a bit reluctant, but he put the gold away and took the meat.
Technoblade tore off some meat for himself, too. The meat was technically supposed to be for the Overworlder, but it was important to solidify an alliance between sounders with a meal together. This would do in a pinch. Besides, the Overworlder seemed to be more comfortable when he was copying Technoblade. That made sense, he supposed; if Technoblade was the one approaching a rival warrior who spoke a language he didn’t know, he would copy them as much as he could to avoid offending them.
The Overworlder cautiously took a bite of meat. He made a quiet sound of surprise at the taste, then took another, bigger bite.
He liked the spices, then. Technoblade smiled and ate his own food.
When he had finished the meat, the Overworlder turned to rummage through his bag. He took out a chunk of something and tore it in half, then held half out to Technoblade.
It was Technoblade’s turn to be cautious as he took the offered thing. It was probably food, but it was soft and airy, nothing like meat or fungus.
The Overworlder took a bite of his half, and Technoblade copied him.
Oh.
Oh that was good.
He felt his ears pricking up as he stared at the strange food. It was crispy on the outside and soft and almost sweet on the inside, and it tasted nothing like any food he’d ever had before, but he liked it.
The Overworlder made a sound that was almost chuffing, then said something in his language.
“You know, it sort of feels like you’re makin’ fun of me,” Technoblade drawled, his tail flicking lightly.
More words in the Overworld language.
Technoblade huffed. “Your reaction to the spices was funny too, but I chose not to comment because I’m bein’ a good host.”
The Overworlder bared his teeth again. They were such stubby, non-threatening little things, it was easy to see why showing them off wasn’t a sign of aggression.
It was honestly nice, having this back and forth. Neither of them had any idea what the other was saying, but it felt sort of like communication anyway.
The Overworlder finished his piece of food, then took out a sort of… packet. It was like thin pieces of leather all stacked on top of each other and wrapped in a much thicker piece of leather. He opened it up, picked up a black stick of something, and began to draw.
Technoblade watched in awe as he drew a large black rectangle with swirling shapes inside, then held it up for Technoblade to see.
“That’s the world gate,” Technoblade guessed, pointing toward the gate they had come through. There was no harm in that, right? The gate had been there for a long time, surely the Overworlders knew where it was.
The Overworlder nodded and drew something else: a skewed sketch of something that Technoblade was pretty sure was supposed to be a piglin. He drew a line leading to a different part of the page, then drew another piglin with patches of discolored skin and bone showing through. He gestured between the two drawings, looking to Technoblade with a confused expression.
Ah. He wanted to know why Technoblade hadn’t fallen to the Rot.
He hadn’t prepared for that, honestly; this was a tentative truce, still, not a proper alliance, and it was entirely possible that the Overworlder could abuse the knowledge if he had it.
Still. Alliances are built on trust. He probably wanted to make sure Technoblade wouldn’t randomly succumb, which made sense. Technoblade pointed at the little black stick, then held out his hand.
The Overworlder handed it over with less hesitation than Technoblade had been expecting.
Technoblade was surprised at the texture. It felt like coal, almost, but softer, and it left a black residue on his fingers. That was probably what allowed it to mark the pale leather scraps. He very carefully leaned over to the leather and sketched out the shape of a potion bottle.
A few surprised words left the Overworlder’s mouth, then he paused and said “Potion?”
“Potion,” Technoblade agreed, glad that he knew the word. Just for the fun of it, he carefully added the word potion underneath the sketch.
The Overworlder hummed thoughtfully, staring down at the drawings. Then he turned to Technoblade, resting a hand on his chest. “Philza.”
Philza. It was an Overworld word, Technoblade was certain, but he had no idea what it meant. He settled for tilting his head to one side, hoping it would convey his confusion.
The Overworlder patted his chest a little more emphatically. “Philza.” Then he gestured to Technoblade.
“Ffff… Fffils - Fffill?” Technoblade tried, cringing at the harsh sounds of syllables his mouth wasn’t made for.
The Overworlder’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Yes, yes, Phil!”
Okay, it seemed a shortened version of the word was sufficient. Wonderful.
He gestured to Technoblade again.
Oh. Oh! He was introducing himself! Technoblade nodded quickly, putting a hand to his own chest. “Technoblade.”
Phil stared at him with such a lost expression that he let out a little chuff of laughter.
“Tech-no-blade,” he repeated, speaking as slowly and clearly as he could.
“Tegh… Tegh-know?” Phil tried.
Technoblade had never used a shortened version of his name before, but… if he was allowed to use a shortened version of Phil’s name, he wouldn’t make Phil say the entirety of his. “Sure, Techno works.”
“Tech-no,” Phil said again, more firmly, like he was committing the word to memory.
More rustling from the forest.
Technoblade was up in a heartbeat, dropping the black stick in favor of grabbing his crossbow. Phil stood too, his black maybe-limbs raised and ruffled, a sword in his hand.
Goldeneye stepped into the clearing, the body of one of the fluffy animals under her arm and an axe in her hand. She bristled in alarm at the sight of Phil, who bristled right back.
Technoblade saw the others coming up behind her and decided to step in. He dropped his crossbow and stepped between Phil and Goldeneye, head tilted in submission, trying to calm them both down. “It’s alright.”
