[Out of the Frying Pan] The Story of Ratchis (Updated 2/10)
Hey everybody!
Ratchis here! Nemm has been telling me for months now that people have been requesting for me to re-post and eventually finish this (my background for Ratchis of Nephthys - my character in his "Out of the Frying Pan" Aquerra Campaign).
So, here is the first section - I will try to update every few days until everything is up.
I really look forward to questions and comments and Nemm and I will try our best to answer them.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Story of Ratchis
My mother, called Garksh by the tribe, was born in a small hamlet in Derome Delem. Her family were peasants barely able to live off the land and steeped in the ignorance such a station in life usually brings. Their dowry was 3 turnips and a skinny goat. They were not picky when farmers from nearby plots came a’ calling.
The husband chosen was a dull-witted drunkard, born brain-damaged from his own mother’s drinking and whoring. What he lacked in culture and wit he more than compensated for with ox-like strength and white-hot temper. He beat my mother regularly though she was ever the dutiful wife. She was not overly bright herself and had been taught by her mother and pastor that loyalty to one’s husband was the same as loyalty to Ra himself. She would have literally died before leaving on her own volition.
As the years passed, mother had bones broken and her face disfigured from constant pummeling. The beatings had intensified as Deek, her husband, decided that their lack of child was due to mother’s whoredom (having been married when she was 13 and growing up on an isolated farm, this was a dubious claim at best). Deek’s drunkenness grew worse and worse, and finally, he was forced to take mother and leave his community due to his brawling and destruction of property at the local pub. Having heard of the claims of quick riches from the boom towns further inland, Deek set off with mother and all their worldly possessions in a small wagon pulled by an emaciated mule.
After a few weeks on the road, Deek and mother joined with a caravan of pilgrims looking for a new beginning as well. Their trail led into the mountains and all was well until a wolf attack caused a panicked mule to ride off a cliff holding much of the company’s warmest clothes. When the snows came a week later, an uncomfortable, dangerous situation became deadly. The passage became incredibly dangerous. Half the caravan was lost two days later in an avalanche. With the thick snow and plunging temperatures, the party had to take shelter frequently and this is why they were out of food more than a month from civilization.
Ra forgive them, the party did what they had to survive. As the weakest fell, the children died first, they were consumed to keep the rest of the group going. Five weeks later, mother came down out of the mountains. She had survived physically but the person she was, the person I would never know, was gone forever.
She wandered several more days until the smell of an animal cooking on an open fire drew her like a fly to honey. She walked into the armed camp and went to her knees by the fire. Curses of surprise erupted as orcs beat her down before she could grab a morsel. Then they laughed. The sight of her was not anything they had beheld before. She was human but she was much prettier than any they had seen before, the look in her wide eyes spoke of great strength and a warrior’s berserk courage. After a few quick words were exchanged, she was allowed to eat. She had not swallowed her last bite when they were upon her. Most of the tribe knew her that night and not once did she make a sound or appear to even notice what was happening.
She could not understand them, but she could understand what they wanted. She worked 12 hours a day at all manner of chore and never uttered a complaint. For her trouble, she ate table scraps and serviced several tribe members each night. Sometimes two orcs would fight over who would have her first. They never beat her because she always got her job done before someone noticed it needed doing. Eventually the hunters met up with the rest of the tribe and with the medicine man’s blessing she joined the other females. She had never been treated so well in her adult life.
Mother was able to rest the day I was born only because it was a difficult birth that took nearly 14 hours. Several times, hot-headed members of the tribe wanted to cut my mother’s throat to stop her moaning. The chief and medicine man would have none of it, and I was born into the world on a rocky crag, near the end of winter under a full moon. They named me Ratchis, orcish for pale runt.
As was the tradition in our tribe, I suckled at the breast of all the female orcs that were carrying milk. Mother neither paid more nor less attention to my rearing than she did to any other orc suckling. My first two years of existence were by far the most normal, accepted for a time as any young born into the tribe. This quickly came to a halt when I started playing with the other orc children a few months before my third birthday. I was clearly smaller than the others and thus was constantly the favorite target of all. Each day I would be tripped, punched and hit with sticks and stones; the older children would tell me about my mother, my mother the small, diseased, ugly human. I was still too young to understand much of what was said but the tone was unmistakable.
One day, I found myself staring at a leaf for hours, dreaming of what it had seen before my arrival. A playmate had ruined it and I cried and cried for my leaf. *Slap* Blackness and stars fill my vision as I stumble. Two close-fisted blows to the top of my head knocked my face down into the dirt.
