It has been 40 years since the beginning of Slaveen's overthrowing of the Monodranis government. A half-demon warlock with great skills of political deception and corruption, Slaveen created an oppressive, facist government over the Monodranis Empire, expanding it to 3/4 of the realm. Inspiring a sense of national and religious superiority in his empire, Slaveen executed or exiled all those who didn't recognize Merdeuism as the main religion. Millions were ripped apart by wolves or burned at the stake for their supposed "heresy", or slain by his heavily armored swordsman, the Caballeres. Most non-Monodranen races were enslaved. Eventually, the empire reached the plains of Tucery, and the nomadic Orszarvus people, humans whose blood was once mingled with that of orcs. The king of the Orszarvus, a barbaric brute by the name of Bielda, as part of his alliance with Slaveen, ordered all followers of the Pagan religions be slaugheterd, and all Orszarvus people with over 30% Orcish blood banished. Some resisted...They all fell. The son of one of the resistance fighters was eventually sent away, with an Orszarvus mounted archer to protect him.
The mounted archer had been traveling for a month. No one would dare except the child and show even the slightest of resistance to the new regime. For over 2 weeks, an arrow had been dug into his stomach, a gift from a Monodranis crossbowman. As his vision began to blur, he thanked Taemgris, God of War and Revenge and King of the Gods. His horse had grown tired too, they were both nearing the Naecros, God of the Death. He saw a small village in the distance, where he saw a small village where many Yerts had been placed. It was an Orcish village. It would be an odd sense of irony if the Orcs were the only ones to accept the child. Exhausted, the mounted archer fell of his horse. Giving out a cry, he recieved the attention of the Khilta, the leader of the Orcs. An ancient looking Orc by the name of Moredliv, he walked to the messenger. He aimed his composite bow at the messenger, fearing his intentions. The growing wound of the messenger spurted blood as the red circle underneath began to grow larger and larger. The messenger motioned to a moving package in the sack on the now dead horse. One of Moredliv's many archers aimed his bow at the package, but Moredliv motioned him to stop. He approached the sack, opening it. Lo and behold, a crying baby was inside. As it saw Moredliv's face, it smiled at the first interaction it had in weeks. As Moredliv looked to the messenger, he saw that he had passed to the realm of Naecros. Moredliv took the baby and approached the village, his rangers by his side. One of his rangers blew his horn, as the villagers turned to Moredliv. Moredliv held up the baby, and bellowed. "His name is Tuldilla! Welcome to our village!" Moredliv's daughter Magdolna, little over 5 years old, approached her father. She had short black hair, large, brown eyes and dark grey skin. "Father, please, please let me see it!" Moredliv smiled. "Later my little Germanium. I have a treaty to negotiate with the Baukren of the West in about 1 hour. When I leave, I'll let you be with the human child." Magdolna squealed in joy.
When her father had left to discuss diplomacy with the Baukren, a race of 7 foot bipeds with the heads and feet of bulls, Magdolna sat with the young child. She smiled as she cradled it. The baby motioned to the dead horse of the messenger. Magdolna looked back at the horse and then at the baby doubtful. "Sorry Tuldilla. He's with my old baby brother now. Father says that when we die, we go to a great field of gold and that..." The baby began to cry again. Magdolna rolled her eyes as she walked up to the dead horse. As she looked at it, she noticed something else in the bag. A one-handed axe, curved almost like a scythe. As she picked it up, the baby laughed. Magdolna laughed at the absurdity of it, but perhaps this was all that was left of his previous life. Of course not. He was a Találékonae now, "Orc" in the words of the babies parents. But all the same...She was a bright young girl, and decided she would keep the axe...Just in case.
Up behind her came Magdolna's friend, a 12 year old half-orc cruelly named Attiath, the Talaekonae word for "bastard son." Attiath was the son of an Orcish mother and a human father, a warrior from the shores of Eitan. His father died fighting for the Eitanean resistance. His mother commited traditional Talaekonae suicide not long afterwards. Attiath has light green skin, and two short tusks protruding from his mouth. His hair was held back in a ponytail. As she approached the child, he smiled. "That little bastard has the heart of the best of Moredliv's rangers. It's only natural how he reaches for that axe like a pig for slop." Magdolna held him close, looking back at Attiath nervously. "What if he dies like Geraa did? I won't let him!" Attiath laughed at Magdolna's mistaken concept of death. "He won't die like Geraa. Geraa was a sick baby, nothing could have saved him. This one looks strong and healthy. He already looks like he's eager to take to the horse, with his legs kickin around like a newborn dragon."
Attiath and Magdolna laughed, as did the newborn Tuldilla.
To be continued...