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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ratchis" data-source="post: 896791" data-attributes="member: 5004">Part IIMother tended my disfigured back for weeks, often crying over my wounded form but never once uttering a word in her native tongue. I know she imagined the worst if she were caught again. I cried from the pain, I cried at the mocking of the other children and I cried over the loss of the mother I had known for a few short months. In less than a month, I was sent back to my chores.One evening, I was awoken by a commotion in the camp. Two of the younger male orcs were squaring off against one another. Schmarsh turned his back on the other orc and yelled, “Here is my back! Attack me from behind as you are only good for!”The other, Hortesh, ran in front of Schmarsh, weapon drawn. He plunged his axe into the ground and shouted back, “I am without weapon, prove your skill and strike me down while you have the chance! We know your favorite prey are the females and the young. They only hurt you a little!”And then they growled, swaying back and forth, only a few feet from one another. Before my eyes could follow, Schmarsh had his sword drawn, and at the same instance Hortesh went for his axe, throwing dirt into Schmarsh’s face as he brought his weapon to bear. For almost a minute, the two brutes attacked each other viciously and skillfully. Eventually, they both lay dying, their eyes darting about in fear. The chief stepped forward and slit both their throats, claiming the best items from the dead orcs for himself. It went around the camp that Schmarsh was unhappy that Hortesh always defeated him in foot races.Life was never easy in the rough, craggy peaks we called home but the weeks melted into months as I lost myself in the mindless routine of hard labor. Then the beatings began. The young orc males of the tribe were always encouraged to play rough and fight over what we wanted to get us used to the constant fighting that awaited us in adulthood. I had always done well against orcs my own age but apparently the chief had other ideas. Starting shortly after my 8th year, he encouraged the older children, even the near-men of 12 years of age, to have at me. He mocked my pale skin when a good, strong orc can only have swarthy coloring, and he had the children mock my mother causing my temper to get the best of me. Soon, I found myself in a constant state of exhaustion where life consisted of chores, beatings and never enough sleep. My mother’s eyes were always sad now.That following autumn we had several rough skirmishes with the nearby gnoll tribe, but, as it should be, we only lost a few of the old and weak tribe members. It was during this time that my 9th year came, and my first rite of manhood took place. Young orcs below this age was not allowed to view the ceremony so I didn’t know what to expect. All of the male orcs of age stood in two rows with the medicine man and chief at the far end. Nervously, I noticed that almost all the orcs held sticks and they were smiling at me, which was a definite first. The medicine man beckoned for me to come forward and I did. The first blow fell as I passed the third or fourth pair of orcs. I knew to run was to show weakness, and so I just walked forward slowly, letting the blows roll off me as so many before. By the time I had reached the chief and holy man, I could feel blood flowing freely from my nose and a cut on my back. “Our chief believes your human pinkness will cause you to fail. I believe you have the strength needed. Do not move or make a sound or you will have failed and be looked upon as a woman of the tribe, good only for lowly tasks,” the medicine man said to me, drawing a long, sharp knife from his belt.He placed the cold blade an inch above my right brow.“Grumsh, who has sacrificed his eye so that his people may see, know now that Ratchis shall never forget your sacrifice.”And with that, the knife flashed down my brow and across my eyelid stopping an inch below my eye. I did not move. I did not make a sound. I had passed the first test. Standing blinded by blood and not knowing if I would see out of my right eye again, I felt intensely proud and honored. This feeling easily doubled as the chief handed me my first hunting knife, which I hung prominently from my belt.Though my life was never short on menial labor and harsh beatings, I was occasionally brought with hunting parties as a scout. I took to the job easily, and in only a few months I was brought out more frequently than orcs two or three years older than me. Moving far enough ahead of the others so that I couldn't hear their movement made me realize how stifling the tribe was. During one hunt I was almost a mile ahead of the party, I went ahead further and further a field the more often I scouted, leaning against an old pine that had known many winters, when a small doe crossed my path. I should have killed it myself or steered it back toward the hunting party or, at worst, followed it until an opportunity reared. I did none of these things. I felt the intricate lines of the old bark of the pine on my shoulder. The morning air was so pure and sweet. Watching it drink from a small stream I was overjoyed and horribly sad at the same time. It was so beautiful and so free.  I then knew how suffocating the tribe really was.  I knew I was different and that my brothers would cut me open and hang my innards from a wall sooner than recognize my uniqueness.I wandered away, swimming in thoughts long lain dormant and repressed before they could interfere with my business of doing the right thing for the tribe. I wondered if others in the tribe had had similar thoughts. I thought about mother and what must be trapped in her head, and I wept. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried, but it was as though a cork had been pried aside, just for a moment, and the truth of my life in the tribe was revealed long enough to rend my heart. My vision was blurred with tears as I continued to climb along, wishing that I could just keep going and find a new life, or if nothing else that I would fall from the ravine down to the rocks below so that this mess could be at an end. My wallowing in self-pity was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of the hunting band. They sounded awful jolly, laughing and coarsely calling to one another. I collected myself and made my way in their direction. As I grew closer, I heard what sounded like an animal in distress. I hurried my pace down the ravine, entering a small, steep clear by the stream. My brethren stood around a doe, laughing and slapping each other while tossing the occasional rock at the poor creature. The doe had apparently been chased and fallen from higher up in the ravine. Both of her back legs were badly broken, one showing the bone. The entertainment was apparently coming from the fact that when the orcs threw rocks at it, it would struggle forward uselessly, spewing blood