“We are orcs!” said a booming voice above me. “We do not cry. I will beat the human taint out of you, or you will die like the pale, pathetic cur you are.”
Those were the last words Gahmkish, the weapon-master of our tribe, said to me for almost ten years. I took the lesson well. Strength was all I needed to make it in this world. Crying was for the weak. Worrying about leaves and flowers was for pathetic fae races and their evil immortality. I was orc and I needed to be strong, no matter how old I had to control my emotions so that I could embrace our greatest assets, hatred and anger. From that day forward, I was quieter but also more vicious. I watched the older boys play and introduced eye-gouging, knee-biting and choke holds into our tussles. Soon, I was the master ruling over the 2 and 3 year olds, beating those that did not contribute to my meals. I drew to me the largest and most aggressive children who shined brightly now that they had a keener mind to guide them.
As I neared my fourth birthday, I passed my mother as I had a hundred times before on my way to the sleep area. Suddenly, she lunged out and grabbed me.
“Gwar, Gwar, Gwar!” she sobbed uncontrollably. And then in a low voice, as other females began to drag me away, “I am so sorry! Love you; do you understand love? I love YOU!”
As I was dragged away to bed I could hear her unintelligible words.
When I reached five, I was the smallest of the children, male or female, but every child my age had a scar or mark or old, faded bruise that earned their fear of me. My day became long, with an endless line of chores all the day through. Eventually, it worked out that I would gather fruit when mother worked the grind, that I gathered wood while mother was stacking and that I brought water and roots for cooking while mother was in the kitchen. Mother was very fast and we worked together well.
Then, after three weeks, she said something I could not understand. With her knowing smile and the obvious good work she did for us, I felt warmth toward her and more than a little curiosity what she was trying to say to me. Our schedule became routine and after months, an amazing week came where. I could understand the words; no, I had been learning dozens of words over these weeks, I could understand the meaning. She spoke of the coming seasons and the hunt. At one point, she told of paying most attention at the killing blow, that was most often the difference between moose for dinner or a dead hunter. She also spoke of many concepts such as “Ra” and “family” and “love” and other things that I did not really understand. She would never force these concepts; just let them fliter though the air like frosted breath.
I noticed through the haze of constant work that many of my playmates were replaced with younger children. During the next winter I recognized in my meat what had to be smaller members of the tribe. I remember that we must be strong, and that we give all that we have, all we ever will be for the tribe. A great hunter by the name of Kurshtah slaid the chief still sleeping in his bed. Many praised Kurshtah for his cunning and none dared challenge him. This is how, right before my 7th year, we came to have a new chief.
More months passed and many skirmishes with a nearby Gnoll tribe left many of the soldiers’ armor and clothing in sore shape. It was a perfect time for mother and son to be cleaning down by the river together.
“Son, what I must say is how terribly sorry I am. You are my burning light but this life is good enough for me but, you deserve, ugh, you deserve the heavens. I had to tell you this and that I love you as much as any mother can love her son. And remember, I am proud of you and proud of who you are. Do not ever forget that you are human. My mind has been clearing for months but I trust such things not so I am saying it all in a crazy rush at one..” and she fell silent as a club crashed down heavily upon her head, knocking her to the ground in a heap.
I attacked the warrior’s knees trying to find a spot to bite deeply. A harsh stomp sent me back to the ground, seeing the stars .. then black.
I awoke with a start, my head throbbing. I was tied to a stake in the center of our meeting area. Mother was tied between two taller poles and a huge kettle cooked on terribly hot embers. The chief was there but he allowed the medicine man to lead the procession. All the medicine man did was dance about making noises, waving rattles and throwing powder about. After more than an hour of this, he nodded to the chief.
“We are of Gromsch and none shall threaten that for all. We will remove the foul spirits passed from mother to son or cut out both their hearts.”
And with a nod, another orc began to whip my mother with a cat o’ nine tails. It lasted an eternity but she never flinched, just stared at me with tears running down her face. Finally it was my turn and no expense was spared. A fresh whip was drawn and dipped in oil. *snap* And I screamed. Five more snaps and I could not imagine crying louder, waiting to rip out my own throat from the screams. A dozen more and I was barely conscious, eyes blinded with blood. Ten more lashes and I fell unconscious only to be snapped right back with a horrible burning and loud chanting. The wounds on my back were being splattered with molten iron. No more would I have a human back. I cried and screamed myself bloody raw. I passed out once more, praying I would die rather than be back in this place, among these monsters.
