Nuances
Alternate Title: Taria Learns a Lesson She’ll Probably Forget Because of the Head Trauma
(This story takes place in the past, when Taria and Grok first knew each other. This is a story from when Taria believed her father was an orc.)
“You gave me your word, Grok!” The worn and bleeding berserker charged forward, her barreled chest heaving mere inches from an orc nearly a foot and a half taller than her. Blazing aegean blue eyes met tired, but fierce, brown orbs set deep in a thoughtful, wizened face. The old orc took hold of the tip of one of her blades and bluntly separated the two halves that were barely holding as it was.
“You need rest, Pup. And food. You need to learn to maintain your weapons…and yourself.”
“You said you’d fight me! I did all your stupid tests. Fucking fight me!”
Neither one threw a blow, though Taria seemed to be willing to. Grok’tor let out a heavy sigh and pushed her out of the way as he trudged back towards the village. They were still a few miles from home. Hopefully she would tire out completely before then.
One might’ve mistook the look on the younger fighter’s face as one of murderous intent. Like a wolf challenging their elder, her teeth ground together with an audible ‘click’.
Then she uttered a word.
Quiet…Harsh…
Like poison spat from her mouth.
“Ur’gora.”
The butt of his axe hit her before she’d even realized he’d moved. She woke up in the medicine hut with a black eye and a throbbing headache. From the corner, those same tired brown eyes found her, studying her movements as she sat herself up.
“I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
Taria groaned. Was one of her ribs broken? Just how hard did he hit her?
The old orc rose from his seat and moved to the side of her cot. “Being an orc is more than just fighting and warfare, Pup. But slinging insults without knowing their weight is a good way to get yourself killed.”
Her face twisted into a snarl and she crossed her arms over her chest. Grok’tor let out a deep sigh and continued. “You came here to learn what it meant to be an orc. No human has-”
“Half-human.”
The orc let out a huff, dropping into her personal space. Hot, angry breaths bombarded the warrior’s face. “You do not look like an orc. You do not sound like an orc. You do not act like an orc.”
Taria made a move to interject, but Grok only got closer. “You act like a wild animal. Lashing out. Fighting without reason. Or purpose. If you are here to be a wolf, then you can sleep in the kennel.”
He harshly pulled back and turned for the door. Upon reaching it, he paused. “...If you are here to be an orc…then get some rest. We will continue training when the sun rises.”
((Been a while, but I finally managed to get a little bit of writing done. This took longer than it should and I still dunno if I’m happy with it, but I wanted a story to go with this photomanip I did.))