It's the same dream again.
My ears are ringing from the orcs' roaring din. My scalp feels like it will rip off with the force they're pulling on my hair. My mouth is dry and my throat is parched from sobbing. Their disgusting nails tear into what was once pearly skin and draw my blood. I will die in shame.
Then there is a blood-curdling roar, and silence falls. The orcs that were carrying me drop me face-first in the mud and give me space. A pair of giant boots enter the newly formed ring, and as I struggle to put my arms back in their sockets, there is a clatter of metal at my side. It's a knife.
My knife.
"Pick it up," comes a growl. I get on my hands and knees and steal a glance at the speaker. It's an orc captain. He stares hard at me, unflinching, unwavering, yet somehow I feel no coldness in his gaze. He flicks a glance at the knife. "I demand the rite of blood," he declares.
Confused and outraged murmurs ripple through the army. I'm not a total alien to their culture; I know that the rite of blood is a duel to the death, often demanded by a prisoner in a gamble for freedom. They know it as well as I do. And they begin to argue. "She's not an orc," one says. "The captor doesn't get to declare the rite," says another. The captain has none of it. "Silence!" he bellows. I flinch at the sound. "I'll do whatever I want," he continues. "Anybody can demand it. Get up, elf."
My knees are so wobbly, I can barely stand. There is no way on earth I can fight an orc in this state. I couldn't even do it at my peak, not without magic. But then I look into that orc captain's eyes, and I know what he is trying to do. He is giving me another chance. Through his steel glare, there is a flame of defiance in him, a stubborn, unquenchable will to stand against the darkness. He stands alone.
How can it be that he and I, once worlds apart, should find one another so alike, here at death's doorstep? How can it be that there exists in the world an orc, even one orc, that would challenge his brothers' culture so brazenly and without fear? His courage strengthens my own, and somehow, I find myself standing upright.
Perhaps I will not die tonight. If there's even the smallest chance, the tiniest sliver of hope, that there is still something good in this god-forsaken world, I can hope again.
I owe that orc a debt I shall never repay.
Scrawl Banditta
ConductorCore
SilverPaw
Rin
ineffable
Shadows Demons
Lord Zee