Chapter 1: The Pariah

A brass bell's twang rang atop the stern oaken door and stung Kurgren's ear as he begrudgingly shuffled towards the jailhouse, ducking his head to avoid hitting the doorframe, as he walked past the bored guards by the buildings entrance.

As Kurgren stepped into the jailhouse with a sigh, his eyes darted around the interior of the jailhouse. The walls and roof were comprised of seamless stone, as if the building was made by carving an interior on a stone cube. Faint lines of runes shows it to have been constructed by Earth magic. Windows, made and strengthen by magic, break up every bright opening with crisscrossing bars. But even in bright daylight, the jailhouse was still too dark for anyone but a Dwarf, Orc, or Vardskul to see. With a lightbulb above providing the light, the metal glowing with the runes of fire magic.

"Morning, Demonspawn," the town jailer, a man the size of a bull and half the brains, greeted Kurgren as soon as he stepped towards him. And he could sense the feigned politeness.

Kurgren then heard the hissing snickers of two guards at the entrance. He had been used to such insults and shut it out of his mind and continues onward, walking past the town jailer and straight to a large billboard next to his table.

On it strewn posters, orderly lined and stapled by the city watch HQ at Remlia, highest value at the top, from two-thirty silvers to three gold, and lowest at the bottom, from a copper to two silver, from runaways of Byzalem to petty bread thieves. Each with a rune on the corner which, upon contact, announce the criminal, crime, last seen location and bounty for the illiterate.

His eyes scanned all the bounties, bitterly wishing he could take the higher pays yet knowing he couldn't do it, not after last time.

It was hunting an experienced killer sentenced to death row who chose to be in the penal guards of Byzalem. Death row criminals who lives in the outcropping districts of wall Trajan, and in return become a full-fledged citizen of the nation after five years of service, who ran away with a reward of thirty and fifteen silvers with an alive bonus. In which Kurgren was forced to kill him, nearly dying in the process. Forcing him to be bedridden for a month afterwards and spending almost all of the silvers to heal his injuries.

He then picks a medium one, of ten silvers with another two to prepare, of five roving marauders, who were bank robbers with a ten-year sentence who broke out and sighted near here, an extra for each alive, and gives it to the jailer.

The jailer looks to it with indifference before giving him his preparation payment, a single silver.

Kurgren left, having lost previous arguments with the jailer of giving him lesser starting amounts, and makes his way to the alchemist.

As he walked out he looked around. Seeing wooden houses made with wind magic, shaping and merging logs like clay, till the walls showed no seams or grain, before enchanting it, mainly to repel termites and rot. While maintenance mages, people who chose to study basic magic in high school known by their white collared tunic, began checking the houses, making sure the runes aren't faulty and recharged. To washing the villager's clothes, using their magic to rinse, clean, and dry the clothes in a snap, before getting their pay and leaving.

But as he walked on the paved streets seeing children playing games or watching an apprentice mage do tricks with cantrips, froze up, staring into his grey eyes with black sclerae, like all Orcs and half-Orcs, or looking at his scar, running from his upper lip along his cheek, framed by his mess of blond hair, which a small red horn pokes out. Parents, watching their children or paying the mages, quickly pulling their child back, others tried to intimidate him with bravado and see eye to eye, even though he towered above all of them, -being nearly seven feet tall-, to guards glaring at him with hands tightened around their weapons as if he was going to attack.

During which old, hateful, thoughts began to brew as he walked. Looking to the happy children playing or others his age lazing around before work to a guard laughing with their friends, his scowl grew.

"Why can they live with such ease while I toil. Why must they be so rich while I scrape by for my mother? Why must my family be hated because my mother is an orc!" His anger grew as his hand tighten around his staff, till he feared he'll snap it. Then bumped into something and staggers, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Kurgren shakes his head and saw what it was.

It was a noblewoman. As she wore a toga over her dress, with a silver dragon pinned on her shoulder signifying a middle-class nobility, and a merchant by the toga being bright white, even when it touched the dirt.

Kurgren then began to give her a hand. Only to stop when he remembered previous reactions.

And, as he guessed, the woman crawls back and covers her chest.

"Back away you black beast!"

He then heard the cocking of guns and saw her guards. Two men notably armed with rolling block muskets, a weapon only the nobility can buy, and a bronze dragon pinning their cape, a sign that they are minor nobility.

"S-STAY BACK DEMONSPAWN!" One of them shouted, in an embarrassingly cracking voice.

Kurgren moved onward, unafraid as he could see how their hands and legs trembled, not wanting to make any more commotion, while they pretended that they drove him off.

But what Kurgren hated most how they acted. Looking down on workers like him from their villa, lazing around drinking wine like water while ignoring the plight of the farmers, who grew the food they eat, who has to survive through a poor harvest and face their wrath from supply dropping.

