In Morrowind, orcs are all the same. They are either bad, evil or violent in some way, at Daedric shrines (which is illegal and deemed bad) or near ruins, attacking you on sight. Or in civilisation, they are still bad, like the one you have a bounty on for murder early in the Fighters Guild quests, or the second in command at Vivec fighter’s guild. Violence is in their nature, but they can’t all be bad…
The door flew open, allowing the raging ashstorm outside to sweep debris into the council club. Two figures appeared at the doorway, bracing themselves against the winds by leaning on each other and grasping the frame. One was tall and burly even leaning as he was, the other frail and slight. They stumbled in, closing the door beind them with some effort, and collapsed into the nearest empty seats. The pair was regarded with distasteful looks; the club was thick with Dunmer, and this bunch were particularly arrogant and racist.
But these two companions seeking shelter had no quarrel with them. The orc was quiet, withdrawn, and spent most of his time at his farm, tending to his crops. But if anyone ever took the time to get to know him, they would find a kind, compassionate, and caring individual, who was not violent by nature. Which is exactly what one particular Dunmer had done. She had held no contempt for orcs, or any other race. She judged those by their individual actions, and not by their stereotypes. Kind caring, and beautiful, the orc loved her dearly. His only friend. He wore not what would be expected of an orc: a leather cuirass and modest clothes, and did not carry a weapon. However, like most of his kind, he was a force to be reckoned with when cornered; like any frightened animal, his survival instincts took over; coupled with an orcs savage might he would prove most dangerous to even a hardy foe. But his soft appearance and humble nature evoked a sense of weakness about him, and the Dunmer forgot their senses as a feeling of superiority over the orc and his frail companion washed over them. A few desisted their relaxed positions; some sat back and regarded the pair with contempt. The elves of action and the elves of thought had been separated, and now each would play their part; the elves of action would start the couple, the ones of thought would use their way with words and knowledge of politics to help their companions escape persecution.
But the they seemed indifferent, obviously ignorant of the building they had entered. She rose to her feet, gracefully, and indicated with a fluid movement that she was going to get some drinks.
“Some sujamma, please,†she asked. The bartender looked at her, wearing a clear expression of slight regard and contempt. He replied by spitting in her face. She looked back at the bartender with a look of confusion. Why did he spit on me? It was then she then noticed a fire burning in the bartender’s red eyes. They were in danger here, and must leave quickly. Before she could act, someone delivered a kick to the back of her knees, forcing her down. She then received a blow to head from a heavy object. She heard something shatter, and then felt the blow a millisecond later. Dazed, she watched the scene before her, bordering on the edge of consciousness. She felt another kick, no pain, and watched herself fall to the floor, now in a completely helpless position. Two figures entered her field of vision, and watched with horror as one of their feet raced towards her face. It struck her with considerable force; instead of rendering her unconscious, it brought her out of her reverie. Her senses exploded all at once, pain everywhere, the taste of fresh blood in her mouth, movement, the smell of danger. Another kick directed at her stomach struck her squarely.
The Dunmer watched with delight as they punished the filthy orc-lover. They kicked at her, this poor defenceless elf, who lay curled up on the floor, whimpering with each blow, begging them to stop.
The orc rose to his feet, wondering what was going on. He should call a guard before his treasured friend is beaten to death. But as he turned to make for the door, he came face to face with one of the Dunmer. He made to go around him, but then felt a blade in his chest. He recoiled, and then the blade entered him again, and again.
He was dying. His thoughts began to dart across his mind, of family, his only friend…the times he had spent with her, how she cared for him, talked to him…then he remembered. She was on the floor, being beaten to death for showing me kindness. Then other thoughts and emotions entered his mind, ones he had never experienced before. Hate. Anger. They are harming her, beating her, killing her. They are taking her away from me…
He collapsed to the ground. There was now a crowd around him as well. They could see that he was weakening; he was not as rigid as before, now becoming limp. And so they let their guard down. He was finished, they thought. He has no more fight left in him, no more resistance. One of the Dunmer went for the killing blow, a kick directed at the underneath of his nose, aimed at driving it back into his brain. He drew his foot back, and brought it sailing down, and then rising up towards his face. The orc then lashed out, gripped the foot with both hands, stopping it inches from his face, and with all his might, he twisted. The others were stunned by this sudden movement, and in the silence, all heard the sickening sound of bone cracking and skin tearing as the orc twisted the foot back to front, followed by the bloodcurdling scream of the elf.
