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[Chris]

Originally written by Jim

Rain poured unceasingly down on the small shack, causing water to leak steadily through the thatched roof. The shack was pathetically constructed but it was the best Cora could do by herself. She didn’t dare ask for help from anyone in town.

She chose not to focus on the leaks in the roof or the ever present threat of its collapse under the weight of the maddening wind. It would be a cold night, despite her best efforts to keep the hearth stoked. Her son, Doran, was now old enough to help her gather wood but she would not allow it. She insisted that his health would be in grave danger in such bitter wind and rain but privately she knew that this was not true. Doran was remarkably healthy and seemed to grow larger and more robust every day. She couldn’t help but think that he looked at least twice his six years.

Cora’s real fear was not for Doran’s health, but his discovery. She did not want him to wander to town in his search for wood or provisions, nor did she desire a passing townsman to look upon the child as he marched through the wooded hills. Cora was well aware of the stigma that a bastard child would carry and she had no intention of permitting any of the consequences of her mistakes to come to bear on her son.

Cora was a fierce woman, strong enough to survive the brutal rape of the marauders and dedicated enough to see the child through to birth on the small, foolish hope that it could be the product of her husband, Dominick. Dominick had died in his vain attempt to protect Cora’s honor on that evil night and she had prayed every night of her pregnancy that the child be his. Her early labor and the resulting child brought the heartbreaking revelation that her prayers had fallen on deaf ears.

Doran had grown quickly and each year made the stain of his wicked conception more clear. Cora knew when he was born that she should have killed him and claimed a miscarriage. Few would have doubted her and those that did would not have blamed her, knowing the terrible experience that would likely haunt Cora until her death. Cora was hardly the only member of the town that had been affected by the marauders assault. Nearly everyone had lost close friends or relations. Cora though, as the only surviving rape victim, bore a greater burden than most and the town’s sympathies were never in short supply for her.

Those sympathies, however, did have their limit and Cora was well aware that the child would bring the dark memory of the marauders back not only for her, but for the entire town. In addition, the child was an abomination. Cora knew this from the moment she beheld his perverted face. This was no child of man and the town would not permit it to live. Cora could not escape this fact…but she could not escape the eyes of the child either. She had picked up the knife that night with the firm resolve that had characterized her since childhood, the resolve of her father, but the steady, powerful gaze of the child would not leave her. The oversized eyes of the abomination bore into her and clutched desperately, longingly at her soul. Her grasp on the knife began to weaken and, for the first time in her life, she felt her resolve begin to melt. Weeping, she dropped the knife and pulled the child to her chest, calling him Doran, after her father.

Cora’s troubles had only multiplied as Doran grew. It was difficult to hide the infant in town but it became impossible once he grew enough to walk. His strength nearly matched hers by the time he could stand and she was unable to build or buy a crib that could hold him. It became clear that she would have to leave town or face the death of both herself and her son.

The wind continued to blow as Cora packed the poorly constructed crates. Her most recent trips to town had been disturbing. The townspeople, usually cheery and supportive, had begun to appear withdrawn and suspicious of Cora. She could hear their whispers and feel their stares. They suspected, possibly even knew, the truth. At first Cora refused to believe. She had been careful to keep Doran out of sight and none had asked questions. Eventually, however, she came to understand that Doran’s discovery was inevitable. If they did not know now, they would soon and then they would come for her. She was not afraid to face their wrath. The scars of her trauma had never healed and few nights passed where she did not wonder if death might be a blessing. She knew, though, that she would not be the target of the villagers. They would come for Doran; and that she could not allow. It was time to leave.

The crates were packed and the sun was about to set when Cora left to meet the wagon. She had agreed to meet the driver in town and lead him up to the shack where they would load the supplies for their journey south. She had left Doran at the shack to make the final preparations. He was still quite young but he was capable enough to handle his chores. Observing his size and maturity, no one would believe that he was only six years old. Despite his proven capability, however, Cora could not help being nervous. She did not like to leave her child alone this long. She had hoped to return to the shack before dark but the wagon was running late. This was hardly unusual in this part of the country. The roads into town were terrible and many wagon drivers found it took several hours longer than usual to reach their destination. Nonetheless, Cora felt uneasy. If the sun set and there was no sign of the wagon, she would leave word with Horace, the innkeeper, and return to Doran. Just as she was prepared to venture to the inn, however, she saw dust rising just over the hill. The wagon was approaching…


Barak Kar withdrew his sword from the wagon driver’s chest and chuckled slightly at the last, weak cry the man made before his body crumpled to the ground.

