chapter 1- the wedding

The war had finally ended. More than a decade had been fought between the orcs, humans, and elves until an alliance had been forged to battle a greater evil. My sisters and I had managed to do the impossible and slay the Ender of Worlds, a dragon that cast the very world into darkness at the stroke of its wings.

I had plunged the death stroke, through its eye so deeply my long blade had entered it’s brain. I had rode that dragon until the end, falling when it collapsed one last time to the ground. My leg had been crushed under the weight of its massive head, but I had managed to survive.

They said I would never walk again, but I am stronger than that. An orc is not told no. I walk now and I am still as strong and hale as ever and a great leader among my sisters and people. Because of these deeds, a final peace treaty was struck between orcs and elves everlasting.

My spoil and prizes were many, but none match the beauty of one: my future wife. She is a glowing ethereal being. Small and frail. Her golden hair shines, hanging down past her waist, braided around her head. The dress she wears barely covers her. She is nothing but skin and bones. Yet her pearly skin, blue eyes, and the gentleness of her being shines through.

Her dress is shimmering in the sunset, white and nearly gold. Her legs are long atop strange stilted sandals that look neither practical nor comfortable.

“Am I satisfactory, master?” She asks me in a quiet and subdued voice as she draws before me on the dais with careful steps that sashay her small hips. Her eyes do not meet mine. In the light, I can see they are slightly sunken in, her cheek bones too high and hollow as her ears tightly wrap up around her head. Her voice soft and light as a summer breeze.

I feel bulky and ugly next to her. Massively grotesque. I am an orc, not of classical beauty, but of brawn and power. I have known nothing but the warrior’s way. My bicep is thicker than her waist, perhaps even my forearm is. My black heavy mane of hair has been let forth from the warrior plait and tied intricately in bundles for our wedding. It is coarse and heavy past my shoulders. I bare the traditional fur shoulder pieces and cape that mark that my lineage as one of the far north. Fangs drop down over my bare arms and my gauntlets are fur and metal pieces. My chest is bound only by dress armor of fur and metal pieces leaving my cleavage and abs for all to see. My skirt hangs low, brown, but does not cover my thighs. It’s born only by a belt and ceremonial pieces that cover my thighs and knees.

Nothing covers the intricate tattoos or scars, a multitude which cover me. I am before her, tusks and all. I am told I am too handsome to be an orc. That there must be a human in my line. I’ve beaten people for saying less, but despite my thick tusk and broken one there is something about me that makes it easier for the elves and humans to approach me, even though I am no diplomat.

“M-master?” She stutters before me. I tilt my head as I place a gentled finger underneath her tiny chin. My hand is bigger than her face. Her blue eyes trail up my mighty body and she meets my brown eyes.

“You are quite satisfactory,” I say to the poor elf. “You are welcome to my house, milady. I am your servant.” Her blue eyes, much too large for her face grow bigger as I gently take her hand and slide it around and over my forearm and pat it. “Are your ready? I know I am not what you have dreamed of, marrying the enemy, but I promise you’ll be safe and looked after.” I pat that small hand gently with a finger fearful to scare her more.

She nods. Her whole body trembling as we approach the elf noble and the old orc woman to be wed properly before the people.