They attacked me in an alley on my way home. It was my fault. I took a new route, trying to hurry, and ended up alone and off the public streets.

A meaty fist slammed into my face before I could do anything to stop it. I almost sighed at the feel of it, long used to such abuse. While the blow was weak, it did force my head to turn and look over at the window next to me. It was dusty, smudged with finger markings. But I could still see my face, my dark black eyes blinking as my green skin twisted and my lower tusks flared in irritation. I cracked my neck, then turned to my attackers.

The alley we stood in was filthy, the tall buildings on either side of me giving it shade, and the smell making it hard to stand in. My sense of smell was strong, but I decided it was worth the brief smell of rotting food and human refuse dumped on the cobblestone if I could simply get home sooner.

I was regretting that now. Three men barred my path. The smell of alcohol was thick around them, the cheap stuff they sold in local taverns that was just short of drinking piss. The one in the middle had thrown the punch. He was fat, but his arms were well-muscled. It was most likely my heritage that allowed me to take his punch so well. The left one was skinny, and had a gold tooth that hung between dirty lips. The right one was a dwarf, short and thickly muscled, a large beard with bits of food in it hanging from his face.

“Gentlemen,” I said slowly, making sure my dagger was in its sheath at my hip. I tried to keep calm, but my voice came out as more of a growl than the low rumble I usually tried for. “What can I do for you?”

“Ohhh, classy ain’t ya!” the skinny one leered.

“‘Gentlemen’, he says!” The fat one barked out a laugh. “Didn’t know animals had manners!”

“Animals don’t,” the dwarf’s voice had a low, dangerous tone to it. “Monsters can fake it.”

I looked over at him. He wasn’t drunk. He was angry. He was staring at me as though I’d killed his family.

“Ah, right!” the fat one laughed, looking over at his dwarf friend. “You lived in Banfarse didn’t you!?”

Oh. Well. That explained the dwarf’s anger. Banfarse had been a small city on the outskirts of the civilized nations. It had been raided. Twenty thousand men, women, and children, killed, raped, or enslaved. A tragedy that reverberated to this day.

All because of Orcs, the killers of thousands, the constant enemy of all Turab, the demon worshippers, and the long running holders of the title ‘Worst Race of People in Existence’. Which made me, as a Half-Orc, an honorary holder of the title.

“I did,” the dwarf reached behind himself and took out a blade. The dagger was as long as my forearm, with a nasty serrated edge. “How about it, demon spawn?” The hate in his eyes was tinged with the familiar edge of an old pain. “Did your people feel any remorse as they killed and raped my family?”

Of course, it was at this point I decided to open my big mouth.

“What is the nearest Dwarven King doing right now?”

All three stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment.

“… what?” said the skinny one dumbly.

“Well if we’re going assume we have insight into the minds of random members of our species we have never met, I’d like to sate my curiosity as well,” I wiped my mouth. “I was a child when Banfarse was attacked. I have never even met an orc before. There is literally no possible way I could know anything about the attack.”

If I’d been smart, I would have apologized. Maybe curled into a ball and let them beat me for a bit. I could take it.

Instead, from the way their eyes narrowed, they’d decided to escalate from ‘beat severely’, to ‘murder immediately’. This was confirmed once the skinny one leaped forward to attack me.

He screamed, his bony fist impacting on my chest as his other hand went for a dagger. I took the blow with a grunt, then reacted with my own punch. It was a clumsy blow. I had no training as a fighter, and tended to simply lash out.

But that’s the thing about Half-Orcs. I have a lot of muscle to back up my unskilled blows.

The loud smack of flesh on flesh when I hit his chest was followed by the skinny man flying back down the alley. He didn’t make a sound, but the way his eyes widened as he took off like a cannon made it clear he was in pain.

The dwarf surprised me when he barely reacted to the sudden flight of his ally. He dodged around his friend, stepping forward. That was when I got nervous. The way he held his blade, spinning it around, his steps moving into obviously well-practiced motions, all spoke of training.

This was confirmed when he stepped past my second punch and slashed at my stomach. My shirt parted easily, and my tough skin only gave a bit more resistance. If I hadn’t instinctively stepped back, I probably would have been disemboweled, instead of feeling the white heat following the slash before blood came out of the wound.

