A Growing Boy

10 years had passed since Leif Dawnborn had stumbled upon a baby in the grass on the edge of the land of his village. In that time the boy had proven to be especially hearty and full of life. He grew quick, ate like a famen starved knoll, and was prone to fits of unpredictable anger. Leif had chalked the last attribute to his orcish blood. Everyone knew that the orcs were a brutal people that had a bloodlust unlike the more civilized races of Ivandril. But in time, he felt like Mogrul was starting to become more controlled in handling his rage and channeling it into something more productive. In the last ten years Leif had taken him as his own. Raising him, teaching him in the ways of Pelor, and showing him the beauty in peace and life. He had made Mogrul the son he had never hoped to have.

Mogrul was hard working and had a surprisingly kind heart, and Leif knew that fundamentally the child showed promise. While he wasnt exactly the brightest child in the temple, he made up for it with an over abundance of optimism and energy. Leif almost felt bad for keeping him confined to the temple and having him hide when visitors came to pray and worship.

Leif knew that the people of Wheatward, while nice and friendly, held a deep seated hatred and bias towards the orcs and orc-kind. The orcs had long been a nuisance to the townsfolk, raizing farms occasionally and stealing livestock. They never fully assaulted the town, for fear of repercussions from the crown. But they liked to test the limits of the crown, and generally knew how far they could push the area before retreating back to their holds and letting things cool off. Nevertheless, their activities caused strained tensions with the townsfolk.

There was another reason Cleric Dawnborn had been trying to keep Mogrul away from any outsiders, and it was because of who he suspected Mogrul may be. It wasnt a difficult task to piece together basic clues about the child's identity, and it had only taken Leif about a week of being back in town to put it all together.

When he had arrived back in town one of the first things he was told was of the passing of the Mayor's daughter and grandchild. Neither she, nor the infant, had survived the birth and the whole town was mourning the loss of such a kind and gentle woman. This, of course, caused a great deal of sorrow for Leif. The mayor, his wife, and his three children had been regulars at the temple, and his daughter had always broght him a freshly baked loaf of bread. Women died during childbirth often enough, but the babies usually survived. It wasnt till at the end of his first week back that Leif was doing laundry and got a closer look at the towel that the baby had been swaddled in. It was maroon in color, with white lines in the shape of 3 stalks of wheat above a golden sun.

This was the family sigil of Malichi Plaintalon.

When Leif was examining it a little piece of parchment fell out with a single word on it "Mogrul". It was in that moment of clarity that it all clicked into place, and he knew that if Malichi found out the child had survived, he might resort to more direct means of cleansing his bloodline. So Leif swore to keep Mogrul a secret. He would raise him to be a beacon of light and kindness, but also give him the means to defend himself since the world was already stacked against him.

"Whatcha thinking about father?" came a deep yet pitchy voice from behind Leif. He turned around and saw the young Mogrul. Looking at him you'd guess he was a boy of thirteen or fourteen, but Mogrul had only just had his tenth birthday about two weeks back. He was tall and muscular with a pale green tint to his skin. His coarse black hair was already past his shoulders and knotted in a simple braid. Just under his pronounced brow line were a pair of stormy gray eyes, that if you looked long enough had flecks of yellow splashed in. Almost like bits of sun poking through a stormy sky. He had a slightly squashed nose, a square jaw, and the little showings of baby tusks jutting from his lower lip. Mogrul was dressed in simple temple robes of white and yellow, and was looking at Leif expectantly.

Shaking his head he answered, "Oh nothing, I was just reminiscing of the time when I first found you."

A puzzled look crossed Mogrul's face and his deep brow furrowed, "What is reminiscing?" he asked. Leif chuckled and replied, "It means to remember, my boy. Come. It is time for our midday prayers. And so the pair headed to the main worship hall of the temple of Pelor, going to their usual place in front of the alter, and began their prayers. The midday prayers were not required by the Grand Cleric, but Leif wanted to show Mogrul how important dedication and loyalty were. So everyday they came here and focused of the holy symbol of The Dawnfather, asking for his guidance and blessing.

They were in the middle of their prayer set when Leif felt someone kneel next to him and say, "Its a good day for prayer, the sun is out, and The Dawnfather shines upon us." His blood chilled as he slowly turn his head and saw, kneeling next to him, Mayor Malichi Plaintalon.