“You were successful?” Goldeneye asked carefully, her grip tightening on her axe.
“I was. We shared a meal, and he told me this was a safe area for us.”
There was a long, tense pause. Then Goldeneye snorted, sheathing her axe and crossing the clearing to the place they had butchered the animals last glass.
“Safe,” Technoblade assured Phil quietly. “They’re friends.”
“He speaks piglin?” Swiftaxe asked in surprise.
“Trader’s cant,” Technoblade said with a nod. “He isn’t fluent, but it’s enough for simple things.”
Lavaheart huffed, adjusting his grip on one of the fluffy animals. “He’s had dealings with our people before, then.”
Technoblade felt a little flicker of pride as he said “That was my thought, too.” It was nice to know he’d read the situation correctly.
Swiftaxe took a cautious step toward the Overworlder and said in trader’s cant, “Hello, traveler.”
“You speak trader’s cant?” Technoblade asked in surprise.
“I don’t use it much, but I tagged along with groups of traders a lot when I was younger. I learned a lot,” Swiftaxe said with a proud flick of their ear.
Phil cautiously repeated “Hello.”
“We welcome you as a friend,” Swiftaxe told him, or at least Technoblade was fairly sure that’s what they said. His trader’s cant was passable, but not perfect.
Phil just blinked.
“His name is Phil,” Technoblade told them. “He’s best with trading words.”
Swiftaxe’s snout wrinkled at the foreign word, then they tried “Fff-hil?”
“Phil, yes!” Phil said brightly, seeming very pleased that he understood something that was happening.
“Swiftaxe,” they introduced themself, putting a hand to their chest.
Phil frowned for a second, then pointed to Techno’s axe, which was still leaning against one of the tents. “Axe.”
“Axe will do,” Swiftaxe conceded. “A health to your sounder, Phil.”
“And yours… Axe,” Phil returned, a bit hesitantly. He probably wasn’t used to the traditional thanks being used as a greeting.
“Technoblade!” Goldeneye called from the butchering area. “Swiftaxe can handle the Overworlder for now, come help Lavaheart.”
Technoblade turned to go, then hesitated and glanced back to Swiftaxe. “Will you be alright?”
“Go help, I’ll be fine,” Swiftaxe said with an encouraging flick of their tail.
He was still slightly hesitant to go, but if Goldeneye and Swiftaxe were both fine with the arrangement, so was he. Technoblade hurried over to help skin and butcher the animals again, working more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.
After a minute, though, he had an idea. Maybe it was a dumb idea and wouldn’t work, but it couldn’t hurt to try. “Hey Swiftaxe, could you bring Phil over here?”
Swiftaxe said something quietly to Phil, then came over with the curious Overworlder in tow. “What is it?”
Technoblade looked to Phil and pointed to the animal lying on the forest floor. “What is it?”
“What is it,” Phil repeated, quiet and slow, his forehead creasing. Then he brightened. “Sheep!”
“Sh -” Technoblade made a face at the word. “Shhhh? Shhhheeeep.”
“Sheep,” Phil said again, more carefully this time.
“Shhheep,” Technoblade tried.
Phil nodded, beaming. “Yes, yes!”
“Technoblade,” Goldeneye started cautiously, then paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “As useful as communication would be, taking the time to learn their language… it isn’t useful enough to justify the time required.”
“I’m not learnin’ all of it,” Technoblade assured her, standing and walking over to the other sheep animal. He carefully picked up the sheep fur and carried it over to Phil. “What is it?”
“Wool,” Phil told him, running a careful hand over the fur.
Technoblade nodded, not trying to copy the word this time. He shifted the wool to one arm so he could point to the leftover meat. “Trade?”
“Oh,” Witherfall breathed.
Phil brightened. “Trade wool, yes! I -” he broke off into his language, talking excitedly for a second before getting frustrated. He pointed up at the chunk of glowstone in the sky.
“Okay, the glowstone, yeah.” Technoblade pointed at it too to show he was paying attention.
Phil said a few words in his language, tracing a path across the roof, down below the ground, then up onto the roof again. He pointed a bit more emphatically at one point in the roof, where the glowstone had been earlier that glass. “Trade!”
“Next glass,” Technoblade realized. “You’ll come trade with us next glass. Yes, trade!”
“How are the two of you managing to communicate like this?” Swiftaxe murmured in astonished despair. “You are repeating the same three words at each other.”
Technoblade snorted at them. “If it works, it works.”
Phil repeated a word in his language, giving Technoblade a firm nod. “Trade wool.”
“Yes,” Technoblade replied with an answering nod.
Phil turned and hurried off back into the forest, and just like that, it was just the scouting party again.
“… It may not be a bad idea to get more knowledge from him, if we can,” Fireborne said slowly. “Learning a few words of his language might be useful. Or if he can tell us how certain things work here…”
Goldeneye grunted. “… Alright. I suppose that’s part of why Technoblade is here, anyway. Write down as much as you can, we may not get a chance like this again.”
“Of course.” He was already planning which scrap of leather to write the new words they’d learned on.
“And in the meantime,” Swiftaxe said with a sigh, “You need to learn some more trader’s cant. I’ll help with the butchering, let’s get started.”