The Darkening Tide
The Road to Buckland
As an ork, there are things you must learn to accept. It matters not how, for the world has a way of convincing you if you resist, for good or bad is up to you. City people vex me. All of them, any city, anywhere. Hu-man, elf, troll, and even ork. They talk and sing and dance and wear pretty patterns and stand and sit like they should and eat like they should and even fight when they should but it is not natural. It is forced. Expected. Like their very lives are a show. And when there is no one to watch them, they fold. And shrivel, and die. And they will take as many others as they can with them. As an ork, I am easily overlooked. That is okay, we cut our hard teeth on this as children. I can accept how others see us as barbaric, we have earned it. We are a hot, fiery race of peoples, we earn our stripes. Some look on us with pity, or hatred, or disgust. That is fine. We do not apologize. We live as we will, we do not live with regrets. We always do what we believe is right. Which is why I do not understand the human-kind. They are so elusive with their actions. At times, I wonder if they ever think for themselves, or if they are even capable. They carry worry like a shroud, it covers them always. You can see it, and it moves them about, like a leaf in a wind. I think worry makes them so duplicitious. They cannot keep their word because their worries demand they break it. I am no stranger to worry. I have plenty to keep my gahad burning. But never will it eat my future, the way others let it. And I know why we sing and we dance and we make pretty things, we all must do what we must do to keep the horrors away. But I do not understand the city folk. For them, there is no horror. Only the show. For them, it is all just a performance. The human named Poe should not be here. He cannot defend himself, and cannot be of any use to this crusade. He would watch his kin die and do nothing. He has not enough courage to fill a windling’s belly. He will get a Namegiver killed, and then run away. What stories will be told then? He makes my body ache with the poison of my gahad. I should not have enticed him. So maybe he is not alone to blame. I will let him alone for now. Maybe I must accept his weakness. I do not understand his kind. But he shows no sign of understanding mine either. I see how he sees my kind. As faces to adore him. He will be disappointed. Buckland will reveal something useful I hope. There is precious little to go on. The trail of horrors we have witnessed already is convincing enough we are on the right trail. Gods help me, I love the rain.