The dwarf smirked as he stepped away from another of my blows. I growled, anger beginning to come forth. I didn’t lose control, but I could feel that sweet rage burning within me at his smirk. If there is anything I hate more than being prosecuted, it’s when someone is becoming an absolute smug bastard.

I pulled out my dagger, spinning around to point at the dwarf. The fat man had run over to help, only to come to a stop at the sight of the dagger in my hand. He licked his lips nervously. The dwarf’s eyes narrowed into little slits.

“I just want to go home,” My chest rumbled as I spoke. Both men flinched at the way anger turned the sound of my voice into something horrific.

Then the dwarf shook his head. “My wife is dead because of you,” The pain in his voice was enough to make me feel for him. Then he glared. “I’m going to kill you Orc. You and all your kind.”

“Heehee!” said the fat man stupidly. I ignored him, because the dwarf was coming at me again, his beard flying.

Panicking, I barely blocked his dagger with my own. Because of his height, it was hard to fight him. I had to stoop slightly, and my lack of training made that harder. Still, my dagger met his.

My dagger was a simpe thing. A straight-edged blade with only a small symbol engraved near the hilt. I’d made the dagger myself, as an experiment.

So when lightning flowed from my blade to enter the dwarf’s, I was ready for it.

The bearded man yelped, hand spasming at the electricity hitting his skin. There was a slight backlash for me, and I gritted my tusks at the shocking sensation. But since I was ready, I was able to fight through the agony and kick out at the dwarf.

My foot sank into his barrel chest, pushing back the heavy man a step. The fat man, who’d been circling around us, leaped to try and punch me in the face. I took the blow, and stabbed my dagger into his arm, into the fleshy part above his wrist.

“AIEEE!” He screamed at the burst of electricity that came with the attack, his voice keening horribly in my ear. I reflexively smacked him in the face, putting a little too much strength into the blow and smashing his nose into mush. He screamed again, this time with blood pouring into his mouth from the pile of flesh that had been his nose. His double chins turned crimson.

The dwarf chose then to stab me in the thigh.

“Hn,” I mumbled at the sensation of steel once again parting flesh. My skin and muscle, being extremely tough, were able to take the blow well, but it shook me enough that the dwarf was able to stab me again in the stomach, right the wound he’d already made.

“WAAAGH!” The roar that came out of me then was nothing like the sound a sentient being can make. My anger came out in a sudden blaze, and nothing could stop it.

I ripped my dagger out of the fat man and grabbed the dwarf by the beard with my other hand. The dwarf, who had just been ready to pull his dagger out of my stomach, had enough time to squawk before I threw him to the ground. I stabbed at him with my dagger, but he kicked it out of my hands and rolled to his feet.

“WAAAAUUGH!!!” I didn’t think. I just lashed out, punching the dwarf in the face. He grunted, his rock hard skull weathering the blow. He punched me in the stomach, right next to where his dagger was still sticking into me. Pain and anger, like acid carving its way through my veins, took over me. I grabbed his head in both hands. We both roared in each other’s faces. I knew how I must have looked then. Black eyes turning into a golden amber. Small tusks fully revealed in my mouth as I snarled like an animal.

I pushed him back, ignoring the feel of iron hard fist slamming into my bloody stomach as red liquid poured onto the dirt. He released a loud ‘oomph’ when I pushed him into the building behind him. Still holding him in my hands, I began to smash the dwarfs head against the brick wall behind him. He roared, in pain, anger, and fear. I roared back. Blood began to smear the wall behind him. I felt his skull under my hands, and knew it would crack soon. The anger inside me burned.

And then a slim pair of arms came around to wrap around my chest. Cool hands pressed against my skin, like a balm for my anger. They pressed against me, pulling me back slightly, but gently.

“Now, Char,” a voice whispered in my ear, like silk against my skin. “As hot and bothered seeing you all blood rage gets me, you really shouldn’t kill the idiot.”

I stared at the dwarf, not looking back at the person behind me. His massive head was still in my hands. Blood soaked his hair. He looked up at me, glassy eyed.

The anger left, replaced by a sickening pain. I’d lost control again. And someone had almost died for it.

I let go of the dwarf, letting him fall.

“There you are,” the hands on my chest moved, pressing to turn me. Even on my worst day, the hands wouldn’t have been able to force me to move. There was no ‘real’ strength to them. Still, I let myself get turned around.

