The monsoon comes roaring down around you in thick sheets, drowning out all other sounds. The jungle, once a creeping, crawling mass of bright colors, is now a dull gray. Your clothes are soaked through. The rain is warm, but that is of little comfort. Your mind is on your mother. Her hands covered in scales. Her hair matted to the floor with blood. Her mouth, which once spoke words that would strike fear in men, hanging silently open. It’s all a blur.

You struggle to call her words to memory. You were crying. Your mother, Saura, asked you what was wrong.

“He hit me again,” you told her. It wasn’t the first time your ‘savior’ had done so. Fray had a short temper, and it seemed to be getting worse by the day.

All the other women who had been impregnated by orcs during the attack had either killed themselves or fled the city. Your mother alone had remained. Fray, in his mercy, had consented to take on Saura as his apprentice. You were born in his tower, safe from the spirit of vengeance that lived in the folk of Dakana.

“What have you done?” she asked, wiping away your tears.

“Nothing.” you replied.

“Think,” she said. You do. You can’t think of anything you did wrong.

“Gorgek,” she said softly, “sometimes men are mean. Sometimes what they do is evil. Sometimes women can be mean too. Frey is mean, but the men outside these walls are worse. The men and women in the village are awful, but the orcs who attacked us are even worse then them.”

You looked down, ashamed of your heritage.

“Gorgek,” she said again softly, “do you know why I named you that?” You shook your head no. “Because you are strong. Stronger then them. ‘Gor’ comes from the ancient orc word for blood. Men believe the spirits reside in the breath, orcs believe the spirit resides in the blood. So ‘gor’ can mean either spirit or blood. ‘Gek’ is an ancient orc word for death. Orcs have a hundred words for death. ‘Gek’ means a vengeful death. A just death. Settling the balances. You are the Spirit of Vengeance.”

“One day you will be bigger and stronger than anyone else, I know it. No one will dare hit you. You will inspire fear in those who will oppose you. And you will take vengeance on the Strong Tribe. You will kill them all.”

As you sit there in the mud, wet, and angry, and alone, you don’t feel strong. You sit and you cry. You cry for a long, long time. When the rain stops three days later, your eyes are dry. Your mother is gone. The village of Dakana is gone, along with your ties to the people who live there. Your self-pity is gone. You will never cry again.

Your stomach growls. You haven’t eaten in three days, and you are hungry. You crawl out from between the giant tree roots you’ve been huddled between and go in search of food.

The monsoon has turned the wet jungle floor into a swamp. It is hard to tell where the riverbank ends and where it begins. You try hopping from one clump of grass to the other, but it’s useless. Eventually you give up and wade through the warm water.

“Don’t move!” comes a hiss from behind. You heft your little hatchet, taken from the tower’s kitchen as you fled, and whirl around. A young orc stands behind you with a bow drawn.

“I said don’t–” but it is too late.

There is an explosion of movement to your right, water splashes, and you feel shooting pain as something clamps down hard on your thigh. You barely have time to look down and see what it is before the crocodile pulls you down into the water.

You try to regain your footing, but your heart sinks when you realize there is none. How can this be? The water was only knee-deep before. You are about to swing your hatchet into the crocodile’s head, but it goes into a barrel roll, and suddenly you don’t know which way is up. You panic.

The monster stops spinning. You swing wildly with your hatchet before you realize the crocodile’s jaws have slackened. You hack at the lifeless body until you run out of air, and then swim frantically to the surface.

The young orc is sitting in the water near the river’s edge, completely wet and breathing hard.

“You’re welcome.” he says. His bow is nowhere to be seen. He points over your shoulder, and you look to see the crocodile floating to the surface, a stone knife protruding from it’s skull.

He is young. Younger than you maybe. He says his name is Hunter(later called Keth), and he is part of a nomadic tribe that is camped at the edge of the jungle. He laughs when he finds out that you think he is an orc. He asks if you have ever met an orc before. He says he is half-blooded, and that both his mother and father were half-orcs. His tribe is a tribe of half-orcs; some are born into the tribe, and some are adopted into it.

He asks you if you want to meet his brothers. He mentions something about food.

You follow Hunter back to his camp. You smell the roasted pig even before you see the smoke through the trees. There are a dozen large teepees set up, and what you guess to be half-orcs roaming about. Hunter makes some jokes about catching game. The others make some jokes about his catch being a bit small, but it might still be delicious.

They all laugh when you ask about them being brothers. They did not all come from the same mother, but are brothers in spirit. They are all outcasts. They are rejected by men and orcs alike. That is why they are brothers. They welcome you to the brotherhood.

Hunter introduces you to his friends, Big Cat, Little Cat, and Lioness. They are all third generation half-bloods. The Cat brothers are so called for their speed and agility. Little Cat is the same age as you and Hunter. Lioness is their older sister. She acts as a mother figure for many of the younger half-bloods.

You meet Rain, who is very old, and covered in scars. Hunter tells you he is the best fighter. You meet Mammoth, who is also quite old. Hunter says he’s the strongest. Thunder Horse is the fastest, but a tall guy named Running Bull is quick to challenge that assumption. He is just a bit older than you, and says when he gets a little bigger, he will be faster than Thunder Horse.

Starfall is young and attractive, and by far the smallest half-blood. She is very passionate, Hunter says, and has little self control. Her small stature and unbridled passion will get her killed some day, he says.

Beast is young, like you, and is a first generation half-blood, like you. He has four tusks on his bottom jaw instead of just two. Hunter says this is because he his half dragon-maw. He asks what tribe your orc blood comes from.

“It doesn’t matter what tribe he comes from!” scolds Raven. Raven is a little older than you, and his skin is much darker green. He has dark penetrating eyes. Hunter looks down at the ground with shame. Raven explains that many half-bloods wish to be like their orcish ancestors, and thereby lead violent, evil lives, and die young. He tells you to follow him and meet Sitting Frog.

Hunter explains that Raven is one of the smartest in the Brotherhood, that he sits on the council, and that he speaks a dozen languages. He says Sitting Frog is the oldest and wisest of the Brotherhood, and is the leader of the tribe.

“Welcome, brother.” says Sitting Frog. His face is wrinkled and covered in age spots, but his eyes burn with the fire of youth. “Our brother Hunter has brought you here. He seems to think your place in the world is with us. What say you?”

Sitting Frog explains the rules of the tribe. Each will have a job to do. Each is expected to do it. You are to submit to the rule of the elders and to live at peace with your brothers. He explains that orcs have weak minds, and men have weak bodies, and that a half-blood can be neither or both: it is a choice. Will you choose to discipline your body and mind?

He also says that a half-blood has been given this choice by the gods, and to chase the teaching of men or to chase the teaching of orcs is to spit on the choice that has been offered to you by the gods. The gods supply the rain, and the earth, and the plants and animals. Your life is a reflection of nature, not parentage. A product of the earth, not of race or magic or high ideals.

He explains that he was given an orc name when he was young, and he accepted it. Now he knows better. When he was a boy he was weak and useless, like a frog egg. Then he grew in size and strength. He became barbaric. He killed hundreds. This was him swimming as the tadpole does. Then he learned the languages of men. He learned to read and write. He learned to take the orcish blood lust and bring it under his control. This is when he ‘became Sitting Frog’.

“Now I am free to swim in the river or to hop on the land. I can swing and axe and bathe in blood, or I can use my mind as a weapon, and spare death. What say you? Do you desire to become one of us?”