“Split up the goods! Anybody hides anything and I’ll eat your heart!” he shouted to the crew. This driver had been a welcome surprise. They had camped here earlier in the day, planning to hit the village at nightfall when one of the humans in their party, Derik, had noticed the wagon approaching. They had been giddy at the prospect of some early violence. They had been on the road for weeks and hadn’t eaten anything other than what they could forage. Over half the party was comprised of battle hardened Orcs and a steady diet of vegetables had made them increasingly more agitated for real food. The fury with which the group had attacked the wagon, however, told Barak Kar that food had not been what his men had truly hungered for. As they aggressively divided the contents of the wagon, Kar realized that this meager ambush would hardly slake their thirst for battle. There was no need to wait, even to gather the goods from the wagon. Anything worth having would be in the village.
“Drop that shit!” he barked, “Get the mounts, we’re going now!”
With yelps and roars of approval, they quickly yanked the horses from the woods and galloped down the road toward town, raising a small storm of dust in their wake.

As they crested the hill and began the charge down, Kar quickly evaluated the scene. The town was comprised of two rows of buildings, mostly well constructed wooded shelters. There were no fortifications, meaning that there would be little resistance from the occupants. His war party was comprised of a little over twenty men and orcs making this an easy but satisfying challenge. He signaled his lieutenant, Kulk, to take the second street. With a roar, Kulk tore from the party followed by roughly half of the group and they poured down the grassy hill. Kar reached the village first and met his first victim as the man ran from his shop to investigate the noise. Kar’s blade split the man’s head with a powerful underhand swing. He reached the center of the town and commanded his men to dismount and begin to invade the buildings, where the townspeople had begun to barricade themselves. He was about to join when he noticed a woman and her husband running frantically up the hill. He would have ignored them but something appeared out of place. Closer scrutiny revealed that the man running with the woman was no man at all. The color of the skin and the outline of the body were off somehow. Could it be that this woman was accompanied by a young orc? The possibility of such misogyny was too delicious for Kar’s sense of humor to ignore. He spurred his horse and gave chase.

He quickly overtook them and dismounted. The orc boy, who still didn’t look quite right, bravely (foolishly?) charged him. Kar met the boy’s charge with a swift blow to the head that dropped him to the ground. The boy subdued, Kar looked to the woman. Recognition flashed through his brain but he couldn’t quite understand why. He knew that they had raided this town before but it had been years ago and most of the women had been killed. Realization came a moment later. The deep hatred and anguish that blasted from the woman’s eyes blended with the image of the curious boy to craft a delicious truth. Kar smiled wide and began to laugh.
“Looks like I left you a little memory of our time together. He seems as fond of you as I was.”

This was too much for the woman. She screamed and lunged with the kind of strength that endows a person who doesn’t fear death. For a moment, it seemed as though she might force Kar off his balance but he regained himself and slammed her to the ground. When she came for him again, he met her with his blade and unsealed her belly. Her charge carried her straight to the hilt of the sword and he pulled it up with all his strength, lifting her off the ground in the process. Looking over her shoulder he could see that the boy had risen to his feet again and held a knife. The horror in his eyes revealed that his attack had been stunted by the sight of his mother’s death. Kar let the woman’s lifeless body slide from his sword without taking his eyes from the boy.

“The bitch is dead boy. It’s time you met your father”

Following a day of stunned silence, Doran’s hunger began to overtake his fear and heartbreak. The smell of the meat seemed to tear at his stomach. Cautiously, and with his head low, he approached the leader, the monster that had proclaimed itself his father.

“May..May I have some meat sir…”

Kar backhanded the boy so hard that his vision went black for a few moments. When it cleared, Doran found himself on the ground looking up. He could hear the others laughing just a few yards away.

“What’s your name, whelp?” The beast demanded.

“D.. D.. Doran..” he squeaked.

Barak Kar placed a foot on Doran’s chest. The weight squeezed off his breath and seemed just a hair from crushing his ribs.

“Doran is dead, boy” spat Kar, “You are Barak Tul, son of Barak Kar. If you want food, you’ll have to take it. If you want anything, ever again, you’ll have to get used to killing whoever’s got it. That bitch that fucked my sword yesterday was the last person that will ever give you anything for free.”

