A cultist's plight

[Morgeth]

In the beginning was shadow eternal.
Hate blazed forth, and FIRE was born.
Wounds scabbed, and so begat EARTH.
Cries of anguish birthed howling WIND.
Wherein the skies wept seas of TEARS.
We live in the shadow.
The world we know.
Built of rage, hurt, anguish and sorrow.
- Excerpt from Apocrypha

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The hand was already in motion, cutting through the air. It was as if she could already feel the pain from it, right before it actually hit her cheek. An ominous crack was heard as Zhor'arasha's father's hand crashed into her face, sending her stumbling backwards until her back hit one of the stone walls of the small room. Her own fingers were immediately raised, checking if he had managed to finally break her jaw again. Despite a small clicking noise, she found that her bones remained intact. He, of course, wasn't paying attention to that.

”You are to stay behind”, he muttered, as if stating something not particularly out of the ordinary. ”These orcs have been closing in on us for months, and now they are practically at our gates. I will need for you to hold them back.” The hand that had struck out at her now wafted through the air, whilst the older, male orc began to walk around the room. ”I will not have them ruin all this work, and make it for naught.”

She didn't voice any doubts, knowing they would be useless. But they still mulled inside her mind. The older orc, perhaps sensing this, turned towards her with a more diplomatic tone of voice. ”I will leave others with you as well, of course. They will serve under your command, and their powers will be set to bring strength to yours.” He closed in on her, placing heavy hands upon her shoulders, squeezing his fingers around the cloth of her purple robe. ”You will keep the dogs at bay”, he reassured her.

Unbeknownst to him, she had listened in on previous reports. She knew of the numbers of these orcs, of their reputation and even of some of their particular members. A single orc, a handful of vessels, to keep them at bay? She would be a delay, at best. ”Is there no one else?”, she blurted, knowing full well how such words would displease him. His response didn't delay, delivered in a violent snort and a push at her shoulders to again shove her back against the wall. ”Is it not within my right to call on you as I wish, daughter? Have I failed you somehow, slacked in your training, to make you doubt that I would put you where you are needed most?”

She stared back at him, fearless before his anger, but not fearless to the notion of disobeying him. To turn from purpose, from the order of which her life had been arranged, would be against her very nature. Torture, pain and suffering were fleeting, and could be put out of mind, but if purpose would be the same, then her existence would be for naught. Her own hands lifted, briefly squeezing his wrists in a sign of reassurance. ”Of course it is your right, father. I was wrong to question. When will you leave?”

His hands left her shoulders as soon as his demands were seemingly met, and as Zhor'arasha's father walked across the room, towards the exit, he threw a last glance at his daughter. ”Immediately. You'd do well to don your battle gear, child. I imagine you are in for one fel of a fight.”

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((Something written together for the cultist character I created for one of our events and who got captured during it too. Might write some more eventually!))

[Kozgugore]

A nice bit of insight in the bad gu- gal! I always have a kind of love for "villains" who have a bit of a justified reason to be evil, or even just a bit of background or a motive or such. You're quite good at those, which is probably why you are always so keen on being a bad gal!

[Sadok]

It's pretty awesome to see what by all rights should be a throwaway character get some fleshing out and backstory - an enjoyable read, and certainly helps humanise (err, orcise) Zhor'arasha and her motivations!