Orka's Home

[Orkashak]

The day of arrival for Orka had not been stressful. No one bothered him, and with good reason. No one had even stared his way. He had just come down the final road to find the home Joe had offered to him. He was grateful for the kindness that he knew he would see less of while living here in the Dark city by the bay. Although Imperia was rumoured to be a dangerous place of crime, Orka felt calm while he walked the streets. He realized that compared to humans, elves, katta and the other races, that he was huge. He also knew that were he to get into a fight, he would be able to defend himself.

He came upon a run down little hovel. Vines climbed their way through the open cracks on the building. It was made of wooden panneling, and the roof was flat and full of debris. The only window on the place was unbroken but dirt prevented light from entering the little building. The door was also in good shape, but the hinges looked slightly rusted. A dirt path led to the entrance of the hovel, and it even had a dead little garden underneath the only window. Orka sighed at the little building; even his old tent would be better than this.

He walked up to the wooden door, and after a heave the door ripped open, releasing an odour that had been festering for who knows how long. In the centre of the floor laid a rat carcass, in the final stages of decomposition. Orka cocked his head at the sight, grimaced at the strong scent, and proceeded to kick the rat right out the door into his dead graden. The scent would fade with time, but it still lingered within the wood. Orkashak laid his small bindle of belongings on the floor and wiped the window with his forearm to allow some light in. A nest of flies was disturbed underneath the window and buzzed in disagreement.

Orka knew that this would take some work and many crowns to spruce up to be a decent place to sleep and live. Inside there was one steel frame with a straw matress, a wrought iron stove with ashes inside and a dustpan for cleaning, and a washbasin. He sat upon the bed, the door still rocking on it's old hinges, creaking annoyingly. Although the smell was bad, the flies nest would have to be taken care of, and the home was run down, Orka smiled. It would just be a project that he could focus his time on. He finally had his own place, free to do what he wanted, free to roam the city when he pleased, free to live on his own. For the first time he felt independant.

With a laugh and a flick of his hand, he slammed the door shut behind him and left. The flies buzzed, pleased that the intruder was gone.

[Orkashak]

Months transpired. Orkashak, sitting on his bed, though of what would be best to do now. He had spent all this time, here, at home, or out at the market, forgetting. Forgetting the feud that tore his family apart. Forgetting that he fled like a coward instead of swearing revenge. Forgetting his old life, among Dorin, for here in the big city, Dorin were scarcely found. He focused his thoughts on cleaning his home, which he did with relative ease, sweeping, dusting. Soon the stench of the dead rat had aired out, rays shot through the glass window, the flie's nest had been exterminated, and the vines had been torn from the exterior. The hovel looked in the best shape it had been in a long time.

He had this to focus on, among other thoughts that plagued his mind. He thought out everything that had transpired, everything that could transpire, and after months of lonely idling, decided he was ready. In his heart, in his soul, in his mind; he was ready to face the trials ahead with renewed vigor. His tribe must have hated him for fleeing, but his tribe did not matter any longer. They were all dead. And whether Orka knew it or not, the thoughts of his tribe were cast from his mind. To think that a 'wise' chieftain would bring such a price down on his own people.

Orka did not want to think any longer. He wanted to act. And so, he got up off the matress at last and slammed the door shut behind him.

I think I will go for a drink.