New.“Never hide your true self. To hide it is to lie. If you lie, they have reason to hate you. Do not give them that power.” - Akta yr Isalia el Rein
The port city of Memnon had always been my home. I grew up there, among the fish and the boisterous merchants trying to haggle deals from sailors and fishermen. It was there I learned to fight, to haggle, and to survive. I never thought I would leave. I’d made a name for myself there and to some degree I like to think some even liked me. As with everything though, things changed. My mother perished from her old age and my past caught up to me, I ventured out through the sea to an island known as Arelith.
Cordor reminded me a lot of my home in some ways. It is a massive trading hub where fishermen and merchants alike reside. Despite the similarities, I find this land also to be... strange. The people of calimshan only care to listen to a few things, wealth, strength, and those with connections to power. But I'm Cordor there seems to be.. something different. I am not sure I even understand fully what makes this kingdom’s people so... strange and barbaric. Perhaps it is the lack of an unforgiving desert?
I am uncertain.
It is no secret, nor do I bother to hide it, that my heritage is hideous to look at. Frightening to children and adults alike. My appearance has always been used as a tool, in the sands, to complete tasks and jobs. For me, it has been both a blessing and a curse. Traveling outside Calimshan and into the barbaric lands across the seas, I knew people would be harsher. To some even, I am a monster. I do not deny this.
But in Cordor? I am not given many second looks. Not all stare at me with hatred or scream at the sight of my eyes alone. I am disappointed by this. My tool seems to have been dulled. Have I come to a place where my kind are so common that no one flinches at the sight of horns or sharpened teeth?
This is an unfortunate thing. I expected resistance, not resilience.
Perhaps, it is not so bad. Like my home, most tolerate me- or even are willing to converse normally. I expected to have to work my way up, but on my first day alone I met a man who, willingly, filled my satchel with magical items of power- potions and equipment. Then there was Mathian, who upon learning my intentions simply gave me a set of rare armor. This is extremely strange. No one has ever given me anything that I have not earned, in my life. Not even from my own mother. This armor feels... dirty to wear. Something unearned. Something given. Like a charity. I am not charity.
Thankfully, I was at least able to find a job among the Ordo Cordoria. I am uncertain how I feel about being apart of a knighthood rather than a simple band of mercenaries among the sands. I find it, however, necessary to hold this position as I am better able to exact the Lord’s justice on those that deserve it. After all, this was one of my reasons for leaving my homeland. I should probably find a simplistic way of going about it. The pay is not great and I will likely have to continue looking for better paying outlets as I grow stronger.
I guess what I’m saying is, people have disappointed me, once again, in a way I did not even think possible. Go figure.