Post by tankferret on Apr 10, 2006 5:39:45 GMT -5
My story starts at my first memory. One which still haunts me to this very day. I was four, maybe five, when an orcish raiding party came to my village. They murdered my family, raped my two older sisters and mother, and bore me into slavery. I can still smell the acrid oder of burning flesh, hear the screams of my mother and cries of the villagers as they were slaughtered. For this I hold no quarter for any orc.
By the time I was, I think, ten I was scarred from daily beatings. I was made to work in mines with the other captives day and night. For years we slaved, with little food and water. Just barely enough to keep us from starvation. I still prayed to the Gods to deliver me from this hell. Yet none answered.
Years had gone by and few of us were left. The orcs had replaced the dead with fresh slaves from other raids. The beatings had become less frequent due to my obedience. I had made a friend of an old man by the name of Dregan. I had always seen him around the pen, but never talked to him until recently. None of us talked really. Most due to the sheer terror inspired by the cruelty of the guards. Some due to fear caused by those of us who would betray one another for food or other favors. Dregan came to me.
He had told me that he was once a scholar. He was captured when he was a young man during an attack on a caravan to Waterdeep. I could tell that the old man did not have many years left in him, and he did not. The next winter he died. Before this happened he taught me how to read and write, and do simple mathematics.
One morning, some years later, I awoke to the sounds of battle. I alone dared to look over the jagged metal wall that made up our pen and saw my heart's desire, orcs being slaughtered. Men, dwarfs and elves were attacking the mine. An orc spotted me and yelled out for someone to kill the slaves. Those of us who understood this orcish tongue cowered in the corners of the pen. And orc opened the gates to the pen and two followed him. The began to slaughter us. Something in me awoke that day. Something terrible. I charged one of the orcs and drew his belt dagger and shoved it up into his neck, braining him. I stole his axe, yet was too weak to lift it. I cursed the orc who had noticed me as he charged, sword held high. I had accepted my fate when an arrow pierced his skull and killed him. I felt a pain in my back and my world left me.
When I awoke I was bandaged and laying on a warm bed. I had a blanket that smelled like fresh flowers and was free of flees. An elven maid came to me with hot food and sweet juice. After I took my first taste of food and sip of juice I dropped it on the floor and cried.
I spent the summer in that elven hospice gaining my strength sparring with the guards and sharpening my mind in the library. And it was in that very library that a noble man came to me. His name was Lord Galen Arsmithe and he told me that my parents were the rulers of the village I was born in and he knew them well. I found out that I was seventeen years old. He offered me a position in his militia as an apprentice line sergeant, and that it was the least he could do. And so I took him up on his offer.
I served in his army for the next four years eventually becoming a company Man-At-Arms. I made sure that orders were followed and drank with the men to keep and eye on moral. I grew tired of war and of the suffering of men, and so paid my debts and went my way. What does the future hold for me? This I do not know. I do know that it is mine now.
By the time I was, I think, ten I was scarred from daily beatings. I was made to work in mines with the other captives day and night. For years we slaved, with little food and water. Just barely enough to keep us from starvation. I still prayed to the Gods to deliver me from this hell. Yet none answered.
Years had gone by and few of us were left. The orcs had replaced the dead with fresh slaves from other raids. The beatings had become less frequent due to my obedience. I had made a friend of an old man by the name of Dregan. I had always seen him around the pen, but never talked to him until recently. None of us talked really. Most due to the sheer terror inspired by the cruelty of the guards. Some due to fear caused by those of us who would betray one another for food or other favors. Dregan came to me.
He had told me that he was once a scholar. He was captured when he was a young man during an attack on a caravan to Waterdeep. I could tell that the old man did not have many years left in him, and he did not. The next winter he died. Before this happened he taught me how to read and write, and do simple mathematics.
One morning, some years later, I awoke to the sounds of battle. I alone dared to look over the jagged metal wall that made up our pen and saw my heart's desire, orcs being slaughtered. Men, dwarfs and elves were attacking the mine. An orc spotted me and yelled out for someone to kill the slaves. Those of us who understood this orcish tongue cowered in the corners of the pen. And orc opened the gates to the pen and two followed him. The began to slaughter us. Something in me awoke that day. Something terrible. I charged one of the orcs and drew his belt dagger and shoved it up into his neck, braining him. I stole his axe, yet was too weak to lift it. I cursed the orc who had noticed me as he charged, sword held high. I had accepted my fate when an arrow pierced his skull and killed him. I felt a pain in my back and my world left me.
When I awoke I was bandaged and laying on a warm bed. I had a blanket that smelled like fresh flowers and was free of flees. An elven maid came to me with hot food and sweet juice. After I took my first taste of food and sip of juice I dropped it on the floor and cried.
I spent the summer in that elven hospice gaining my strength sparring with the guards and sharpening my mind in the library. And it was in that very library that a noble man came to me. His name was Lord Galen Arsmithe and he told me that my parents were the rulers of the village I was born in and he knew them well. I found out that I was seventeen years old. He offered me a position in his militia as an apprentice line sergeant, and that it was the least he could do. And so I took him up on his offer.
I served in his army for the next four years eventually becoming a company Man-At-Arms. I made sure that orders were followed and drank with the men to keep and eye on moral. I grew tired of war and of the suffering of men, and so paid my debts and went my way. What does the future hold for me? This I do not know. I do know that it is mine now.