He glared at the boy for a moment longer before he let him up. Doran stood and looked at the men around the fire. Their glares seemed to invite him to try and take their food. He approached and made a swift grab for the meat on the spit. He was thrown quickly to the ground and took the first of many beatings. He was thrown finally at the edge of the fire where he felt as though he need never rise again. His life was over. He rolled over in dejection and pain. He would have stayed there except that he found himself staring at Barak Kar. The creature’s sword was resting against his huge body, blood still darkened the iron. The thought of where that blood had last been ignited a fire in Doran’s chest and he felt a powerful rage grip his body and mind. His hand reached almost instinctively for the prodding stick that rested in the fire. He rose with startling speed and plunged the stick through the eye of one of the humans that had been beating him. His scream matched that of the wounded man in both volume and anger as he spun and threw himself at the knees of another man. Before the man had reached the ground the boy was crawling upwards, fighting fiercely through the resisting limbs of the surprised man. Doran’s hands tore viciously at the man’s face and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Finally, he was yanked from the man, his limbs still thrashing, attempting to reach and destroy anything he could. He was thrust against the trunk of a tree and he found himself face to face with another of the orcs. The beast had his sword raised and was about to execute the boy when he was knocked violently to the ground. Barak Kar stood over the orc, his body daring him to mount a challenge. The orc squirmed away and Kar turned to face the boy. He scanned him carefully before his face cracked a brief smile. He said,

“Welcome home” and turned to tend to the wounded in the party.
The boy collapsed, exhausted. Barak Kar was no shaman, but he was correct on one matter; Doran was thoroughly dead. Before he succumbed to a battle weary sleep, the first of his life, Barak Tul swore revenge for his mother and his childhood.

Sixteen year old Barak Tul observed the town at the bottom of the hill, mentally recording every detail. His father had been misinformed about this place. It was well fortified. If they were lucky, they might break through the palisade gate but they were likely to lose half their party to the archers that were hidden in guarded positions along the wall. Even breaching the gate was no guarantee of success. There were likely men at arms within the walls and their party had limited ability to respond to the archers, who would probably remain in position to fire upon them even inside the wall.

Barak Tul began to draw several alternate plans for taking the town, including night attacks, secret entry, or assaulting the walls with fire. None however, seemed plausible. He would have to report to his father that the town could not be taken; it was simply to well defended. He did not look forward to this task. His father would not accept that their party could not take whatever town they wished. Barak Kar was not a fool, but his pride was enormous and his hunger for battle had been growing for weeks. Barak Tul knew full well that if Kar could not attack the city, he would take his anger out on his son. Dejected, Tul stood and began the walk back to the camp.

Along the way, a terrible idea came into his head. Why must he tell his father that the town could not be taken? Why must he bear the burden of his father’s hubris? As he walked his anger grew. It would take little to make his father believe that the town could be conquered. They would attack at nightfall if Barak Tul brought back a favorable report. As he approached camp, Tul’s anger hardened into resolve. Perhaps tonight he might finally fulfill his promise to his mother…

As the war party descended upon the village, Barak Tul held his mount back. In their battle lust, none of the party noticed him. He watched in righteous satisfaction as the town’s archers thinned the group. The party’s ram broke the gate quicker than Tul had expected and they poured through the gate. Before they entered, Tul could see the moonlight glinting off the armor of the soldiers that he knew would await his comrades.

Nearly two hours later, Barak Tul saw a solitary figure retreat from the town and run up the hill towards him. He did not need to wait for the moon to reveal the identity of the sole survivor. Only his father could have been strong enough to survive and smart enough to retreat. He did not notice Tul until he was nearly upon him. At first the look upon his father’s face was one of relief. Before he could say anything, however, he took in Barak Tul’s appearance. Seeing that his son was clean and unblemished, Kar understood the betrayal.

“If you wanted me, boy, you should have said so. You didn’t have to send the others to their destruction.” Kar said this with all the regret of one that had lost a useful packhorse.

“Oh, but father,” responded Tul, his voice growing thick with hate, “they stood between me and what I wanted.”

“You could have led them, they would have followed…”

“Fuck your war bitches! I wanted your death, not your motley tribe!” Barak Tul was swinging his axe before he finished shouting…[url][/url][url][/url]