My mother would tell me stories before I went to bed when I was young. Despite our hut needs more spaces for beds, she would always save space for tell me stories when I was born in a boat.
She would always tell me her stories when all of us were sailing to Aruka, our current and new home, you could see her eyes glitter whenever she tells the stories of my father Girim's bravery on the sea, fighting sea monsters and storms.
"Madew, why don't you tell me stowies before the sea?" whenever I ask her to tell me the stories before the sail, she gives me an emphatic smile and dodge the question.
"You are too young for you to know that."
"Madew I can handle scawy stowies, I am Awuz Giwimkwin, son of a gweat orc Giwim!"
My mother laughs at my pathetic yet very adorable attempt of bravery. "I'm sure you're going to become a great orc, Aruz Girimkin , the one never seen before!" she carried the young me off the faskin to the air and then to her arms. She knows I was born weak but her words still motivates me. "I promise to you I will tell you stories of what we were before when you reach your 14th winter star."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
~~|~~
She never fulfilled her promise, at my 14th summer, my mother brought me to the market to buy me anything to note, but she was caught in an accident. One of our people rampaged out of control and went on a destruction spree which ended up killing my mother.
Even then, no one blamed the orc, at the time I didn't understand why they didn't punish my mother's killer, even father sympathize with him. Even if I want revenge, my inborn frail body cannot hope to kill an orc.
Our relationship with my father at the time was distanced. Until my 14th winter star reached the sky.
I was on a field, steps away from our furnished hut. When my father Girim the Brave; The King of Sails and the Peircing Archer walked towards me and sit right next to me.
His structure, height and muscles towers above mine; weak and short.
"Have you remember your promise to your mother?" my father asked.
"Yes, how could I not."
Girim's expression soured, a pain in the heart for Girim to find his only child, his only connection to his wife felt distant.
"Aruz, please forgive your mother's killer."
"FORGIVE?!" I snapped "SHOULD I JUST LET HIM BE?"
"Please."
"I won't, I'm sure mother would understand." I stood up, I thought of running home then and there but my father grabbed my shoulder.
"I know but... I will tell you this story, this is supposed to be told by your mother as of today but..."
"She's not here"
Me finishing his words pained my father's expression, as if he still couldn't believe his wife, my mother is gone.
"This is a story way before you were born, our history..."
He looked at the winter star and told me the stories before the sail.
Orcs, our kind, me, everyone of us and our children after us have the same curse, a curse of an evil god that brought us in this world. The "berserker's curse" they call it, gives great strength in exchange of morality and empathy, and my father and his generation enslaved by the evil god, manipulated into fighting in the god's conquest in multiple worlds for thousands of years, each time they die, their souls gets recycled into a new body. Even if those memories of them fighting or how the world looks like was fuzzy, they never forget the atrocities they commited. Male and female orcs pillaged and took whoever they think is nice enough to become their toy, after they get sick of them, the orcs attach them into battering rams and laugh at the rain of blood and guts. My father who is strong, brave, and protects the weak when needed, and my mother who is also strong, beautiful and courageous, both are kind but their curse made them genocidal.
I could not believe him, how could I?
He continued, after they were brought in this world. A wizard wearing white cloak neutralize the curse with runes, the same runes all of us wear in our clothings and our tattoos, and she taught our shamans how to recreate the runes. With that, our shamans try to free every orc they know.
But it was impossible to save everyone, the evil god noticed our rebellion and sent a demon king to destroy us. The free orcs split into three and we flee to the south, in where we are today. Aruka.
Father added that my mother's killer was grieving and offered to take his tusks, a symbol of orcish dignity and his life as punishment as he killed another life with his curse uncontrolled. The elders and my father's generation understand the grief of the killer so they punish him with a rune check-in in chains. My father said that the killer couldn't accept it and started to trash around while bounded insisting on giving him a death sentence.
I listened to my father's stories, and started to consider to forgive my mother's killer. It's hard to accept but him and his generation before him was a mindless genocidal raiders, even mother. And they flee here to have a blank slate, a new life without mindless killing.
Our relationship with my father was rekindled, and I began asking him about the orcs' life before their enslavement. But as he couldn't remember the worlds they invaded properly, their homeworld was the same, a fuzzy memory.
Unsatisfied, I went to the elders and ask them the same, but they also told me the same, even the shamans have the same reply.
Frustrated, I keep searching to satisfy my curiosity but to no avail.
Then I realize, when I talk to them I, love listening to what they have to say, even if they didn't satisfy my questions. I like writing, taking notes to the ones I listen to and try to piece them together into one shared information.I love learning things first hand, having an opportunity to understand and learn things based on experience is a satisfying thing to do.
Right here and there, I decided to become a scribe.