The woman who stood there when I turned was stunning. Red hair flowed down her shoulders like fire pouring across soft silk. Her green eyes glittered like jade pools. Her face had an odd combination of sensuality, maturity, and strength. While she was well-formed, her body’s incredible curves were clearly built for more savory activities than the one I’d just engaged in. She was shorter than me, but then I tended to tower over most people. She was wearing a very short slip that revealed the curve of her breasts and the long inches of her smooth legs and arms.

“Jennifer,” I said softly. I did my best anyways, as the recent fight had still turned my voice into something demonic. She shuddered at the sound of voice, biting her lip as she eyed me. “This isn’t your section of the city.”

“The other girls said they saw you being followed,” she looked over her shoulder. “Ladies.”

From the shadows, a veritable army of women came forth. Humans like Jennifer, slim and beautiful elves, curvy dwarves, and short halflings.

Whores. The Whores of Allgowlden City.

Well, working girls, as Jennifer called them. She said that the word whore had too many negatives to it. Jennifer was the madam of Allgowlden City, a brothel famed all over. She took care of her girls, protecting them from anyone who would harm them.

I could see it in the way they acted around her. As the women gathered around us, they gave Jennifer respectful nods and awed smiles she got. Truly, among her girls, Jennifer was mother, teacher, employer, and friend. She’d been kind to me as a child, and I sometimes thought of her as the closest thing to a mother that I had.

She was also, as I was reminded when she panned her eyes over to the men I had beaten, someone who had long since gained a reputation for ruthlessness that had become legendary. She smiled, slowly, at the skinny one.

The man was rising to his feet, legs and arms quaking. He spat blood from his mouth, pathetically whimpering. He looked up, eyes widening at the sight of fourteen woman dressed in evening wear surrounding Jennifer and I in a circle.

“I must admit however, that you aren’t the only reason I came, Char,” she walked forward, red heels clicking on the cobblestones. Rather than looking out of place in the grimy alley, she somehow gave the place a beauty that was somehow dangerous. Like silk sliding across a sharp blade, she walked towards the skinny man.

Her girls stepped away from me to join her. I watched, not moving my body. There was a ceremony to the movement of the girls. Slowly, one by one, each smiled. They mirrored their madam in every motion. The skinny man stared at the group of women stalking towards him, beautiful smiles gazing upon.

“You see, Char,” Jennifer came to a stop, kneeling down to look the skinny man in the eye. “This young man is new to the city. Like many sailors, he decided to take some time in the most well-known brothel in town,” she chuckled, eyes sparkling. “I cannot blame him. I make a living off the natural urges of all species. To not indulge such things from time to time is to be inhuman,” she reached out a gentle hand to stroke the man’s chin, uncaring of the blood pouring from his nose and mouth. “But then, he did something,” her fingers traced the contours of his jaw. He shuddered, eyes bright with some unknown emotion. “One of my girls apparently didn’t satisfy him as he wished. She was a new girl, just a bright babe who wanted to save up money to protect her family.”

Her fingers suddenly gripped the skinny man’s jaw. He yelped, eyes widening. Still smiling, her voice like air on the wind, she continued. “He beat her. Took her roughly, angrily. That poor girl can’t even speak now. I promised I would protect her. It is a promise I give to all my girls.”

A chill rose in the air. Jennifer stopped smiling.

“I do not break promises. And I do not let anyone hurt my family,” she leaned forward, whispering into his ear as tears fell down his cheeks, terror in his eyes.

The chill increased to the point that even my tough skin began to feel uncomfortable, yet none of the scantily-clad women so much as shuddered. They simply watched and smiled. That eerie, loving, uncaring smile.

“And now, you’ve come after Char. One of my girls, and now one of my boys. That is twice you tried to hurt what is mine,” the blade, my blade, sliced deeply into his throat. He screamed.

Electricity came out of the blade, slamming deep into his body. I’d long since studied what happens when a body is hit directly by electricity. In preparation for that, my dagger had been designed for only brief shocks. It would hurt, as I’d proven, but all it did was send jolts into people for a few seconds.

His screams of agony as the electricity poured into him was the first indication something was wrong. The second was the lightning that began to surround Jennifer and her victim. Soon, bright arcs of power lit the alley like a thousand candles, turning into an orb of power. I shaded my eyes from the light with my arm, trying to watch. The white wall of power surrounded the two of them, obscuring them from view. Thunder echoed in the small space.