with its heavy breath.I couldn’t take this. I shoved one hunter out of the way as I dived for the poor animal. I grabbed the top of its head with my left hand and its chin with my right and pulled, ignoring the sound of its neck breaking as best I could. There was a momentary silence and then the orc I had pushed aside delivered some hasty kicks. The leader of the hunting band laughed at me, and the others followed his lead, the kicks losing their ferocity. I was forced to carry most of the burden of the beast as well as clean it and cook it for the tribe when we returned. -------------------------------I was still very young, but I had finally accepted that I was different from the rest of the tribe and that this was not an awful thing like I had been taught. I had handled weapons since I was a small child, but weapons training became more formalized at this point. The weapon master never spoke to me directly, but I learned much by following the others. Of course, physical punishment was swift and harsh when mistakes were made. I was good with a small sword as well as a spear, and my shooting did me no shame. When I started throwing spears though, the older orcs took notice. I was taken as a servant of Tarschkur, probably second only to the weapon master and chief in skill.On my 11th birthday, I received the mark of the wyrm, a serpent-like, black tattoo going from my right wrist, up my arm, across my shoulders and back and down my left arm, wrapping around my left wrist. “Let this mark of life tell all you are Darksh, and that your blood has seen the beast of vengeance that will someday rent our enemies asunder,” the medicine man intoned after my ordeal.We traveled very far and very quickly to something I knew was important but had no idea what. Eventually we came to a round, flat plateau in the mountains near a large cave mouth. We set up camp at the outskirts of this flat area. A day later a different group of orcs, wearing reds and browns instead of our greens and yellows, showed on the far side of the clearing. Challenges were shouted from both sides, weapons being waved back and forth. I grabbed the nearest axe expecting to know real battle for the first time. I was terribly excited and scared to my bone. When I thought we would charge each other, my chief walked forward and clasped arms with a similar looking orc of obvious high standing among the other tribe. They spoke for a time and this new tribe set up camp on the opposite edge of the circle from us. They were the Alshtugar and the others warned me to beware their evil magics. Their medicine man was naked and tattooed as a skeleton from head to toe; he sat mumbling and rocking to and fro, incense burning on his bald head. I was scared and amused to note that he made our medicine man more than a little nervous. Before morning came two of our warriors and one of theirs had fallen to challenges. I could not understand why we fought one another when we should be fighting our mutual enemies, the gnolls to the north.The next day, within an hour of one another, two more tribes arrived. The first were the Gutarsh, wielders of fine looking bows. They wore purple and black and obviously had some problems with the Alshtugar since they opened fire on them upon sight. Over a dozen orcs were injured on all sides and two Gutarsh lay dead though no wounds were visible. The Gutarsh cursed the Alshtugar medicine man, but he remained impassive and eventually relative calm was restored, with the Gutarsh camped on our side of the ridge. The second tribe literally trumpeted their arrival, which seemed to annoy all the other tribes. This group was larger than any other single tribe and consisted of flag bearers, trumpeters and long spearmen. Their colors were brown and gray, and they were known as the Caligshtun. They set themselves up in the middle of the plateau, their fancy pavilion tents causing more than one suggestion to burn them down.The tension never left the air but an uneasy truce was obviously in effect. Before dawn of the next morning, there was a commotion in the assembled camps as armored individuals emerged from the cave. The real commotion was caused by the 10’ tall ogre regaled in battle armor with a huge spiked club casually leaning against one of his mammoth shoulders. As these strange orcs came fully into the clearing I could see that they were like me. They were definitely half-breeds, and they were big. They all wore chain mail and breastplates and wielded two-handed swords and crossbows and pole arms. It was an impressive sight, and I was not the only one impressed. Not one orc moved to challenge them. These twelve heavily armed and armored orcs with their ogre held in check hundreds of their pureblooded brethren, at least for the moment.“Brothers, I am glad to see you all. I am Scartesh, chieftain of what remains of the Kurgish. We were ambushed by another tribe that is here right now.”And with that, a great murmuring went up and several spears from the Caligshtun were flung. This huge warrior blocked these weapons easily with his shield while the rest of his retinue remained calm. I found their countenance to be much more frightening than the most fearsome battle cry.“Korsch! Face me Korsch!” the half-orc leader yelled.A yelp from the Caligshtun camp answered back, and in the mayhem that spread among that group, it was clear their chief, Korsch, had had his throat slit in the night.A large orc with a larger axe rushed toward Scartesh.“I am Gutar, son of Korsch! Can you not see that I am not afraid of you?”With a casual flick of his index finger, Scartesh brought down the face-guard on his helmet, drew his heavy-bladed sword and quickly moved forward. The fight was done in a few seconds with the younger orc bleeding out the last of his life at Scartesh’s feet. Several orcs that were near Gutar began to rush forward but were stopped in their tracks by the roar of the ogre, waving its club over its head.“I will lead this tribe now,” Scartesh announced, and most of the tribe bowed their heads.Messages were sent between tribes and the rest of this day was spent discussing and cursing what had occurred. During the dinner hour, Scartesh quieted the assembly to announce, quite casually, that our hunting grounds were not organized properly and that he would tell the other tribes where and when to hunt and how much could be taken out of a given area. I have rarely seen my tribe silenced by the actions of others but for the second time in one day, Scartesh managed such a feat. That night, when clouds passed over the moon, we skulked away from the council meeting like thieves in the night.“We are Grumpsh’s chosen and will not be dictated to by that thish-toag. We will hunt in the northlands.”A murmur rippled through the tribe as out chieftain had just announced we would be living off the land held by our worst enemy during the winter months when the northlands are nearly bare.to be continued. . .</blockquote>

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