FamilyMauri had always known he was a foundling. He was fast, but he could never run far. He grew sick of bright sun. His mother did her best to protect him. When he tried to wrestle with the other boys, he broke his arm. He was different. He had always known where he had come from. His parents had tried to set up a colony on their land. They had been invaders, therefore righteous to slaughter. But the Ean-Ratk had found him, and asked of each other "What is the crime of this one? What has this creature done to us?" And so, he was kept, and raised as one of their kin. As one of the proudest clans of orc.
Though he were never to become a true warrior, a man of Ean-Ratk, he had grown among them, and was raised to battle. Knowledge of war came from the gods, and denying their wisdom from a child, any child, would have been a blasphemy. So he knew how to carry an axe, to wield a sword, and load an orc bow. He could put on, carry and ride to battle in an armour. Given a forge and a and a workshop
NightIt was so dark outside, the windows of the apartment looked like they had been painted black from the outside. Alesha spread concealer on her lips. "Why don't you just use lipstick?" Marya asked, and Alesha smiled at her through the mirror. "It doesn't look good on me, dear. I don't have pretty lips like you." Marya looked at her feet. She had tried to paint her toenails yesterday, she had wanted to use red, but Alesha had told her to put light green. She said it suit her skin tone better. She knew these things. "I don't have pretty lips." She felt a cold, bony hand pet her hair. "Yes you do. Are you ready?" She shrugged, and started looking for her shoes.
She had never learned to walk in the pink high heels. "Alesha, wait", she begged when the pale, dark-haired girl was almost out of the door. "You should really practice that. That isn't cute." She advised, with warmth and affection glowing from her voice. Marya knew she was frustrated with her, but she knew Alesha sincerely cared for
Seeking SolaceThe lush, green trees sighed as a warm summer breeze blew through them. Marcellus stepped down from the bus with a heavy bag on his shoulder, and let his eyes sweep the view before him. He could have gotten a car, but he wanted to walk. The town of Whitting was a small, beautiful place, far from the capital. Marcellus felt like he had stepped into an era of the past, in a place of innocence nothing could mar or corrupt.The houses scattered around, resting on the round hills looked old, they had been lived in for generations. And between them crawled a dirt road patched with the shadows of the oaks bending above them. This was not the kind of a place he would have expected a guy like Albert to come from.
The road leading out of the town was long, and the day was hot. Marcellus didn't mind it, he had always been a walker, even before the army and its marches. Even as a young boy, long before moving to the city, before finding himself in what his mother called 'bad company'. The fields sp