His hand then tightens on his staff again, trying to contain his hatred, as he wished he had powers and prestige. The powers he and his mother rightfully deserved, having to work to the bone just to get a meal and home. And strip those highborn, hypocritical, bastards of the powers they didn't deserve and give it to those who labored yet given no respect or recognition. He then calmed himself as he saw the alchemist shop.

The doorbell rang as Kurgren enters.

Friga then looks up and smiled. Golden eyes glinting beneath her blue hair.

"Morning Kurgren. The usual?"

Kurgren nodded, feeling any lingering anger fading. The relatively old alchemist, at least three hundred despite looking in her early twenties. But by her people standards she's an adult.

She is a Yukione. Immortal people of the barren north with bodies made of magical snow and ice, giving them pale blue skin. Cold blooded, cold to the touch, immune to natural cold and resistant to magical cold. Only needing to subsist on essence.

"Morning to you too Friga. Any letters from Ingrid this week?"

Friga shook her head.

"Sadly no. But this month is her first exams. And knowing my little girl she's likely practicing around the clock." Before sighing, tears starting to flow out before freezing to ice upon her cheeks.

"It feels like it was only yesterday when I taught her the basics of alchemy. And now, by winters end, she'll become a royal alchemist."

Kurgren couldn't help but smile with her. Ingrid was always ambitious, wanting to become a royal alchemist who served a senator, and Friga and Erik love towards her reminded him of his parents. Before going back on why he came.

"I need a few healing tonic and flash-discs." And hands her three empty vials.

Friga nods as she goes to the door behind the counter and Kurgren looks around.

There upon shelves were many potions. From cheap, mundane, medications, to ones that knitted back flesh or dulling pain. And expensive ones from a drink where a sip of it will be a full meal for a day to ones that makes the drinker invisible. And spheres containing poisonous gasses, light an area on fire, or explode like a dwarven grenade when shattered, though from what he heard the blast was severely weak compared to a real one.

As he looked Kurgren remembered his old desire to learn alchemy, at least enough to own a simple shop so that he can provide for his mother without risk. Amazed by its effects when he was young, when his father was alive, but Friga is a low-level alchemist and the schools to teach it are miles away from here, not to mention expensive.

Friga then returned with three vials of healing tonic, two flash-discs, a glass disc enchanted to explode with a blinding light, and medication powder for his mother. Costing five silvers in total.

He then returned home, an unenchanted mud hut with a small field of onions, garlic, and cabbage, and part the curtain door to see his mother, Ayana, sleeping on the floor, with only a pile of hay and cloth for bedding.

He then kneels beside her and gently shakes her awake.

"Wake up mother. It's time for your medication."

Ayana stirs and gets up, only to be wracked by severe cough, throwing up drops of fluid.

Kurgren then helped her up, handing her cane, and led her to a seat before boiling the water and adding the medication.

As Ayana drank Kurgren could only look to her in sorrow. Remembering how she was when he was young.

He remembered how she was constantly brimming with passion, a fire as bright as her hair, and kindness, her blue eyes always there to comfort, and her tales of defeating nearly every animal and duelists, the faded scars from cuts to burns covering her body as proof.

But now she stood shriveled and weak, her once shining horns now faded and cracked, as diseases wracked at her. Starting from a high fever five years ago before worsening, when one was cured another came in, to severe coughs that shot fluid a month ago that worsens each day, Friga saying it's likely something called pneumonia, which can be life-threatening, with the medication only slowing the symptoms.

Kurgren then opened his coin pouch and hands trembled, he barely had anything. He tried his best, spending only on necessities and returning at midnight only to wake up when he saw the sunrise, to get enough to bring her to a temple, where the priests could properly cure her, but the nearest was at Leona which would take days to reach, especially with her condition, with a high cost for treatment.

He then looked to the vambrace on his right arm, a smooth piece of iron wrapped around his forearm and covered in a pattern of lines, with a strange indent at the center. It was his father heirloom, said to have dated back to the third age, which he could sell to help his mother, despite how precious it is. But he doubts it'll fetch no more than ten coppers, after asking the blacksmith five years ago, which is not enough to justify selling it as it's one of the last objects, along with the gambeson he wore, to remember him, not to mention it had saved him many times before.

"Halgabe uzanti kanhyr zizakeyo?" His mother asked in Kaihos, or Orcish as it's commonly called. Snapping Kurgren out of his thoughts.

"Ka qathi halgabe uzanti kanhyr?" She repeated.

Kurgren quickly wipes his eyes. "Yenem uma ka'i kulgha."

Ayana frowned. "Cho dha jaloy. Ka-" she then went into a coughing fit before resuming to Scanti, or common, the Human language. "Can tell your upset about something."

Kurgren looks to her in shock, he hoped that his mother couldn't see his dilemma like last time, but he knew she had a gift of reading him like an open book.

