Horror of the North
Child
Largot.
The name alone struck fear into every seafaring man or woman. Born in the year 3E395 to a Nordic prostitute and an Orcish Warrior-Priest. His mother's name was Skyritya and his father's, Urgan gro-Kaduul.
On that frigid Skyrim night, the Orc came to the brothel. When bought the services of Skyritya, their kinky games changed the fate of many, and unleashed an age of fear and bloodshed upon the sea.
But Largot gro-Urgan was not born the Lord of Terrors, the murderer and reaver. He was born a nobody, the bastard son of an Orc and a whore. His mother, when she was discovered to be pregnant, read the portents of the Greybeards and knew her child was fated to be a great warrior. She knew a poor warrior was a dead one, so she got honest work in a lord's manor.
What astounded her that in her quest to make an honest living, the Lord of the manor had fallen in love with her.
What astounded and baffled her even more was that she loved him back.
In Largot's second year his mother married, and he was adopted. The wild night his mother shared with Urgan gro-Kaduul was forgotten.
One night, when he was five years old, Largot lay like a cat near the fire. His mother rocked back and forth, humming a tune and polishing her husband's shield. Largot was a good boy, kind and strong. As many children of that kind of union, he kept his mothers traits, looking almost completely Nordic, except for his large ears and greenish-pale skin. He would help the servants with whatever needed doing, constantly being told by his foster father "Just because they are a servant doesn't make them less of a man than you."
But this night, his foster-father walked in, kissed his mother, and went into the kitchen to filch a sweetroll for Largot from the cook, an Imperial named Junius. There was a banging at the door, and his mother rose to answer it, Largot trailing immediately behind.
Once the door was opened, his mother screamed and tried to shut the door, but a sword swung out and splintered the old door, and also sliced his mother nearly in two. She was connected to her legs by shreds of skin and bone, but she was dead, free of the pain. The Orc walked in with his warmask and billowing night-black cloak. He gave Largot a hard kick, his ebony boot nearly shattering a rib. Junius ran out with a knife, and yelped with surprise as he saw the Orcish warrior raise his sword to strike down the child. Urgan swung about and threw a dagger, which sliced clean across Junius' throat and sprayed blood all over the room. Junius made a pitiful sound and stared at young Largot as he fell. The light left his eyes as his head connected to the corner of the shelf and split open.
Largot's foster-father ran in with a sword, and charged his love's murderer. He thrust low, but was blocked. Urgan attempted to chop from above, but Largot's father dodged aside and swung out, uncoiling like a snake. He left a fine, bleeding slice across Urgan's cheek. The whites of Urgan's eyes lit up red, and an unnatural smoke wrapped around him like a shroud. His speed and strength were incredible, supernatural. Blindingly fast, he ran towards Largot's last hope and sliced him in two, up from the genitals through his head. He fell in two halves to the ground as Urgan calmed and surveyed the scene. His son was nowhere to be found.
"You can't hide, son!" he yelled and grabbed a stick, thrusting it into the fire for a moment, then throwing it on the rug. It went up, and Urgan left the house as it began to burn to the ground.
Largot had run when his foster-father burst in. He waited in the bushes and watched his home burn. He didn't see the one who did it, he was in an Ebony warmask with a peculiar design. He watched the manor burn for hours. Suddenly behind him came a voice.
"Well what have we here?" Then a throb on the back of his head, and a strange inner cold. He couldn't move. A mage had cast a spell on him. He was tossed into a cage like a crate, and whimpered as he hit the back and bounced onto the floor.