Boy

Ork Slave/Apprentice

From the notes of Caarad Surestrider, submitted to Borrum Binbalik for his work "On the Bearers of Akasha"

Boy, the ork weaponsmith apprentice of Killian the Red, has been a point of controversy both with the Bearers and within the walls of the Great Library of Throal. The specific debate centers on whether or not the terms of Boy's apprenticeship constitute a violation of the Council Compact concerning slavery. Although the residents of Bryhn report no ill treatment of Boy whenever he and Killian are in the town, I confess this interview doesn't do much to support that case.

The interview took place at A Touch of Spirits, a tavern in Bryhn that was frequented by Gort, Chamberlain, et al. before they left for Throal. Due to the rigorous training schedule, I met with Boy two days after my interview with Killian. Boy was dressed in clothing reminiscent of the Scythian style favored by his master. Killian was there as well, only to "observe" of course.

I sat down, and Killian took the liberty of ordering skeorx-kabobs with dwarven ale for himself and I. For Boy, he ordered Zoak wings with an order of cat-hurlg. I inquired if perhaps Boy might like some kabobs as well. Killian gave me a vexed look, but indulged me by inquiring,

"Boy, would you like some skeorx?"

Although not versed in the subtle eye language of Scythian dwarves, I'm pretty sure the flash in Killian's eyes did not mean 'have a nice day'. Not that Boy appeared to need much in the way of goading as he shook his head vigorously.

Well, food is neither here nor there. There were many interesting aspects to this ork I was sure, so I moved on to the interview.

"Boy, tell me of your origins before meeting Killian?"

"There isn't much to tell....", said Killian taking a large drink from his stein, "...Boy was an ignorant ork in the services of that filth-ridden Darvis Trollsbane. Wasn't going anywhere in that puntaa's service. Would've killed him but I needed some company going through the mountains. Decided to make a real man out of him."

I looked over at Boy at this point. His dark skin had taken an almost purple sheen to it. He gnawed rather vigorously on his zoak wings. A bit too vigorously, leaving me suspicious that zoak meat wasn't the only thing he was swallowing at the moment. To his credit, Boy nodded in affirmation when Killian looked at him after the dwarf had finished speaking.

Thinking that perhaps a different approach was needed, I decided to broach a more personal topic. After washing down a large bite of skeorx meat, I addressed the ork again,

"Tell me, my friend, about the blood oath you took and how long the duration is."

"It would be my pleasure to, a story worth three ales. Wench, three ales here."

I sighed, and waited for Killian to continue. A quick glance at Boy revealed nothing as his face was obscured by the steaming mug of cat-hurlg. In short order, a serving girl came by with three tankards of ale, and distributed them in front of Killian. The dwarf made no attempt to distribute them, indeed he regarded them as a father would a newborn son. After a lengthy swig from one of them, he continued,

"Anyways, after a fearsome battle in which I vanquished a vanguard force of Trollsbane's men with minor help from some wolves, I found Boy here wounded. As the only survivor, I applied my interrogation techniques. Of course, under such scrutiny, no ork could last long and soon Boy was babbling uncontrollably about the plans of that dungheap Darvis Trollsbane..."

Boy was gnawing vigorously on the zoak wings again.

"...anyway, I needed to catch up with my friends but the mountains are no place for the meek and I decided a fighting companion would be best. Rather than have a jackal at my heels..."

Boy was putting down cat-hurlg with some authority now.

"...I decided that I would win this ork's loyalty by offering him a priceless gift - my training him to be a weaponsmith adept. Once Boy saw the amazing chance he was offered, he eagerly took a blood oath to serve as my apprentice."

No sooner had Killian finished his statement than the subdued mood of the tavern degenerated into noise and activity at the sound of a shattering tankard. Killian groped madly for his ax, and I half-rose, expecting an army of Liberators. Instead, it turned out that Boy's mug had been broken. Killian smiled at Boy, and said,

"Drop your mug again, did you, Boy?"

The ork nodded, seemingly abashed. I kept quiet, not wanting to raise the significant point that Boy's 'dropped' mug lay across the other side of the tavern with cat-hurlg oozing down the wall in revolting fashion. I suspected this had happened before. Many times, I would wager. I paused for a moment longer, joined in silence by Killian who finished the second tankard and moved onto the third. I decided that one more question was in order, and waited until Killian had just started drinking before asking,

"Would you consider yourself a slave?"

Killian coughed suddenly, causing the tankard to spill over onto his lap and dwarven ale to spout out his nose in a most unseemly manner. Boy smiled at this, obviously in pain at having to hold back his laughter. As Killian finished his spasming and began to catch his breath, Boy took a moment to shake his head "no".

I have a confession to make. Despite my usual standards of objectivity, I was shocked to my very core by this answer. Killian was in the process of mopping himself up, which luckily stopped him from noticing the look of disbelief I gave to Boy. In response, the ork stealthily slipped something across the table to me. Looking down, I saw a dagger with the story of Hrak Gron's last battle etched into the steel of the blade. So well-done, so beautiful was this work that even the unaesthetic orkish writing came off the metal like elven poetry from the glory days of the Queen's Court. For all the debate about Boy, I had learned something from the subject himself - oath or no oath, the ork was rising above anything he had been before. As a weaponsmith, he would one day make a Name for himself throughout Barsaive. And that Name, dear readers, would not be Boy.

Excusing myself, I got up from the table and took my leave of Killian and his apprentice with quick words of farewell. Killian waved his hand absentmindedly at me as he continued to dry himself off. Boy merely sat there and watched his master recover. I presume the serving girl was considerate enough to let Killian collect himself before bringing him the bill.

The Apprentice Questionnaire

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Last Updated 06/19/98 by Paul

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