"It's about my illness isn't it?" Before another fit of pain induced cough came.

Kurgren wanted to lie, wanted her not to worry about him or tell him she'll be fine, but he knew she can see through his lies.

"Yes. We barely have enough to get you even a novice priest. Hells we barely have enough to pay the FUCKING tax collector!" His left hand then clenched, biting into his palm as he wasn't holding his staff.

Ayana then holds his other hand and pats it, calming him.

"Listen my dear summer son. You don't have to worry too much, just work at a preferred pace lest you fall from exhaustion."

Kurgren mentally groaned, hating his mother telling everything's fine when it isn't.

"But I have too. Friga said that if it doesn't stop then there can be more compo-canp-copli-fatal effects that could k-ki." His mouth then slammed shut and tears began to well, his mind doesn't even want to fathom that thought.

Ayana then smiled to soothe him.

"It'll be alright dear. Though things looked bleak and grim. It doesn't last forever. For light follows after dark."

Kurgren swallowed. A part of him wanted to tell her to stop, that they'll always be hated by many for their blood, that there is no light for their future but hope to be squashed.

And yet he always envied her outlook, to see that the world will give back someday, that powering through pain will bear fruit. Something he gave up when his father, a renowned paladin, was injured when they escaped Fortuna, when the senator of that region falsely accused them of treason. And for weeks he had begged to many priests, clerics, and knights to heal him, even giving away what little silvers they had left, but none came and soon his father succumbed.

Kurgren then stood up and walked to the altar, a clothed table, on the right. Which held a small portrait of a man with a hair as bright as gold and eyes grey as iron, both of which Kurgren inherited. And below reads.

Julian Hansen

38430-38475

Paladin, man of faith, devoted soldier, beloved husband and father. May he rest in Nazareth's arms.

Kurgren made a short prayer for his father to guide him, then went to grab his equipment, ashamed he took so long and wasted time he could have used to hunt the thieves, and checks his equipment. Bedroll, one-week rations, a length of rope, ten arrows, pocket sand, bow, knife, gambeson and quarterstaff. Then hugged his mother goodbye and went into the forest to hunt the thieves.

Hours past as he trekked, ignoring the chirping of birds and the sweet smell of flowers, stepping carefully to not make a noise. Wandering, and grumbling to find a trail, till sunrise became sunset.

Then he found tracks, about five pairs walking the same direction, and followed, finding branches crudely hacked apart with something not made for it or smashed apart. Then he picked up a scent of Humans and smiled. He now has a trail.

He then isolates the scent, having trained to hone on certain smells, and follows, moving where the smell is stronger till it was cloying and stopped. Moving closely till he saw them.

Around a small campfire were four men and a woman near a tent made of sticks and leaves. All wore chainmail hauberks, four wielding short swords sheathed in their belt and the last wielding a two-handed Warhammer and wore a nasal helmet, but no ranged weapon. Their faces matching the poster.

He then crept closer and grabbed his bow, laying his staff on a tree.

Nocking the arrow with his left hand, the bow began to faintly glow as it enhances the arrow, he aimed and breathed slowly so as to make sure the shot incapacitates, not kill, and lets loose.

The arrow plunged through the right side of the thief's chest, the empowered arrow punching through unenchanted chainmail. Below the rib where Friga said the liver resides, and out the back, and knocks him down before the rest saw him and charged. Kurgren grabbed his staff and swiftly pulls back and the thieves follow and fell for his trap. The disc exploded in bursts of light blinding them.

Kurgren puts his staff by the tree and quickly nocked another arrow and loose, incapacitating another before one of them charged.

A blade whistles past as he dodges it, dropping his bow then grabs the outstretched arm and drives his knee into her groin, mother having taught him such strikes hurts whether men or women, followed by a headbutt, his horn splitting the skin on her forehead.

Kurgren then raised his right arm as the second one charged in and swung, cringing as the blade tips glide off his vambrace and caused a small, shallow, cut to form on his flesh, its enchantment dampening the blow and preventing the blade from cutting the cloth beneath, then draws his knife and retaliates.

The blade glowed from the small runes etched in it, as it effortlessly cut through the man's unenchanted hauberk and gambeson before glancing off his ribs. The man yelled before Kurgren slams the pommel to his forehead. The last thief then recovered and charge.

Kurgren quickly dodges and threw his pocket sand to the thief's face.

The thief staggered back, clutching his eyes when Kurgren kicks him down and grabbed his staff and readies. Left hand at the near an end and right hand a few inches away, akin to a longsword grip.

The thief gets up and swung overhead.

Kurgren quickly caught it, at the crook of the hammerhead and handle, small runes on it glow and prevent it from snapping under the force. With his superior strength, Kurgren twists and pushes the hammer down and counters with an elbow to the chin, a crack resounding as the jaw breaks, knocking him into a daze. Then leaps back and swings to the liver, briefly surprised as the man still stand afterwards, then lays his staff forward, like a spear, and tries calms his breathing.