Hey everybody!
Ratchis here! Nemm has been telling me for months now that people have been requesting for me to re-post and eventually finish this (my background for Ratchis of Nephthys - my character in his "Out of the Frying Pan" Aquerra Campaign).
So, here is the first section - I will try to update every few days until everything is up.
I really look forward to questions and comments and Nemm and I will try our best to answer them.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Story of Ratchis
My mother, called Garksh by the tribe, was born in a small hamlet in Derome Delem. Her family were peasants barely able to live off the land and steeped in the ignorance such a station in life usually brings. Their dowry was 3 turnips and a skinny goat. They were not picky when farmers from nearby plots came a’ calling.
The husband chosen was a dull-witted drunkard, born brain-damaged from his own mother’s drinking and whoring. What he lacked in culture and wit he more than compensated for with ox-like strength and white-hot temper. He beat my mother regularly though she was ever the dutiful wife. She was not overly bright herself and had been taught by her mother and pastor that loyalty to one’s husband was the same as loyalty to Ra himself. She would have literally died before leaving on her own volition.
As the years passed, mother had bones broken and her face disfigured from constant pummeling. The beatings had intensified as Deek, her husband, decided that their lack of child was due to mother’s whoredom (having been married when she was 13 and growing up on an isolated farm, this was a dubious claim at best). Deek’s drunkenness grew worse and worse, and finally, he was forced to take mother and leave his community due to his brawling and destruction of property at the local pub. Having heard of the claims of quick riches from the boom towns further inland, Deek set off with mother and all their worldly possessions in a small wagon pulled by an emaciated mule.
After a few weeks on the road, Deek and mother joined with a caravan of pilgrims looking for a new beginning as well. Their trail led into the mountains and all was well until a wolf attack caused a panicked mule to ride off a cliff holding much of the company’s warmest clothes. When the snows came a week later, an uncomfortable, dangerous situation became deadly. The passage became incredibly dangerous. Half the caravan was lost two days later in an avalanche. With the thick snow and plunging temperatures, the party had to take shelter frequently and this is why they were out of food more than a month from civilization.
Ra forgive them, the party did what they had to survive. As the weakest fell, the children died first, they were consumed to keep the rest of the group going. Five weeks later, mother came down out of the mountains. She had survived physically but the person she was, the person I would never know, was gone forever.
She wandered several more days until the smell of an animal cooking on an open fire drew her like a fly to honey. She walked into the armed camp and went to her knees by the fire. Curses of surprise erupted as orcs beat her down before she could grab a morsel. Then they laughed. The sight of her was not anything they had beheld before. She was human but she was much prettier than any they had seen before, the look in her wide eyes spoke of great strength and a warrior’s berserk courage. After a few quick words were exchanged, she was allowed to eat. She had not swallowed her last bite when they were upon her. Most of the tribe knew her that night and not once did she make a sound or appear to even notice what was happening.
She could not understand them, but she could understand what they wanted. She worked 12 hours a day at all manner of chore and never uttered a complaint. For her trouble, she ate table scraps and serviced several tribe members each night. Sometimes two orcs would fight over who would have her first. They never beat her because she always got her job done before someone noticed it needed doing. Eventually the hunters met up with the rest of the tribe and with the medicine man’s blessing she joined the other females. She had never been treated so well in her adult life.
Mother was able to rest the day I was born only because it was a difficult birth that took nearly 14 hours. Several times, hot-headed members of the tribe wanted to cut my mother’s throat to stop her moaning. The chief and medicine man would have none of it, and I was born into the world on a rocky crag, near the end of winter under a full moon. They named me Ratchis, orcish for pale runt.
As was the tradition in our tribe, I suckled at the breast of all the female orcs that were carrying milk. Mother neither paid more nor less attention to my rearing than she did to any other orc suckling. My first two years of existence were by far the most normal, accepted for a time as any young born into the tribe. This quickly came to a halt when I started playing with the other orc children a few months before my third birthday. I was clearly smaller than the others and thus was constantly the favorite target of all. Each day I would be tripped, punched and hit with sticks and stones; the older children would tell me about my mother, my mother the small, diseased, ugly human. I was still too young to understand much of what was said but the tone was unmistakable.
One day, I found myself staring at a leaf for hours, dreaming of what it had seen before my arrival. A playmate had ruined it and I cried and cried for my leaf. *Slap* Blackness and stars fill my vision as I stumble. Two close-fisted blows to the top of my head knocked my face down into the dirt.
