Of Orcs and Fear

Milothgar grew up in a well to do family of Valour. When he turned thirteen he was sent to a camp for potential squires. There he learned the arts of surviving in the wilderness. The moral tenants that all squires, knights and nobles should hold. His masters taught him reading, writing, how to dance at a diplomatic ball. Everything his life would expect. Then came the final test. Called "The divinity." An artifact was placed upon a mountain top by scouts who cleared the area of orcs. His job, along with another potential squire, was to pray to the gods daily and hope they spoke to him on it's location. It was during this quest that, in the middle of the night, a small band of orcs came upon their camp. Apparently the scouts ahead failed in their duty of ridding every nook and cranny of the moutains of the hideous creatures. Milothgar drew his short sword even though his body shook with fear. In front of him the other student did not have time to fully awake before his arm was sliced off, followed by his head. Milothgar screamed, dropped his weapon and ran into the night. The orcs gave chase, causing noises of their own from atop their wargs. The sounds caught the attention of the scouts in the distance and they immediately rode in and slaughtered the orcs. They found little Milo resting against a tree. His breath heavy and his body was covered in dirt. They took him back to their camp and fed him. He never forgave himself for running away in fear. The art of reading and writing may have been in him, but courage was not. Now he travels the realms seeking to redeem himself and avenge his fallen friend.

To Question

Milothgar rested in the ranger's guild of Seringale. It's trees reminded him of the forests out west. In particular the forest of illusion and his adventure there. Another scouting mission placed on him by Storm Hill. And by mission it was little more than a job for a pest exterminator. Missions... He realized his mentors used that jargon to get him into the mindset of a holy warrior. Did little tricks like that actually work? Milothgar shook his head and tried to push the idea aside. His mentors were not mind washing him, but trying to better and prepare him for his future. His future as a Knight. He grunted. The details and extremes his teachers put into his lessons were something to be respected. They lived long lives and if he wanted to do the same, he should do as told. Kill pests, read books, clean churches, learn dance and fashion, how to speak properly and carry himself. Then came the pain of his sparring matches. He had been hit so many times in the head and chest with a wooden sword, he could feel the air leaving his lungs by just thinking about it. He smirked to himself. No way he could be burned out now. He wasn't even a squire! Hard work paid off and he had to remember that. Maybe it will get easier as the years pass by. If he lived long enough, maybe he could get his own students to do the dirty work. That is the way of things, right? What a strange world.