The man’s screams… I had never heard anything like it. So full of fear, pain, and sadness. They echoed, over and over. Until finally, they petered out.

In a burst of light, the electricity faded. I lowered my arm, staring at Jennifer.

The man’s body was charred meat now, his clothes ash. The dagger at his waist had melted into his hipbones. His eyes had popped from the lightning pumping through him, leaving his blackened face to stare eternally with empty sockets.

Jennifer rose to her feet. My dagger was gone. “Apologies, Char. Your dagger seems to have disappeared,” she turned to smile. “It was very well made. I’ll have to recommend your shop for such things.”

I kept my face still. My dagger, though magical, wasn’t capable of holding that much energy. However the horror I’d just seen occurred, only Jennifer could be responsible for it. “It is no problem,” I looked over at the dwarf and the fat man. “And them?”

“Hmm,” she stepped forward, leaving the smoking carcass of the skinny man behind her. Her girls followed her with their eyes, unmoving as she passed them to come up to me. “Well, you did a good job beating them. Still, if you would prefer for me to finish them as well…”

“No thank you,” I held back a wince as pain from the blade impaled within me filled my body.

“You’re hurt,” Jennifer nodded to one of her girls, an elf girl. “Heal him, please. It wouldn’t do for me to come all this way and simply let him die.”

“Yes, miss,” the elf girl, a tall young woman with beautiful black hair, stepped towards me. I stood still as she took the dagger by the handle with her right hand, placing her left hand against my stomach. She pulled the dagger out slowly. As she did, her left hand began to glow, green and soothing. With every inch that came out, I could feel my flesh slowly knit together. I growled, trying to control myself. She flinched at the noise, but continued working, slim features screwed up in concentration.

At last, the final bit of the dagger was out. I watched the hole it had left slowly melt away. Not even a scar was left. My thigh, the stab wound, the slash mark, my bruised knuckles, it was all gone.

The elf girl wasn’t even winded. Her bright blue eyes stared at me icily, long pointed ears twitching as she stood there with all the imperiousness of a queen, hands clasped in front of her.

“Well done, Myrandra,” Jennifer stepped toward me. I didn’t flinch, but she must have seen something. She frowned sadly. “Still scared of me, Char?”

I almost laughed. Here I was, a massive half-orc, terrified of a brothel’s madam.

But then, I’d just seen her vaporize a man using the magic I’d wanted for self-defense. She had more power in her pinkie than I did my whole body. She was a killer, a blackmailer, and someone more terrifying than the demons of the netherealm.

She was still the closest thing I had to a mother. But yes. She scared me. After this… and after all that I had seen, knowing the full truth of her? I would be insane not to be scared of this woman.

Jennifer noticed too. She sighed sadly. “Very well. I suppose I’ll leave you for now. Just know I’m here whenever you need me,” she turned around. “We’ll call the watch. I assume Arthur will want you home soon. Tell him the girls miss him.”

I stared at her back. I wanted to reach for her. Damn it, I cared for her. I wanted her to know that, that in this city that hated me so much she was one of the people I cared for with all my heart. But I couldn’t. Not after seeing, once more, the monster hidden beneath her kindness.

Feeling like the worst hypocrite in the world, I turned and walked away.

------

As I walked home, I kept a careful watch on my surroundings. I must have gotten complacent. After years of living in Jarvin, a city known for its hatred of hybrids, halflings, orcs, and combinations thereof, the few times I managed to get caught were always due to me simply not paying attention.

It was understandable. Today was supposed to be the same as any other. I’d only gone to the docks after all. It was a great place to pick up various regents and tools after all. Since Jarvin’s harbor sat right along a river and the ocean routes to the Eastern Continents, one could pick up almost anything from the shops there. I’d done enough work there that, even with my orc blood, a few of the shopkeeps gave me fair price. No discounts, but they wouldn’t cheat me.

Still, I should have known better. All of Turab hated orcs.

There are many species in the world. Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, dragons, bears, cougars, manticores, even spirits and demons count as their own species.

By far one of the most hated is orcs. A hatred that is apparently mutual. Living south in the Scown Deserts that border the continent, orcs are seen as monsters for good reason. They have been at seemingly endless war with the other races for centuries, killing, raping, and enslaving thousands. The other races have warred from time to time, for one reason or another. But there has been no race with as prevalent a hatred for the other species of Turab as the orcs.

