halforcnationalist: A drawing of me as an orc, kinda glaring at the viewer. (Default)
  Another short story, this time dealing with the founding of the Thunderjaw tribe in Veiadokuur. While the characters and events in this story aren't tied to the plot of Agrat's and Finn's narrative all that much, they do eventually play an important role in the story. I wanted to write a story about a definite hero figure, whose life is directly influenced by the gods. Dunno if I pushed that idea far enough, but it was fun to explore, nonetheless, and it gave me a chance to write about a character I haven't yet written about, Kunol the elf. I also wanted to experiment a little more with the idea of the narrator addressing the reader, who's presumed to live in the same culture as the narrator. Again, dunno how successful I was on that front, but it made things go a little smoother. This one started off handwritten in a notebook I take to work each day and BOY did it grow once I started typing it all out and revising it as I went. This was a fun one to write!

As always, thank you for reading!

Word Count: ~8500
Rating: G
Warnings: None

Many years before Fal’raikath’s birth and even the founding of the Thunderjaw tribe, a family of two elves wandered along the coast. They fled from a terrible enemy, a demon that ravaged their woods and blighted it for years to come. It tore through the homes carved into their great trees and made their trunks wither away until they collapsed into each other. It killed the ground too—made it dry, dusty, and impossible for sustaining plants and flowers. It drank the river that ran through their woods until nothing was left but dirt and pebbles and the skeletons of small fish. Everything dead, they had no choice but to escape while they still could.

            As they looked for a new home, they lost themselves in a mountainous stretch of Veiadokuur. They wandered through rocky crevasses and high cliffs, but found nothing suitable for settlement. Weeks passed and their supplies—what little they could carry when they left—ran out.

            Now, listener, please keep something in mind before I tell you what happened to this family. Elves, like orcs, valued family above all. Also like us, elves were practical and knew that sometimes, to survive, people had to make great sacrifices. These elves were not cruel nor heartless, nor selfish or greedy. They were dying. They were desperate. 

And, these two carried an additional burden beyond their own lives: An infant. )
halforcnationalist: A drawing of me as an orc, kinda glaring at the viewer. (Default)
 This was literally just plucked from a much, much longer narrative that I'm currently working on. For context, Agrat has just come out to his mother, Grasha, as transgender. He wasn't sure if she'd take his feelings seriously, so he's feeling pretty ashamed and upset in the very beginning. The two of them were exiled from their original orc tribe, the Blackskulls, since Agrat is half-human and they carry some pretty nasty beliefs about racial purity. 

Word Count: ~1600
Rating: G
Warnings: None

            “Come,” Grasha said, and opened her arms. Agrat stared at her a moment, then crawled up to her. She hugged him tightly. “I should have seen this long ago. You are my son, Re—no, you need a different name. Do you have one in mind?” He widened his eyes.

            Just like that? So easily?

            His mind spun a bit before he thought back to his dreams and fantasies. He’d tried on a few different names and none really fit him perfectly, but one cropped up a little more frequently.

            “Helmun,” he said. Grasha stared at him and rolled her eyes.

            “That’s a human name,” she said. “You’re more orc than human, kaluk.” Agrat set his jaw forward.

            “I’m half, though,” he said.

            “You’ll figure it out someday. And either way, orc names are better,” she said and grinned.

Then you tell me some good names, Agrat said... )


halforcnationalist: A drawing of me as an orc, kinda glaring at the viewer. (Default)
 Here's a short story from Blackskull myth, written up as a sorta exercise in worldbuilding and writing tales about legendary figures. These are the characters in his mother's stories that Agrat grew up with, and Rokag was one of his personal heroes. 

Word count: ~2000
Rating: G
Warnings: None in particular.

 When Rokag was born, Rek’gor was already an adult. The sister god still visited us in those days to share her wisdom and her stories, and give us insight into the workings of the world. She also stood present at each and every Blackskull birth, guiding the caretakers and the parents in the process. Rokag’s body was tiny—thin little arms, sunken eyes, and skin as thin as a crinkled leaf and ashen as the northern, icy fields. The weak cries the babe made hurt Rek’gor’s kind heart. After the birth, Rek’gor said to Rokag’s parents, “Come—let me hold your child.”

            Rokag’s parents trusted Rek’gor completely, as all orcs do. They handed her their little loved one and Rek’gor embraced the child. Rokag stopped whimpering, warm and comfortable, and looked up into the goddess’ eyes.

            “You wish to be stronger, don’t you?” Rek’gor said, speaking to Rokag’s heart of hearts. “Strong you shall be, young one. You can be anything you desire—here.” She touched Rokag’s chest with her great palm. Rokag’s skin darkened to the color of the most fertile soils, and after just one day, vitality flowed through the small one’s body. Rokag’s mother and father wept and thanked Rek’gor, who was only pleased to give their child health.

But something else changed about Rokag. )


halforcnationalist: A drawing of me as an orc, kinda glaring at the viewer. (Default)

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