“I’d wish to be normal,” he said. “Nothing special. Nothing strange. Just normal, normal as any other kid. So normal I could walk down the streets of Veldaren without anyone saying a thing. Without anyone noticing. I’m tired of being hated for what I cannot change. If I’m to be hated, at least let it be for what I’ve done.”
Harruq shivered, a chill worming its way up his spine.
“That’s really what you want?” he asked.
Qurrah nodded.
“Like everyone else,” he whispered. “No fear or hate or anger…”
He closed his eyes and said no more. While he slept, Harruq remained awake, staring at the night sky and wondering what it’d be like to walk down the streets of Veldaren no different than anyone else.
1
Qurrah marched through the conquered streets of Veldaren, Velixar and Tessanna at his side. Priests and paladins of the death god Karak surrounded them. The priests sang as they traveled south, rejoicing in their victory over Ashhur, Karak’s brother and enemy. A huge throng awaited them. Rows of armored war demons lined the streets, keeping the defeated citizens in line.
“A pitiful rabble,” Qurrah said at sight of the crowd. His voice was soft and raspy. Like Velixar, he wore dark robes of Karak. The blood of orcs and elves mixed in his veins, adding a delicate curve to his pale gray body. Tessanna held his hand as they walked, a beautiful black haired girl with eyes dark as caves, and a mind fractured and broken. Qurrah gestured to those kneeling and offering their lives to Karak. They were cold, hungry and scared. “Cowards who would offer themselves to any god to spare their scraps of life.”
“We sow fire and destruction,” Velixar said. “There is no place for them.”
“You promised them safety,” Qurrah pointed out. As their orc warriors had torn through the gates, Velixar’s message to the city had been clear: Kneel and live; worship or die. Qurrah smirked at his former master and teacher. “You also insist you never lie.”