My name is Zadhura You don't know me My blood is a little mixed As you can see I was born conceived in violence and raised In Waymoot a stray Once I came of age I went my own way No Parents so-to-speak
My scars sing no tales of bravery and valor No war stories of heroism and honour They're a reminder of the shame I must carrybear wield For the half of me responsible for the many it's killed The settlements pillaged and the homes countrymen attacked The innocent homesteads and farms ransacked
'Orcs love their scars' is something I've been told But I don't. I rather hate them. If I may be so bold I'm uncomfortable in my own skin I cannot change the state I was born in I didn't understand why they'd mark my flesh so I cried and I begged them to let me go They didn't see a little girl, too young to comprehend They saw a monster in the making, who's flesh they'll rend They'll teach her what she is, punish her for her ancestry blood! Teach her to be thankful she was abandoned rather than drowned Kick her! Beat her! Drag her through the mud! She -must- know her place! Know the crimes of her race! She is reviled and feared, hated, heckled and jeered She is an abomination to be abhored
..But she also has everything to offer, through her own means. She has thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams. She keeps them close because they give her hope to be.