Instinct had now taken over. He took advantage of their surprise, and leapt to his feet, ignoring the sharp stabbing pain that enveloped his body as he did so. He was in a rage, a fury, and those who had caused those he loved would feel his wrath. An elf drew a dagger and moved towards him, and thrust. He sidestepped the dagger, and brought his powerful orc arms against the elf’s forearm and upper arm, breaking it instantly. He then spun, just in time to stop another dagger from being embedded in his back, grabbed the hand clutching the dagger, and with one squeeze broke the fingers wrapped around the blade, then thrust his elbow into the Dunmer’s face, breaking his nose with an audible crack, sending a gush of blood into the air. The attackers out the way, he made for the bar to help his friend, who was on the ground being beaten fiercely. He came from behind, grabbed the nearest attacker and threw him across the room. He detected movement out of the corner of his eye; he spun and noticed the remaining Dunmer making for the door. But he had no fight left in him, and he felt the rage flowing out of him…
He woke. Pain was everywhere, wracking his body, stabbing at his chest, his ribs, his stomach. Then he remembered; the one on the floor, the kind one, his friend, the one he cared for, the one he loved. He went over to her, and found her lying there, dead, her beautiful form beaten and bruised.
He collapsed, and cried. Great, heaving sobs, filled with sadness. What did she do to deserve this? She talked to me, helped me, became my friend. Now she is dead…I have hurt…what have I done?
The guards were there minutes later. When they entered the club, they found him on the floor, curled up like a child, crying, whimpering, with blood all over his face and clothes, and lying next to him was the body of a single female elf, who had been violently beaten to death. They drew their swords. He saw what they were doing, and cried out: No! They attacked her! I tried to save her…and they murdered her! She was my friend, she cared for me…I loved her! They advanced on him, and stabbed at him until he was dead. After all, who would believe an orc was capable of love?
____________________
Edited to include Earls intro
For Love
Moderators: Haplo, Lead Developers
The door flew open, allowing the raging ashstorm outside to sweep debris into the council club. Two figures appeared at the doorway, bracing themselves against the winds by leaning on each other and grasping the frame. One was tall and burly even leaning as he was, the other frail and slight. They stumbled in, closing the door beind them with some effort, and collapsed into the nearest empty seats. The pair was regarded with distasteful looks; the club was thick with Dunmer, and this bunch seemed particularly arrogant and racist.
Past that... the perspective seems to shift often, and that's a bit jarring. You're also trying too hard to make orcs out to be decent folk, and I think that makes it awkward instead of endearing.
Past that... the perspective seems to shift often, and that's a bit jarring. You're also trying too hard to make orcs out to be decent folk, and I think that makes it awkward instead of endearing.
I have kleptomania, but when it gets really bad, I take something for it.
-
Anonymous
Yeah its a bit awkward, it started off as something completely different! The orc was there by himself, and i tried to make him out to be lonely but humble, and to evoke a sense of sympathy for him when the dunmer killed him, but couldn't quite achieve that, so i butchered it, not very cleanly either! But thanks for the intro, edited.
I don't know... I was thinking about it the other day...Haj wrote:hmmm, that is a bit of a shame ... lot of potential there I thought...
Which is more endearing:
A character playing to his strengths in an uncharacteristic way (eg an orc rising to the defense of a weaker person)?
or
A character playing to his weaknesses and failing often, but persevering (er... like an orc doing... something that requires precision or patience)?
Although the story I'm picturing about an orcish watchmaker is both lore-breaking and likely very boring :)
I have kleptomania, but when it gets really bad, I take something for it.