Ursala's Notes

A series of short notes written by Ursala on various subjects. The information in this page is strictly OOC knowledge and mostly for the player's benefit.
This page contains liberally applied usage of Unreliable Narrator. Her memory surrounding her parents is what can only be described as "fuzzy".
==Of her mother==
A shaman? No, my mother was not a shaman. Wiry build, although not without her muscles. She had small metal claws set into her knuckles, of which I remember clearly: although, one day, they were replaced with bandages and not a word was spoken of them. Short, black hair on her whole head; red, tired eyes. She would speak to others only when asked of, and she worked well.
It was a camp mostly of mother and pup pairs, and old men. My father (he was not a shaman either, I don't think. If he was, it was a long time ago) left us for another camp when I had seen only four winters or so. We still worked as the other camps did - more allowances were made, but not many. A dead orc is a useless orc, they said, and they still had uses for many of us yet. Especially the little ones, they said.
My mother fell ill once. I watched the human nurse care for her whilst I soothed the pulled muscles of other orcs with warm water on the next bed. Before that, I had assumed that humans were simply incapable of showing compassion. Now, I knew that they merely did not.
And in the evenings, she would speak. When I was younger, I would be seated in her lap - but when I was old enough to be a pup and not a babe, she would stand by my small seated form and not lay a hand on me. Always little words. Never stories; always advice, and always in hushed tones. Sometimes, it would be in metaphors. More often, practical. Advice of battle ("in front is not a good place to be. Leave that to the man with the big axe"), advice of work ("do it when it is asked of you, not after - and never before"), advice of dealing with superiors ("a man with a big hat is still a man"), advice of conversations ("do not speak more than you have to"), advice of relationships ("hidden feelings don't get hurt"), and advice of mates ("never mate with another runt. They say that it is bad luck. That is a lie, but the pups will be too weak to breathe").
I would not speak in return, but I would listen. She would finish when we were ordered to bed. This was usually only a few minutes after she began. We followed those orders without asking for otherwise. I would always wonder, though, if she had more to say.
I still carry some of my mother's words with me, and I remember them more than I remember her face.
==Of her father==
I have one clear memory of my father. I had seen four winters or so, and it was the day of my birth in mid-August. The humans were moving him to a different camp for reasons that I did not hear or understand.
Both he and my mother were tired that day. They stood with each other for some time whilst the sun rose and I picked at blades of grass with my small hands, watching the others wake around us. Afterwards, my father knelt by me and put a hand on my shoulder. He grunted two words to me:
"Aka'magosh, runt."
They called him, and he was gone.
We shed no tears. He was not a cruel man; but he was, no less, neither an affectionate father. I had formed no manner of spoken bond with him.
If my mother cried, then I did not see her do so.
==Of mates==
Of mates?
Hah. I will likely never have one. It is something that the shaman in me has no love nor need for, but that the orc in me burns for... and yet we all know where my priorities lie. The shaman that I am can make do with mentors and acquaintences and comrades. The orc that I am wishes for something more, but I fear that I must deny it. It would involve an alleigance to another, and I have yet to meet anybody with whom I would even consider initiating such a dependance.
Of mating?
...that is something that comes with a mate, no? And which leads to pups. I do not want a pup. I can handle my body's selfish longing with meditation alone, thankfully.