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[Wolfe]

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If one were to walk upon the empty fields and prairies of the homeland of one man, you would see something none of this land’s inhabitants would have recognized a year before.
You would, at first, see a peaceful village, sprawling out at the bottom of a large green hill. Trees bordering the large field on the east, the west, and the north would frame the Village well, making it seem one with nature. Peaceful.

As you get closer, however, you would see men, women, and children toiling about the village, working tirelessly to achieve some unknown goal. As you draw closer, you would hear the cracking of whips echoing through the air, and begin to realize that the particularly large men were not men at all, but some sort of deformed abomination.

And as you entered the village, you would hear the rough guttural language being spoken by these abominations. The orcish shouts and commands would most likely be the last thing you heard. That is, if you were to walk upon the empty fields of one man’s homeland.

The orcs cracked their whips over the heads of the poor villagers, as the humans scurried to cook, craft weapons, armor, and clothes. The Orc slavemasters were seated upon what looked like a chair on stilts, where they sat high enough so that they were able to survey the work of their slaves.

In an underground cave to the east, one could hear crying, should he come close enough for the sound to carry through the dense, humid air. And if one were to enter the cave, you would first see one dirt mound, the length and width of a man. If one’s eyes ventured beyond this mound, he would see upon his knees a man dressed in dull brown, dirty robes. His hair is blonde, almost gold, with a goatee upon his chin. He would look up, with tears rimming his pristine blue eyes, and whisper a prayer to whatever power he believed would save him.

The blonde man stood up, and fetched a long gnarled staff from against one of the dirt walls. He flipped his hood up to hide his face, and as he made his way out of the cave, a hobble formed itself in his step. One could almost mistake him for an old, tired man, even though he was quite obviously a vibrant youth, scarcely more than twenty.

As he reached the town, the orcs did indeed spot him, and one of the slave masters hurried to him. Speaking in an unintelligible tongue, the orc used his large club to knock the hooded man to the ground.

“Wut ib jur neme!” asked the orc.

“My name… is no business of yours.” Said the hooded man as he groaned from the previous hit.

“Tell meeb jur neme!” the orc bellowed, this time.

“My name is Raedyn… I have come to free your slaves.” The hooded, man tossed back his hood, revealing his blonde hair and fair features. His blue eyes looked up to meet the orc’s.

“Kill hem.” Said the slave master without too much urgency as he turned back to his more obedient subjects, still working with all of their strength, though most looked gaunt and tired.

Raedyn stood up as quickly as possible, as several large brutish orcs began to surround him, with axes and swords and clubs. Raedyn’s eyes flashed with rage as they fell upon the slaving villagers. May the light give me strength.

Raedyn still had grip on his large gnarled staff, which he raised into the air towards the sun, and then shouted “May my people be free!”
At this, the villagers all turned their eyes toward Raedyn, as well did the orcs, all of them. Somehow, Raedyn’s voice had carried over all of the village, his words echoing in the ears of everyone within a league or two.

The orcs seemed confused, but decided to advance. Their eyes were drawn upward, as a shaft of light shot from the single cloud floating above the village, directly into Raedyn. As the shaft of light reached him, an orb of light surrounded him and tossed the surrounding orcs backward, into various objects. The light dissipated as fast as it was gone, and Raedyn held a brightly glowing staff, almost as brightly glowing as his now icy white eyes.

The whole legion’s attention was drawn to the lone stranger, wielding a staff as if it were a divine weapon. Raedyn would soon be outnumbered.

As one of the orcs attempted to swing his sword at him, Raedyn looked to the orc, his eyes filled with sadness, sympathy, pain. The orc stopped in his tracks, hesitating. Raedyn bowed his head before the orc. “If you can find it in your blackened heart, to slay me, Raedyn, channeler of the light… do so, and I will do nothing to stop it.” Said Raedyn. The orc dropped his sword and began backing up. He then turned and began striding away, a stride that quickly turned into a run, until he disappeared into the trees.

Raedyn spun, to face a large crowd of orcs that had accumulated. “Let my people go, and you will all be given another chance to live in this world.” Raedyn said, addressing the crowd.

Several of the orcs dropped their weapons and left into the forest, but one remained.

“Ju can nub hab jur peepul. Dey are mine.” The orc sputtered as he growled at Raedyn.

“A bad decision.” Raedyn said. Wiping a tear from his cheek, Raedyn thrust the glowing staff toward the orc, a shaft of bright light shooting from the staff and going straight to the orc. The orc failed to exist, simply put. It was gone.
After seeing this display, the remaining forces of orcs fled from the robed stranger, who seemed to hold some divine favor, being helped along by some mysterious force. He was raised to glory by his people, all of them but one, his best friend, who now rested forever in a small underground cave in the eastern forest.

Word was carried, by bards and strangers, that this stranger had single handedly saved an entire village from slavery. The rumors grew into great tales, and were carried into every corner of every land.

“A tear from his eye,
Rolled down his cheek,
As he looked to the sky,
He indeed looked so weak!
But then a saint from the heavens,
Brought down upon him strength,
And he thanked the heavens,
That he now had enough strength!
This man was so strong,
So pure and so right,
That the orcs saw that they were wrong!
And decided upon flight,
And one of them spoke, one of them to me,
And they whispered in my ear,
‘He made me see.’
Eyes of pristine blue,
Turned to the color of ice!
His golden blonde hair,
He was infused with the light!
The Holy Man!”

As was the tale told by many, it evolved and changed, eventually becoming legend.