There have been exceptions however, that may be the sign of a deeper reason for the hatred of the orcs. My father was a simple farmer. One day, an orc woman found him at his farmstead. And rather than killing him and devouring the flesh, which I’ve been told many times is how such things end, she asked to live with him. My father must not have heard how such things ended, because he agreed (I have heard from a friend of my father that my mother was apparently very beautiful, which may give a shallower reason for why he agreed).

Whatever the case, they fell in love. I was born. And then someone who wasn’t a friend found out.

If orcs are hated, then hybrids are seen as strange. But a half-human, half-orc child? Akin to summoning a demon and slaughtering a city.

They gathered a mob, and attacked the farmstead. My father gave me to his friend to take away. Then he gave my mother a sword, and picked up a hammer.

My father killed three men. My mother killed ten. My father’s friend liked to speak of my mother’s laughter as she killed men with ease, roaring with pride in her husband.

Small comfort. I still had no parents.

My father’s friend took me to Jarvin. The city may have a hatred for orcs, but the magistrate was the fairest man I’d ever heard of. At the very least, he had obsession with following the letter of the law, no matter what race the man it judged. As long as I kept my head down, never caused trouble, I’d be safe. So I’d lived in Jarvin, raised by my father’s friend.

My story isn’t that bad. There are others with worse lives. I’ve been lucky. I have food, an education, and a place to sleep. In the end, I’d long since decided that no matter how hated I was, I would continue my life as I saw fit. I would follow the law, defend myself as needed, and live my life to the fullest. My race does not define me as my actions do. I’d chosen to be the man I wanted to be, to live my live as best I could.

I messed up sometimes. And life was hard for a half-orc no matter how optimistic I was. But I tried. And that made my life worth living.

------

Sticking to the shadows was easy. I could see in the dark better than a human, and even with my large size, I’d gotten good at avoiding attention when I really tried. I avoided the marketplaces, took to the rooftops of one of Jarvin’s many schools to cut across a path, taking the time to gaze at the massive tower that stood in the distance as I went. Paranoid of me, but I wasn’t willing to risk getting in another fight. I’d take the exercise in a trade for less trouble.

Soon enough, I hopped off a low building to walk towards my house.

As I stepped into my home, I felt as though closing the door also meant shutting away the hateful world beyond. I try not to melodramatic about such things. My life is far better than most like me would hope for. I could have been working in prison mines, or sliced up into an experiment. Instead I was able to sleep in a comfortable bed, and learn things most wouldn’t dream of.

Still, as I slowly closed the wooden door of my home behind me, I sighed in relief. Home was small, no mansion. But compared to some places, this was a palace. The door opened to show the dining room, with a table and three chairs made of wood and a small fireplace where we cooked our food and warmed ourselves when necessary. A small shelf with cooking utensil, wooden bowls, and a small figurine of a bird I’d made in one of my first projects. A set of steps led up to the two small rooms where I and my master slept, and a hallway to the right of the stairs led to the back of the house, where most of the space was.

“Char,” said a gruff voice from the back. “That you?”

“Yes, one second,” I grabbed a cup and poured out a small smidge of water from a nearby barrel. The barrel was actually two, one stacked on another. Both were watertight. The top barrel was half-full of a layer of sand, ground charcoal, pebbles, then sand and charcoal again, with a thick cloth to allow water to drip through. I’d created it to make clean water, based on something I’d read, and I was rewarded for my efforts with a nice clear cup.

Having had my fill, I went into the back room. A blast of heat hit me as I passed the stairs. The actual backroom constantly had the smell of burning wood, chemicals, and raw metal. I breathed deeply, taking comfort in the smells. I followed up by taking a thick cloth from a rack next to the door and tying it around my neck. As comforting as the scents were, too much smoke inhalation could kill even a being with my constitution.

The actual workroom was the biggest room in the house. The top was made of tough timber, and had several large openings to let out smoke, as well letting the sunlight come into the room. The walls were made of thick stone, and the floor was stone as well. Four forges were placed around the room, leaving much of the space open for one to move around in. There were also little chambers for heat-treating the metals next to some of the forges, as well as barrels of oil and water for quenching. Two anvils, one massive and one a bit smaller, were at either end of the room.

