“Do it again, Clown!”
These are the words that echo mercilessly through my mind during those times when I try to calm it, but cannot. These are the words uttered from the tusked maws of those Orc scum.
Clown. That was the name by which I was known for all those years. All those years they kept my hands bound and my body undernourished. All those years they forced me to entertain them with tricks of juggling jagged shards of glass or jumping through flaming hoops that were just small enough to singe, even on a perfect leap. I was their fool, like a caged animal forced to perform acts for their amusement. Bloody curs.
To them, it mattered not that I was once Tauth the Fleet, a goliath of a proud tribe of nomads, swiftest of them all. No. To them, I was merely an exotic play-thing.
On those frequent, lonely nights, I find myself wondering what would have happened had I not competed with my fellow tribesmen. Would I have been ambushed, captured, and tormented as I have been? But I realize the thought is moot. Competition is in our blood; it is who we are. There is no way around it. I now believe I was destined to be a slave to Orcs. The reason for this is beyond me, perhaps even beyond our tribe’s Skywatcher.
It is perhaps also destiny that another fellow prisoner – a frail human woman named Laritha – found it in her gracious heart to secretly enchant one of my juggling pins to be used as a weapon. It is her kindheartedness that allowed me to escape the Orcs, by intentionally slipping on one of her acts bad enough to cause a distraction for me. I do not know if she has survived, but if she lives, her selflessness will not go unrewarded.
And so, I choose to continue to wear the bright clothing, so that I may look at it and it will forever be a reminder of my past and the mission I have before me.
But it is not these cruel reasons alone that I may seem bitter, even though these reasons may be enough for most. No, what the Orcs did goes beyond mere blind malice. They have gone against their word after I had fulfilled my duty, forced though it was. They promised to set me free after just a month of mandatory jestering. When that month passed, they broke their word, their verbal bond that I foolishly thought they would keep. I have not forgotten our covenant, though I have been outsmarted this time.
The Orcs may have won this round, but trust me that I am keeping score, and I intend to win this competition. A Clown no longer.
These are the words that echo mercilessly through my mind during those times when I try to calm it, but cannot. These are the words uttered from the tusked maws of those Orc scum.
Clown. That was the name by which I was known for all those years. All those years they kept my hands bound and my body undernourished. All those years they forced me to entertain them with tricks of juggling jagged shards of glass or jumping through flaming hoops that were just small enough to singe, even on a perfect leap. I was their fool, like a caged animal forced to perform acts for their amusement. Bloody curs.
To them, it mattered not that I was once Tauth the Fleet, a goliath of a proud tribe of nomads, swiftest of them all. No. To them, I was merely an exotic play-thing.
On those frequent, lonely nights, I find myself wondering what would have happened had I not competed with my fellow tribesmen. Would I have been ambushed, captured, and tormented as I have been? But I realize the thought is moot. Competition is in our blood; it is who we are. There is no way around it. I now believe I was destined to be a slave to Orcs. The reason for this is beyond me, perhaps even beyond our tribe’s Skywatcher.
It is perhaps also destiny that another fellow prisoner – a frail human woman named Laritha – found it in her gracious heart to secretly enchant one of my juggling pins to be used as a weapon. It is her kindheartedness that allowed me to escape the Orcs, by intentionally slipping on one of her acts bad enough to cause a distraction for me. I do not know if she has survived, but if she lives, her selflessness will not go unrewarded.
And so, I choose to continue to wear the bright clothing, so that I may look at it and it will forever be a reminder of my past and the mission I have before me.
But it is not these cruel reasons alone that I may seem bitter, even though these reasons may be enough for most. No, what the Orcs did goes beyond mere blind malice. They have gone against their word after I had fulfilled my duty, forced though it was. They promised to set me free after just a month of mandatory jestering. When that month passed, they broke their word, their verbal bond that I foolishly thought they would keep. I have not forgotten our covenant, though I have been outsmarted this time.
The Orcs may have won this round, but trust me that I am keeping score, and I intend to win this competition. A Clown no longer.