Thorcel's story

Thorcel, Half-Orc Barbarian

Pain, that was the first thing he remembers, the burning embers filling the nightsky with their blazing eyes boring into his soul and searing his skin as they fell in chaotic showers of molten pain. Then came the screams, that sound of metal entering flesh, parting souls from bodies in a night ablaze with carnage. His own scream, his own anguish at that horror that he was too young to understand. Calling out for his mother, for his father but his young screams drowned in the battle as the village he called home was devoured by the so called righteous human paladins. His tent ablaze, smokefilled eyes made his vision blurry as the side was ripped open with sword and a man stumbled through, dressed in chainmail and sword in hand, he almost looked like father for the briefest of moments, untill their eyes met and the paladin screamed with hate "Abomination, die foul wretch" raising his sword as Thorcel struggled backwards, in a futile attempt to escape. Sensing his victory the man smiled, an ugly smile devoid of any warmth and settled the point of his sword at Thorcels throat. "Not your fault little abomination, to be born of such unholy union, I shall grant you a quick death"

"Mok Tha Neh!" The scream from his mothers green lips pierced the tent as easily as the edge of Flesh Bane, the axe she had always wielded, separated the head of the human from his shoulders. "Not my child...not my child" She turned to him, one arm out as to embrace him and he rose unsteadily from his bedroll, his whole world aflame, his mother still presented the eye of the storm and as he started to move towards her, he heard thunder, hard thunder, coming closer. Just as he was about to reach the safety of her arms, thunder struck, a surprised look formed in his mothers eyes as the tip of a lance blossomed through her chest. Blood was everywhere as she fell atop him, cradling him in her arms, he could not understand why she moved so when so mortally wounded, covering him with her blood, her body and with her final breath gave him protection from the world. "Nok khen tha Thorcel" "I love you Thorcel" she whispered, blood flowing freely from her once so emerald green lips, "Remember..."

There were no survivors but Thorcel, as he walked through the once proud Orc village only corpses and ashes remained. Piles of corpses had turned into piles of ashes as the Paladins had turned their "holy" flames on the villagers. He stumbled as if in a dream searched for his father, searched for any sign of friends or loved ones. He. a child of six, had barely had the strength to move out from under his mothers corpse found himself even lacking the strength take another step and fell to the ground, weeping but with a growing kernel of rage rising inside him. Then darkness claimed him.

They were the Sky Horse clan. They had seen the fires and came to see what had happened. They found the boy still in the centre of the village. He would not talk, he would not eat nor drink and his eyes claimed neither sky nor land. Their shaman cast the bones and said he now was the responsibility of the clan, one day he would save them all in a land far away if he would survive. So they brought him with them. They pried and talked and teased, comforted and cuddled but nothing made the boy react and slowly he wasted away. One morning Sur'La Thak, a white haired veteran of the Sky Horse Clan, took his best knife and went before the boy.

"I know you are in there, I know your hate, I know your rage but what I do not know, is when you will have the balls to rise and use it" He slapped the boy once, twice and three times landing him in the dirt with the power of his fists. "Are you dead meat then like your mother, like your father, will you shame your ancestors with your cowardice!?" With a scream that shook all of the camp the boy snatched up the knife and flew into the warrior with a blinding rage, the knife ripping open his stomach and leaving him bleading in the grass.

The boy Thorcel stood quivering, both with rage and fear as he looked upon the knife and the old dying warrior in front of him. Sur'La Thak, coughed and smiled as the warriors of the clan surrounded them, gently smiled and said "I have brought you back young one, and this is my weregeld on you, slay our enemies, taking a life is easy as you have just seen, slay those that oppose you, find your rage, light it and let it burn the world, my life is done and with every kill you shall honour me and mine"

The memory was still fresh, as if not 12 years had passed, he was a man now, and had left the Sky Horse Clan to find his fortune and his fate. He needed to find the old village of his ancestors, make peace with his mothers spirit and find her axe so that it once again served the bloodline. He needed to know whether his father survived the attack and he needed to find those that ordered it and massacred his people. His rage was strong, his arm even more so and blood, yes, there will be blood....