It should be noted that everything was clean. The floors were swept, the barrels of oil and water were closed, and the tools put away nicely on racks. An unclean shop, especially one like ours, could prove fatal.

Another door across from me lead to another room, the place that had become my special section of the shop, set aside for my experiments.

Two men left that room. The first to leave it was a thin human wearing an apron. He was short man, with a long-sleeved shirt and a thick leather apron on to protect him. He was also clearly annoyed, his brown eyes blazing as his face twitched, a large beard shuffling with each furious grind of teeth.

“Um, Art?” he looked up at me when I spoke, then looked at the second man who entered. I looked as well.

The second man was tall, almost as tall as me, and built like dancer, with slim muscles revealed by his practical shirt and comfortable trousers that suggested quickness and balance. His bright blue eyes were set in a face that was uncomfortably good looking for a man. Of course, as his long ears that sharpened into points suggested, he was an elf, and I had yet to meet an elf that was not the pinnacle of beauty.

“Hasha,” I looked between the two men. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here so early.”

“Tell the damn elf,” Art said with a wide-eyed anger. “That he needs to mind his own business on how I run my shop!”

Hasha snorted. “I’m simply saying that if you would follow my system—”

“To hell with your system!” Art declared. “Damn it all, I let Char build his damn contraptions, and they even work! I admitted I like them! Stop changing everything else!”

I snorted, offended. My ‘contraptions’ were pretty damn good if I could say so myself.

“Art,” said the taller man. Though frustrated, Hasha seemed to be keep calm. “I am simply saying that, with a better flow to the shop, you will increase the efficiency of your projects.”

I sighed, moving around the pair.

------

They would often fight like that. While both seemed to like each other well enough, they tended to butt heads on matters dealing with the shop. Art, as the owner, liked things to be as they were, as change might introduce an unknown element to the shop. Hasha, as a wizard, was always up-to-date on the newest ways of doing things, and always saw it as his role to bring Art to the present in all his ways.

They made an odd pair, the skinny blacksmith and the elf wizard. It was my fault that they had even met at all.

Arthur Maroon was the friend of my fathers that had saved me. Arthur brought me to Jarvin afterwards, and raised me. While he didn’t know much about kids, especially infant half-orcs, he’d put his full effort into it. I’ll always love him for that.

As I grew up, he started teaching me everything he knew about blacksmithing. The art of shaping metal had become by first real lessons in the world, and one I treasured until now. My fondest memories took place in the blacksmithing shop, rather than the small home we lived in. He was a good man, if a bit rude at times. It was partially thanks to him that I’d become the man I was. He’d introduced me to Jennifer, and allowed Hasha into the house when the wizard came calling.

Called ‘those of the wise’, wizards were the premier researchers of the natural and unnatural world. They studied the physical and spiritual magic’s of the world. In truth, ‘wizard’ was a catch all term. A man who used magic to heal others might call himself a priest, while a woman with a skill for speaking with nature spirits might call herself a druid. But in the end, as long as they studied the world as part of their profession, they were wizards.

And Jarvin had a tower for them. Used as a school and training ground, the Jarvin Tower’s stated mandate was to ‘teach, guide, and protect the world’. It was the place I most wanted to visit in fact. It could be seen from any point in the city. The magic of the wizard’s experiments had been used to make the tower as tall and large as possible, making it one of the most famed buildings in the world. There were legends that any magic used there never failed to work, thanks to the enchantments on the building. Combined with its position near the cities religious and government center, the Jarvin Tower was one of the most well visited places in the land.

Except when you’re a half-orc. If you are, you simply admire it in the distance, then shrug and go back to work.

Hasha didn’t work in the tower. He’d gotten special dispensation to work on his experiments on his own time. It was part of how he met me.

Even for a wizard, Hasha Nin was… odd. He’d come by one day to see me. Apparently he’d heard rumors of a half-orc child being raised in a blacksmiths house, and had come by from his laboratory a few blocks from the Jarvin Tower to come by. He’d been doing a paper on hybrids at the time, and I was the first orc one he’d ever had the chance to visit. He paid Arthur a great deal of money, and promised not to hurt me.

The tests he’d given me started with tests of my physical abilities, like how strong I was. Even as a ten year old child, I’d been capable of lifting fifty kilograms, something that Hasha had said was normal for orcs.

