Elgras,
The past haunts us all. Whether we like it or not. Some are stuck in it and are unable to get over it. Others merely get by and the memories sneak up on them on their worst days. For the few, we rise above and learn from those experiences to become better. Not only better but stronger. There is a unique strength that comes from turning yourself around for the sake of just being better. I have done things, terrible things that I wish I wouldn’t have done.
“Elgras!” My mother shrieked over the sounds of huge boulders being launched over our city’s thick cobblestone walls. I was lost in the unfamiliar, burning city that I once called home. Amongst the screaming masses, I tried to listen for my mother again.
“Mama!” I call back when suddenly the ground beneath us quaked with a violent shake. I couldn’t walk and my legs fumbled from fighting the ground. A few female high elves hollered behind me over the sounds of cracking stone.
“They’ve gotten in!” She shouted with her child in her hands, who was crying uncontrollably. I don’t understand what she was talking about, but I hear the growling of the orcs. A sound that brings fear to any Elven ear that hears it. My mother and I moved from our village in the countryside to the main city because of random Orc attacks.
I want to look for my mother, but I knew that the orcs would find me long before I found her. I frantically look in the smallest space I could squeeze myself into. I found a wooden barrel turned over on its side in between a dead horse and house. I bolt towards the barrel as I heard the stampeded approach across the cobblestone street. I grab an empty sack and dive into the barrel. I curl into a ball at the end of the barrel and wrap the bag around my lower body to look like a regular sac, if it came to that. I hear sound of what I now know of as piercing flesh and weapons clattering together. Tormented screams of the tortured and more buildings fall from losing their integrity. I’m only eight years of age. I want to cry, but I know that if they heard me, I would be as good as dead. I remain silent.
I must have fallen asleep, because it was nighttime when I opened my eyes. It was quiet and still. I didn’t know what to do. What if there were orcs still around? I was eight when I went into that barrel, but I crawled out a lot older when I saw the endless sea of blood and bodies that laid before me.
“Hey! You!” An elven soldier shouted as he rode towards me on his horse. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared, “Where did you come from?” He asked me. Unable to speak, I point behind me to the barrel I climbed out of.
“Where’s my mother and father? Are they still alive?” I ask hopeful trying to hold back my tears. For the first time since he rode on his horse, his face went soft.
“We’ve been looking all day since the royal army arrived to drive the orcs out. So far, you’re the only survivor.” The news shot me in the heart and I just collapse onto the ground an emotional mess.
A decade later, I became an apprentice archer for the city’s army. I’ve come into contact with all sorts of races of the humanoid species. Humans and Elves are by far the most revered when it came to magic. Dwarves were a little rude and blunt in most cases, but if you wanted an honest opinion, they’re the best to go to. Even to this day though, I cannot get past my hatred of orcs. In a hundred and eight-year-old lifespan it took me fifty years before I got past it. One day while I was in my early twenties I just snapped. A young man with no emotional control over himself, a thirst for vengeance, a man loosey goosey with information, and my bow and i was a deadly mix together. I spent half a century in prison for this crime.
There it is. The source of that attack on my home. There they are. All the orcs that are laughing and enjoying themselves after they lay waste to a whole city of innocent people. It made me sick as I stood there on that hill and watched them all have a ball. Feasting and dancing with themselves. Twelve years have passed and I’m not the same innocent boy that I was in that barrel.
I feel the back of my throat get tight and my chest tighten up from the heartache of that one line, “You’re the only survivor.” The anger put a tear on my cheek and I raise up my bow and lit the arrow alight. It was the middle of a sunny afternoon, but oh did the blood of them orcs water the ground. By the time the orcs noticed, I was already beginning my revenge. Fire arrows rained down apon them.
Nowadays I help people through mercenary work, and I help those with hate crimes get over their thirst for vengeance with my story. The guilt of what I had done was worse than the heartbreak at the soldier’s announcement. The blood of ninety-five people stained was on my hands in a matter of minutes. Even though my reputation was damaged, my good deeds since my release greatly outweigh my dark past by a landslide. It is an honour that even the people of my home city now deem me a good person once again.
