Algar And Faldeon

Algar’s large form suddenly rose quickly from his bed. The Half-Orc was covered in sweat. He moved over to a large water basin and washed the sweat off his face. “It has been a long time since I had that dream”, he thought.

He climbed down to the training room, the dream still fresh in his head. It was more a memory than a dream.

In a valley near the Elvenwood, a smoke rose to meet the sky from a small village. This was the village of Mogwart. Mogwart was a half-orc monk disciple of Utua, set up his village of peaceful Half-orc outcasts twenty-five winters ago. Situated in a narrow valley near the Elvenwood the community remained in relative peace, even setting up a limited trade with the elves. Into this setting the Half-Orc Algar was born. Algar was the son of two half orc parents, both newly settled outcast from a Vorg rider Tribe. He was the youngest of several siblings. He had a typical childhood as others in the village, here he learned from Mogwart that the world outside was cruel and did not trust his people, to be vigilant against the forces that wanted to destroy them, to never surrender, and to never give into there rage. Here he trained to be a warrior, though not one of the strongest warriors, he could hold his own.

He remembered that fateful day, while out hunting that he came across a pack of wolves attacking a lone elf, wounded with a broken leg. With his help, both of them defeated the wolves. The elf, named Faldean, still needed help and Algar could not in his heart leave him out here. Algar decided, despite the danger of being shot by elven snipers to carry him to the edge of Elvenwoods. Faldean warned him not to enter and he knew from past experiences the meaning of his words, but he carefully trudged on. By Twil’s grace, the first elf he encountered was Faldean’s brother who was looking for him, before he could attack the Half-orc, Faldean explained what had happened. Faldean's brother nodded and took him from the arms of the half orc with not so much as a thank you, turned and disappeared in the woods, leaving Algar alone in the clearing.

A few weeks later it happened. Algar remembered that he and his brother were tending the goats that day. He remembered looking out at the valley and thinking that the sun was setting over the mountains, left the valley looking like it was blood soaked. He looked south and saw large smoke coming from the forest. He noticed shapes coming from the forest, hundreds of them. The Glint of Armor and Weaponry made Algar realized it was an army, but they were too big to be elves. Algar realized what they were Orcs!! The village has been the subject of several raids, but only of a few dozen orcs, never this many, never this organized. His brother was already bounding down the hill toward the village. The alarm bell began to sound, as Algar ran down the hills toward his home, only to be met by an orc scout. The Orc charged screaming “Die half-breed!!”, Algar was hit with a powerful blow by the scouts sword, but his warrior training told him to roll with the blow, which probably saved his life. Algar was wounded but alive. As he looked up he saw the Orc standing over the bleeding Algar, ready to deliver the killing blow. Algar reacted purely on instinct and landed a blow to the Orcs groin. He hunched over and picked up a large rock and smashed the orcs face, he was quickly rewarded with the splash of Orcish blood. The lifeless body landed on top of him pinning him to that spot, he tried to push it off, but the wound made him to weak to do so. He looked at the village to watch the chaos. Though Orcs was meeting stiff resistance from the village, they managed to set the village on fire, including the great monastery of Utua. He saw his father leading a group of warrior and driving the attackers back towards the mountains.

He looked up in time to see another orc move towards him as it noticed he was still alive, this one armed with a great sword. Algar tried to move, but he was still weak from the wound he had taken earlier. Algar closed his eyes so as not see the final swing, he prayed to Utua for forgiveness and to take him in his warriors paradise. He felt the orc land on top of him, further pinning him. He saw what had happened, elves, hundreds of them, the village was saved, he thought. The elves were here, they had known about the village and together they would eliminate the threat. In fact he was saved by an elven arrow. His smile, which quickly turned to a look of horror as he saw the elves not only attack the orcs, but his brother. He saw them kill the children and woman of the village trying to escapte. Balls of flame shot towards the village, setting it further ablaze. The chaos of the situation, strengthened like a storm, as the naive half orcs had routed the orcs, were returning back, when they were assaulted by arrows. The arrows seemed to Algars eyes to be a black cloud of stinging bees. He watched as they killed any who lived, and for the first time in a long time, Algar cried. His weeping brought him the attention of one of the elven warriors, he looked down at Algar with recognition. It was Faldeon’s brother, who freed him from this orc tomb. He brought him to an elven nobleman, they spoke between them, as the noblemen looked angry, almost screaming at the other elf. He spit on Algar, he could feel the rage building, and he leapt at the nobleman. Algar was about to strangle the elf, when Faldeon's brother threw him off. Before he could react, the elves quickly bound him. The Elf noble said in common “See nothing but savages, they deserved this!”. Algar was about to attack him when a messenger appeared in the group, it was Faldeon. He was looking in horror at what had happened, at the carnage his people were doing. He handed the nobleman a scroll, and looked at his brother, who shook his head and shrugged. He pointed at Algar and said some words in the language of elves. “Why is he bound!” demanded Faldeon, “Why did you do this, you knew these people were innocent, you knew your orders were not attack the village!” Faldeon screamed. He turned to the other elves and his brother “Why did you let this happen?”. The noble looked at Faldeon, “How dare you question our wisdom, if we did not do this today, they would have done it us!! They are orcs, they deserve it for what they did to your own people, my wife and my daughter!” He reached for his sword and was about to kill Algar, Faldeon came in the way “They were innocent, they did nothing, they were not the ones who did this, look past your hatred, and see the truth!” The noble responded “Out of my way whelp, or join his fate!” The elf lunged and Faldeon responded by drawing his sword. The noble was about to attack when his sword was stopped by another. Faldeon’s brother looked at the two and said calmly “There has been enough bloodshed for this day, Elves should not fight other elves” The noble spat in anger “He was about to attack me. He chose this creature over his own people, he is a traitor.” Faldeon looked into the noble’s eyes and said “This half orc has shown me more mercy than any of my people. I no longer wish to even be associated with you.” “So be it” said the noble as he spat on the ground in front of the Faldeon and turned around, the other elves followed, all ventured back towards the woods. Faldeon’s brother said some words to him, hugged him and handed him a potion, and also turned towards the woods.

Faldeon, looked at the village, and began to weep. “I am sorry friend, I was too late to stop this!”

Algar, looked at him then at his smoldering village, a tear streaked his face. “No friend, if it was not the elves it would have been another! We will rebuild and Mogwart’s vision will be fulfilled. Utua, watch your new wards, and may they fight with bravery and honor in your domain.” He drank the potion that was handed to him, turned to the Elf “My name is Algar.” He extended his hand
The young elf reached and grabbed in a warriors shake “I am Faldeon.”

The sweat poured again from the hulking Half-Orc, the memories always made his workouts more intense. He trained every day, as he was practicing own of his maneuvers, his greatsword was met by an elvish blade. He smiled, as he looked at his ever constant companion, and knew this was going to be an interesting sparing match.

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