Then he went to my mental abilities. He taught me how to read, write, and do mathematics. He was surprised when I devoured the lessons. I don’t think he understood what they meant to me.

As a child, I was feared by everyone but Arthur and Jennifer. People saw my green skin and saw me as a future killer. I don’t hate them for their ignorance anymore, but it hurt deeply as a child. I tried to be nice and polite, being as calm as I could just to keep people from becoming enraged at my presence, even as resentment filled me.

Then came Hasha. He seemed truly interested in me, in what I could do. He wasn’t hateful, and he seemed to see my race as something to be celebrated, to be proud of. He taught me to stop hating myself.

And so I learned all he could teach me, until one day he started teaching me magic. And at some point, he just never stopped teaching me.

I wasn’t his apprentice, and he wasn’t my master, not officially. Jarvin Tower’s council wouldn’t have allowed it. But I sometimes thought of him that way, and I like to think he felt the same way.

------

“What is it now?” I said as I began putting my own apron on.

“You need to move this forge,” said Hasha. He pointed at the specific one, a large rectangular block of metal and stone with openings to put in coal and metal. “It’s right in the middle of the shop. If you move it closer to the exit, it will facilitate a sense of urgency. The closer to the door, the more you feel the need to get the next project out the door.”

“Damnit elf, is this your mind mumbo jumbo?” Art moved over pile of coal in the corner and started shoveling it around. It seemed like he was just keeping busy for now.

“It is the study of the way the mind works, and it is a very fascinating field!” Hasha declared. “Char, you’ll like this, it’s—”

Art picked up a dagger off a shelf, still keeping busy, and looked it over. Seeing him do that reminded me of my own dagger.

“Uh, Hasha?” I asked, cutting him off. He looked me full in the face. “The uh, the rune thurisaz, when combined with fire, it’s only supposed create a brief amount of electricity, right?”

The rune thurisaz, sometime written, þurisaz, was the rune for a directed force of destruction. It was designed like the letter P. Or the letter P was designed to look like it I suppose.

ᚦ

“Hm?” Hasha rubbed the spot between his eyes with two fingers, a habit he indulged at times. “Well, yes. We put it on that dagger of yours remember? It was only meant for brief shocks however, and we never combined it with more power runes.”

“Not enough to turn a man into charred meat then?”

Hasha and Art stared at me. I sighed, looking down at my hands. The light traced my dark green skin.

“Char? What happened?” Hasha asked worriedly.

“…Three men followed me on my way home,” I said softly. “One had family in Banfarse, so they wanted revenge. They tried to kill me, so I beat them.”

“Good,” said Art gruffly. His grip had tightened on the dagger in his hand, knuckles going white. “The city guard didn’t catch you, of course, so no way they’ll blame you.”

“Char?” asked Hasha. The wizard cocked his head. I looked him in the eyes.

“Jennifer… she had a problem with one of the men. And she killed him with my dagger. It exploded with electricity, and turned him into… into meat. The dagger didn’t have that much power, did it? Can the effect be replicated safely, or does it…” I shook my head when I realized what I was saying. “I must be a terrible person. A man dies and all I can wonder is how my weak rune could have done something like that.”

Hasha scuffed. “Well I have to applaud your magical curiosity. Besides. That man tried to kill my student for something that he wasn’t even alive for. I have no sympathy for him.”

“I didn’t want him to die.”

“And you didn’t kill him,” Art growled. For such a thin man, he could produce deep growls. “Jenny did.”

“Yeah but…”

What kind of monster doesn’t care? I worried more about Jennifer than I did the man she’d killed. He’d been a mean little shit but he at least deserved the sympathy deserving of any normal human, right?

So why didn’t I give a damn? Why did I have so much concern about the fact I had no concern?

Hasha stared at me as my mind ran in circles before rising up and patting me on the back. “Hey. Let’s talk about something else,” he smiled up at me, then nodded at my back room. “How’s the prototype?”

“Still working on it,” I said.

“Show me what you have,” asked Hasha.

I nodded, leading him in. I ignored the fact that, considering both he and Art had been arguing in here before I came in, he’d probably already seen everything. I welcomed the distraction, and he knew it.

As we left, Art began filling one of the forges with charcoal, preparing to work through the rest of the day and into the night.