“We are orcs!” said a booming voice above me. “We do not cry. I will beat the human taint out of you, or you will die like the pale, pathetic cur you are.”
Those were the last words Gahmkish, the weapon-master of our tribe, said to me for almost ten years. I took the lesson well. Strength was all I needed to make it in this world. Crying was for the weak. Worrying about leaves and flowers was for pathetic fae races and their evil immortality. I was orc and I needed to be strong, no matter how old I had to control my emotions so that I could embrace our greatest assets, hatred and anger. From that day forward, I was quieter but also more vicious. I watched the older boys play and introduced eye-gouging, knee-biting and choke holds into our tussles. Soon, I was the master ruling over the 2 and 3 year olds, beating those that did not contribute to my meals. I drew to me the largest and most aggressive children who shined brightly now that they had a keener mind to guide them.
As I neared my fourth birthday, I passed my mother as I had a hundred times before on my way to the sleep area. Suddenly, she lunged out and grabbed me.
“Gwar, Gwar, Gwar!” she sobbed uncontrollably. And then in a low voice, as other females began to drag me away, “I am so sorry! Love you; do you understand love? I love YOU!”
As I was dragged away to bed I could hear her unintelligible words.
When I reached five, I was the smallest of the children, male or female, but every child my age had a scar or mark or old, faded bruise that earned their fear of me. My day became long, with an endless line of chores all the day through. Eventually, it worked out that I would gather fruit when mother worked the grind, that I gathered wood while mother was stacking and that I brought water and roots for cooking while mother was in the kitchen. Mother was very fast and we worked together well.
Then, after three weeks, she said something I could not understand. With her knowing smile and the obvious good work she did for us, I felt warmth toward her and more than a little curiosity what she was trying to say to me. Our schedule became routine and after months, an amazing week came where. I could understand the words; no, I had been learning dozens of words over these weeks, I could understand the meaning. She spoke of the coming seasons and the hunt. At one point, she told of paying most attention at the killing blow, that was most often the difference between moose for dinner or a dead hunter. She also spoke of many concepts such as “Ra” and “family” and “love” and other things that I did not really understand. She would never force these concepts; just let them fliter though the air like frosted breath.
I noticed through the haze of constant work that many of my playmates were replaced with younger children. During the next winter I recognized in my meat what had to be smaller members of the tribe. I remember that we must be strong, and that we give all that we have, all we ever will be for the tribe. A great hunter by the name of Kurshtah slaid the chief still sleeping in his bed. Many praised Kurshtah for his cunning and none dared challenge him. This is how, right before my 7th year, we came to have a new chief.
More months passed and many skirmishes with a nearby Gnoll tribe left many of the soldiers’ armor and clothing in sore shape. It was a perfect time for mother and son to be cleaning down by the river together.
“Son, what I must say is how terribly sorry I am. You are my burning light but this life is good enough for me but, you deserve, ugh, you deserve the heavens. I had to tell you this and that I love you as much as any mother can love her son. And remember, I am proud of you and proud of who you are. Do not ever forget that you are human. My mind has been clearing for months but I trust such things not so I am saying it all in a crazy rush at one..” and she fell silent as a club crashed down heavily upon her head, knocking her to the ground in a heap.
I attacked the warrior’s knees trying to find a spot to bite deeply. A harsh stomp sent me back to the ground, seeing the stars .. then black.
I awoke with a start, my head throbbing. I was tied to a stake in the center of our meeting area. Mother was tied between two taller poles and a huge kettle cooked on terribly hot embers. The chief was there but he allowed the medicine man to lead the procession. All the medicine man did was dance about making noises, waving rattles and throwing powder about. After more than an hour of this, he nodded to the chief.
“We are of Gromsch and none shall threaten that for all. We will remove the foul spirits passed from mother to son or cut out both their hearts.”
And with a nod, another orc began to whip my mother with a cat o’ nine tails. It lasted an eternity but she never flinched, just stared at me with tears running down her face. Finally it was my turn and no expense was spared. A fresh whip was drawn and dipped in oil. *snap* And I screamed. Five more snaps and I could not imagine crying louder, waiting to rip out my own throat from the screams. A dozen more and I was barely conscious, eyes blinded with blood. Ten more lashes and I fell unconscious only to be snapped right back with a horrible burning and loud chanting. The wounds on my back were being splattered with molten iron. No more would I have a human back. I cried and screamed myself bloody raw. I passed out once more, praying I would die rather than be back in this place, among these monsters.
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