The Longest Road, Part 12

The two of you sit around the crackling fire, enjoying each other's company while making the occasional bit of small talk. She hides it well, but you're pretty sure that Khaytala is savoring the chance to get off her feet after a long day walking her patrol, doubtless because she's still weakened by the poison. You've learned to recognize the signs of her weariness over the days you spent nursing her.

Eventually, you start to wind the conversation around toward the subject you're most interested in learning about. "I just... think it's amazing," you say. "Everything you've accomplished. The best caravan guard in the business. A heroine picked to join the pact against Kovora! I don't know how one person could achieve all that... but I'm sure the story is an incredible one."

Khaytala picks up a stray bit of kindling and tosses it into the campfire. Then, after a period of silence, she shakes her head. "It really isn't," she says. "Not the part that has to do with me, anyway."

You frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... it's just the same sort of story you could hear all along the frontier," Khaytala says. "So many times that you'd lose all count. A small village. A raiding party out of Kovora. And a girl who couldn't run fast enough."

Looking away from the fire for a moment, Khaytala meets your gaze intently. "The part that's actually incredible... it was her," she insists, and it's clear that this is something she wants to make absolutely certain you understand. "My mother, not me. Everyone knows what's supposed to happen in a story like that. If the girl is unlucky, then nine months later she gives birth. And after that she goes out into the wild, leaves the baby there, and... and nature takes its course."

Khaytala turns back to stare into the fire, and you make the obvious inference. "But your mother didn't."

"She didn't," Khaytala agrees, her voice raw. "Her own parents disowned her, Talavar. Cut her off from their family name. Because she wouldn't let me die. That's how much they hate my kind in those border villages. She had to flee to one of the big cities... and even there most people were disgusted with her. But somehow, she still managed to scrape out a living for us while I grew up."

"And that wasn't all. She was the one who first taught me to read. She was the one who taught me to always keep my damned orcish nature under control, so I wouldn't lash out in violence when the other children would come after me. In the end, she gave up everything. Just to give me a chance."

Khaytala looks down at her hands, rubbing one thumb along the other, as though subconsciously trying to scrape the green-tinted skin away. "And that's not the worst part," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She tried not to let me see it, but... as I got older, I could tell. I could see it in her eyes. The bigger I got, the stronger I got... when she looked at me... every day... I would remind her of him."

Shit. This is even worse than you realized. It's obvious now in hindsight why she had such a hard time believing your compliments about her beauty. Not just because of what everyone around her was constantly saying... but because their words were only reinforcing the lessons she'd learned from her own mother. That fear and guilt has left Khaytala bottled up inside, to the point that she sees any desire to lash out, even at humans who attack her, as the manifestation of some evil "orcish nature".

As though that were unique to orcs. As though humans, elves, dwarves or halflings somehow wouldn't feel that same urge if faced with the kind of abuse she's had to deal with her entire life.

The worst part is... it's clear that her mother was genuinely trying to do the best she could for her daughter, however flawed it ended up being. Hell, it's clear that she did do far more than most people would have, faced with such an impossible situation. And it's clear that—with good reason—Khaytala loves her for it. Loves her far too much to see the ways in which it has also hurt her.

If it had just been the words of those who had hated her, it would have been one thing. But to grow up learning that she was a dangerous monster from the one person who actually did care about her... that was a lesson that has wormed itself deep into Khaytala's soul.

"As I got older, I wanted to help my mother provide for us," Khaytala continues. "I tried so many different jobs, looking for something I could do. But none of them worked out. And the more I showed my face, the more it reminded the humans I existed, which made things harder for her. And then..."

She closes her eyes, and exhales. "...then the war started. Orc armies, pouring out of Kovora—not just raiding parties, but another full-fledged invasion. That was when things got really bad for me and my mother. The humans had barely tolerated me at the best of times. But when it really started to look like my kind might slaughter them completely..."

You wince. "They probably didn't react well."

"Sooner or later, they would have killed us both," Khaytala says. "Probably sooner. And I couldn't let them do that to her. I was only fifteen at the time, but even back then I was already stronger than most humans. So I did the only thing I could think of. I enlisted. Started shouting to everyone who would listen about how I was going to go kill as many of those damn orcs as I could."

"They let you join?"

Khaytala laughs. "I don't think they knew what to do with me. No one was actually going to trust me to fight alongside them, of course... but at the same time, they were desperate for manpower. So they let me in, ran me through some basic training, put a sword in my hand... and then sent me off on a suicide mission, all on my own. Probably just hoping I'd take a few other orcs with me when I died."

A pained half-smile devoid of any humor crosses the half-orc's face, and she draws the sword at her belt, holding it up in the flickering firelight. "But I didn't die," she says. "Instead... I finally figured out what I was good for. Don't know why I ever thought it would be anything different."

She re-sheathes her sword. "The first time, I barely made it back alive," she says. "But my commander was impressed enough that he let me recover. I guess... whatever else I was... he saw that I was useful. Turns out I heal pretty fast, and it wasn't long before I was back on my feet. Then he sent me out on another suicide mission. And another. And another."

"Each time it got easier. Each time I came back with fewer injuries, and each time I managed to kill more of the enemy. It wasn't something I thought about. I... wasn't thinking much at all in those days. I just threw myself into the fight. I killed and killed and killed and hoped it would be... enough."

She looks up at you. "I was there at Cavernal Field, you know. For the final battle. I was off fighting on the left flank, but we all saw it when the miracle happened—when Lady Alicia pulled the Dawnbringer from its sheath. The first time in five generations it had happened, and it lit up the battlefield from one end to the other. Then she went after the Witch Queen herself, and that fight..." Khaytala shakes her head. "I don't have any words to describe it."

"And then... it was over. When Lady Alicia killed the Witch Queen the rest of the orcs broke and ran. The bards tell it like it was a grand, sweeping victory... but the truth is we weren't in much better shape ourselves. They fled back to Kovora, and we limped back to Nelin. We knew we were in no condition to chase them, let alone try to breach Melca's Wall and attack Kovora itself. Not back then, anyway."

Not before the pact of heroines, she means. "So that was the end of the war?"

Khaytala nods. "With the Witch Queen dead, we thought we were safe. As far as we knew, she was the last of her dynasty. At the time, we never expected that Kovora would manage to dig up a new inheritor to the title from who-knows-where almost a decade later. We just went back home, celebrating all the way. Except..."

Here her voice suddenly breaks. "Except when I got back... I found out that while I was away fighting, my mother had died. Not to orcs, or humans, or anything like that. She just... got sick with one of the diseases that were going through the refugee camps. Her health had always been weak, you see. Especially with how hard she had to push herself to provide for us."

She runs a hand across her eyes. "Anyway. You said you wanted to know how someone like me could accomplish what I did? That's... about all there is to the story. In the end, I'm just a woman who figured out that she was really damn good at killing people. But... I'm trying not to do it in a way that would give my mother any more reason to regret her decision."

Silence falls once more, as you take in Khaytala's story. It's clear that the pain, guilt and self-loathing that have been drilled into her over the years will make tempting her a particular challenge.

But for right now, you'll need to respond to what she's confided to you.