Knight of the long knives
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AcName = sciolist. ChrName = Jurgen Kurgen
The orc whelp bared his fangs and snarled at the armored knight. The rest of the warband had been slain, his mother turning from her vigorous slaying of the humans to run back into the cave to her child.
Tensing, the child leapt; clawing and tearing at the man's armored legs to little effect. A casual blow from a club knocked him senseless.
'Does this infant look pale to you, Brother Bertram? Perhaps a halfer they were raising?' the knight said. Bertram, the warleader scrutinized the child before nodding. 'Take this one back to the temple, burn everything else.'
Jurgen looked at his father, remembering growing up beside the towering knight. Now he was dead, Jurgen now the tower beside his sickly, wasted body. It had been a good childhood, learning the ways of right and chivalry. Learning that a knight should be virtuous, humble and dutiful.
Every few hours, Jurgen prayed to Torm that he would be good. That he'd help good people and protect them from the bad things. That he'd help protect the other weak hu-mans from the strong, dangerous things like Necromancers and Ogres and orcs. He prayed in the orcish familiar from his childhood, even though the priests didn't like hearing those guttural tones raised to praise and thank.
With practice and training, he'd be a great knight. It was a shame that the order cast him out without his father's armor or weapons. Truly a humble beginning to start out from.
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Reviewed, XP pending
