The Story of Jarrvid Glendove

The ½ Orc

It all happened in my home city of (city name). My mother, Mythra Glenndove, the town healer was going about her daily duties caring for the sick, when the alarm sounded.  This was no surprise; there were alarms every week.  The Orcs in our region were notorious for being vicious warmongers.  Always attacking our town in small groups for what reason I don’t know, they were unorganized and quite frankly they wouldn’t even make it past the archer towers, but this time was different. The watch tower called orders for the mobilization of the foot soldiers. My mother, after hearing of this news, worked as fast as she could. She new she had at least had time for a few people before she had to get to the basement. 

The battle was fast and fierce. Siege weapons, skilled warriors, magic users, Orcs were never this organized or powerful. It took only 15 hours for them to break the defenses and then all hell broke loose.  After the soldiers were wiped out they went after children and women. Killing, raping, slaving. There was nothing they could do.  My mother was there to the last; she still had some magic strength in her.  She took out more than a few, but was overwhelmed in the end.  The Orcs had known of her magic abilities and took her to the general after they had captured us.  He was in the town square herding the remainder of my town like cattle. General Okk Rebash did not hesitate with my mother.  He raped her in the town square for all to see. They burnt all the buildings and left my mother naked and alone.

Somehow she got herself together and made it to the neighboring town of Solace. She was accepted, cared for and eventually gave birth to me. The town was shocked at the news of a half Orc baby. It was a rare thing to happen. Many of the townspeople wanted me killed, but my mother wanted me. She loved me. She said to me once that I was the only thing good that came out of the whole ordeal.

With the town divided I was a very recognized person. I was educated, reading, writing, learning many languages up until I was 10 and a dwarf blacksmith took me under his arm. Jarrvid Blackhammer.  He told me time and time again, “Always make friends with the big guys.” it was with him that I learned the art of smithing and fighting.

My education dwindled but was steady and for 20 years I studied under him.  My fighting experience was gained from hunts and small skirmishes out and around my town. I was making something of myself.  The people who hated me respected and even learned to love me. But then it all changed. The Orcs attacked again. Jarrvid and I fought side by side. We must have taken out 20 orcs each, but it was like swatting away a swarm of flies. Kill one, and two more took its place.

Jarrvid was taken down by a javelin. I got an arrow in my chest and staggered in to my mother’s home. She was lying on her bed with an axe in the center of her back. I took it out and turned her over. She looked at me with a glaze in her eye. She pulled the arrow out of my chest and cast a spell. “You are a lovely man, don’t ever let your past stop you, Orc blood or not you are my son.” My wound now gone she died in my arms.

Rage, hatred, sadness filled my soul. The Orcs had killed them all.

All but me.

I followed them to their war camp. At nightfall I walked right into the lead tent. I shouted “General Okk!!!” and he woke with a snarl said “Yes! And his better be good or …” “That’s all I needed to know.” I said and then took his head. I walked out carrying his now separated head, and the camp was in shock. I threw it on the bonfire. “Who’s next!?!?!”  No one said a word. I took his sword and armor and walked away. I went back to my town and took all that was left of my mothers and took all that was left of Jarrvids that I could carry. I buried their bodies and rode off to search for a new home.