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 Irving’s Journal

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Confessor_Tom

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Posts : 131
Join date : 2013-01-08
Location : England, UK

Character sheet
Character Name: People call him "Varg"
Town: He walks until he feels tired

PostSubject: Irving’s Journal   Fri Feb 01, 2013 9:02 pm

Irving’s Journal
(What follows is the contents of a Half-Orc sells word’s journal, it was found under the plate armour of him as he lay riddled with Orc arrows not far from a Orcish encampment; he was found in a seated position with empty health potions around him and a still wet quill in his hand; his journal has become a cult hit with writers as historians alike, this is his story.)

I am Irving Halzaar and I don’t know who I am, I want to find answers to myself and my past but… this is going to take all I have; and maybe my sword arm too.

My mother was called Rose, she was a maid to a small manor house when I was a child I remember hiding in the nursery next to her quarters as she worked during the day; peeking my head over the window panel to see her in the garden hanging out robes and breeches only to duck as she looked up and smiled.

I could only wander the halls of the manor at night you see, I am half Orc born of an Orc father and human mother, but shunned by both races.

For years of my child hood I spent in that manor house learning what I could from the evening lessons my mother would do with me, from simple writing to how to act around my elders; especially the lord of the house who would often scowl as I explored his grounds.

My mother just wanted the best for me but knew my life wouldn’t be easy or straight forward, she’d comfort me when the other children called me names or bullied me; I remember my time as a child pretty rough not really knowing who or what I was.

At sixteen I wasn’t any different, my mother became ill and so I found work at the local lumber mill chopping wood to earn enough gold to scrap us by; but not long after my eighteenth my mother was taken from me by frost during the winter.

She was gone the only person in the world who loved me for who I was not what I was, after her death I sold off all mine and her worldly possession and bought the cheapest set of armour and weapons I could get; once geared up I set of out of my home town not quite sure where I’d go to.

After a few weeks I had done some basic mercenary stuff, riding with caravans and picking up tips from the other mercs I’d become efficient at killing, it almost seemed it was something I was born to do; the lonely nights suited me as I preferred to live alone with no judgement only blood and the sword.

I soon got a contract to help quell some Orc bandits, the employer hesitated at first saying “I know how you bunch are killing your own kind” it’s then I realised I was part Orc, and joined the band attacking the Orcs in no time; I saw a opportunity to find out where I had come from and who was my father.

My mother never told me much about my father other than he was a petty leader in a Orc stronghold, he’d met my mother when she was kidnapped of a small camp trying to settle in their lands; she’d been taken prisoner and given to my father as a gift for his loyalty and prowess in battle. She didn’t go into much detail of how they got close, but it sound as though he freed her in good faith over everything.

She remembered his clan name though Halzaar, and that is all I needed when I had taken one of those Orc bandits hostage; I must admit he lasted a few hour before I stuck a arrow in his knee then he spilled everything he knew about clan Halzaar; he’d swore that a clan of that name existed in the Ashland regions and he didn’t know anything else… either way the contract was dead not alive and I stuck him like a pig.

After a few more contracts I decided to take my information and find this Ashland camp, with supplies I head west towards the plains and then on to the ash lands, picking up more info as I progressed from inn to inn; after a while the inns stopped and I was wondering in shear dust storms and endless hills of grey powder until I sighted smoke.

As I climbed a hill I see the circular shape of a Orc encampment and was almost beckoned by the sound of war drums; like out of a dream I wondered closer to the camp and possibly my father; to extract information and even acceptance?
Once I got within about 500 meters of the main gates a group of Orcs ran upon me screaming and balling, once they calmed I told them I was looking for a clan Halzaar; they immediately stopped and called me inside.

I was taken to a modestly sized yurt in the middle ring of the camp where a scarred Orc stared me down, after a few tense minutes the Orc spat these words to me “you come boy, for me?” I shook my head slowly; still contemplating my strategy here and decided to be bold declaring that I was looking for an Orc who had bedded my human mother 18 years ago that I was seeking answers.

Once the last words left my lips the brutish Orc did nearly fall flat over, but his astonishment was quickly met with disgust; he declared me unfit to wear the name Halzaar and that he had held my mother as a slave a trophy from a raid, he boasted that he’d played with her frail body until he’d raped her over and over until he released her as she’d began to bore him.

He continued to laugh as he said that it was a good thing she was thrown out as if I was born here he would be exiled, I sat for a few minutes digesting the information; this… this beast was supposed to be my father?!?!? He was supposed to comfort me and accept me for who I am… But yet again this is not a book, this is life.

I pulled my sword and pierced his black heart, thinking of my mother’s suffering when I did; he was unarmed who gives a fuck? This thing wasn’t worthy of honour or respect; once the orc laid dead I turned tail and ran out of the yurt and out the gate I would have been out quicker if it wasn’t for those orc… arrows but I gave them the slip hiding in this hallowed tree near some ruins.

I hope now… that my mother is in peace... I did it I found where I came from (the bottom of this page is coated in blood spots) I’m out of potions now, doesn’t matter…. By the smell these wounds are going gammy… I’m coming mother… I’ll be there soon….
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