The thief quickly recovers, wiping his eyes, and leapt back before they circled each other.

Kurgren pulled his staff back, till his right hand held near the middle, and readies, knowing he has the range advantage, to counter.

The thief charged. And Kurgren retaliates with a stab, pushing the staff to full length, and struck him before he could reach.

Only for the armor to faintly glow as his staff glide off, a fracture dampened to a bruise.

Kurgren eyes widen.

"Crap!" The bandit smiled as he got closer.

"His armor is enchanted."

A wave of pain then surged through Kurgren as the thief retaliates with a strike to the side and falls down, winded.

A sharp crack resounded as the hammer is stopped by Kurgren staff inches away, gritting his teeth till he tasted blood, then pushed it off and kicks his groin.

The thief staggers back, nearly falling down, and Kurgren quickly gets up and swings low at his unarmored legs.

The thief, holding in a yell, retaliates with a back-handed punch followed up by a strike to his ribs with his war hammer.

Kurgren gasps in pain as he pushes the thief away and staggers back, quickly surveying the current situation.

Some of his left ribs were cracked but his gambeson enchantment had prevented the worst, his foe was leaning and limping on his right leg with his stance unsteady and eyes unfocused.

Kurgren tries to steady his breathing.

"I have to end this now!"

The thief then charged with a roar and swung. A loud crack then followed as Kurgren blocked then forced the hammer down and follows up with a strike to his thigh, forcing the thief to bend his knee in a shriek of pain to the snapping of bone, then pulled his staff back and pushed it forward with a thrust. A loud clang echoes as the tip struck the bandits head and he falls down unconscious.

Seeing that the fight is won Kurgren quickly unslings a vial and guzzles down the liquid, slightly gagging as the burning, bitter tonic flows down his throat. He feels his cracked ribs and damaged organs begin to mend where he could easily, but still painfully, breath and most of the pain subsides.

With his injuries mostly taken care of, he looks at the unconscious thieves, and then pull out another healing vial and pours it into their mouths, hoping to keep them alive for the bonus, before salvaging their equipment and pulling out the arrows.

Then tied them up with his rope before checking the sky, the night is about to fall and begins to set up a simple camp, using the bandit's campfire. Cleaning his staff, arrows, and armor. Diligence from his farm life, where he could barely grow enough for his mother and him to eat with nothing left to sell, then makes dinner with portable soup, pieces of air-dried beef stock, with salted pork and onions.

But before he could eat, he saw a pillar of light suddenly flash from a distance and he hurries to the area.

When he reached the area, he gagged. On the ground was a woman in cyan robes with a satchel, an ebony orb lay beside it, and an unconscious silver-winged hummingbird. But the sickening part of it was that both her right arm and leg were impossibly bent, there was a gaping hole in her shoulder so deep he saw broken bones, and her belly was cut wide open like a gutted fish.

Kurgren nears the body when she moved and talk to him, causing him to stumble in shock, how in the hell was she still alive.

"T-t-take this o-orb to the Silver bull in the city of l-l-Leona, tell no one" she spat out blood in a pained gasp, trying in vain to hold her organs in.

"Who the hell are you?" Kurgren replied in shock, sitting up.

"There's-" she then retched up more blood, "No time! Please take the orb I beg you. If they find it Byzalem will fall!"

Kurgren looks in confusion, the woman is delirious from blood loss, and it sounded like she is hunted by someone of high power since Byzalem is the only nation preventing the demons coming out the gate of hell in the south to destroy Arkalion. But a risk he wouldn't take, lest he leaves his sickly mother without help and hounded by the humans before she spoke again crying.

"Please! My boss will even pay!"

This piqued Kurgren's interest, at least not to ignore it as a delirious rant.

"He'll pay handsomely, in gold, just say the phrase 'tankard of ordenmul' and 'alkoh berries', please take it before he-he." She then gags takes her last breath, and died. Her eyes open wide, and the bird suddenly changes to an orb of light then vanishes.

Kurgren looks through her belongings, feeling a bit guilty, and took two silvers from her pouch and a talismam with a sapphire, the size of his palm, bearing the symbol of water, a wave in a square, which was strangely dull, almost white, when he sword it glowed blue before. And not willing to carry more weight and knowing the conclusions the guards will jump to if they saw him carrying a dead woman, and would have him lynched. He tries his best to dig a grave, in respect, with his staff, getting about a foot deep, closed her eyes, then carve and places a sickle, the symbol of Kindred, the deity of death, one of the five Human deities, upon burying her mound.

He then picks up and looked at the orb "I hope to the gods that this job pays well as she said," and puts it in one of his pockets and returns to camp.