They did not speak, childhood illness stole their voice. But the Harukh village didn't care. This human had always been kind to them, helping them when illnesses or injuries came their way. They also made it clear to so-called "heros", this human who could not speak was not going to be mistreated. The human, for their part, kept trying to make it clear, wordlessly, they didn't NEED "saving". -- Anon Guest
[AN: Harukh are mostly nomadic, so this place is a statistical outlier]
The Harukh steppe lands are cruel and harsh. Life there is hard. The plants that eke out an existence there take years to grow to the point where they're useful. The animals were tough, armoured, and armed. Even the herbivores have tusks, claws, or horns to defend themselves.
That doesn't mean that the Harukh always share the same qualities.
Their reputation for being violent raiders is due entirely to people moving in to their territories and 'civilising' the land that the Harukh had been farming in their own way for generations. Which is roughly equivalent to returning from a holiday to discover that someone has built and sold out an apartment complex where your home used to be. You would also get violent under such circumstances.
Reputation is not destiny. There are some places where Harukh and other species managed to find a happy medium. Humans with the patience to work with traditional Harukh crops, and Harukh seeing the advantage of the faster Human farms. Learning the secrets of Dire Hogs helped immensely.
It's weird how working together and respecting differences makes things better than other interspecies interactions.
And in such places, the unusual tend to gather. They soon find out that the Harukh have far more respect for anomalies than the average Human. Case in point, Hank the Healer.
A spate of diseases with bad timing had taken his voice, but not his hearing. Normal Human citizens would question, yell, refuse to understand his sign language, demand he speak, and go so far as to try hurting him so that he would shout.
The Harukh, however, understood injuries. They extended their understanding to damage done while "fighting off death" - better known as living day to day. They were the ones who learned sign language or, if they had difficulty, bringing along a translator.
They were Hank's favourite patients, so he treated them very well indeed. The Harukh showed their gratitude in offerings of herbs, items, and cooking ingredients. Including examples of literal Harukh stoneware[1].
And then the heroes started stopping by. Apparently, one of the older spinsters in the Human half of Mesturado city had nothing better to do than complain about the 'scourge' invading. And because she was vocal, a few actually took her seriously.
A burly fighter, a half-Elf mage, and a Hellkin barbarian arrived at Hank's home and offices. While Hank was in the middle of setting a Harukh toddler's arm in splints and plaster. Their anxious grandfather was wringing his hands and fighting off tears.
And, most importantly, there was not a weapon in sight.
"This don't look like scourge," said the barbarian. "This not threat."
The fighter kept her sword drawn, watching and listening for any threat in the area. Yet the only other movement was from the chickens in Hank's garden.
"Sir," said the mage. "We were told you were being menaced by the Harukh?"
Hank, plaster up to his elbows, made a simple sign that he couldn't speak.
"The healer has no voice," said the grandfather. "He speaks with his hands, and his hands are busy."
The Adventurers were forced to wait, with patience they could barely keep, for Hank to finish with his patient and wash his hands. The mage's spellwork gave Hank a voice.
"Town busybodies need better hobbies," Hank signed. "I am a Healer. I heal people. All people. Of the lot of them, the Harukh have better manners."
[1] Pots, cauldrons, and even pans carved out of resilient rock, usually granite.
[Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash]
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