I will not hit others. I will treat others with respect.
He wasn’t happy at all. His thick fingers struggled with the quill as he scrawled the cheap ink across the oh-so-costly parchment. He remembered the look on mother’s face as the merchant had quoted her the price for it last week. Why was he even going to school? It wasn’t like he would ever have a need for any of it, and he always got into fights. It was bad enough that he was the son of a craftsman, but an orcish craftsman made him even more of a target.
There was a gust of air, and a welcome smell of sawdust as the door to the kitchen opened. He looked up as his father entered from his workshop, his tusks and fangs gleaming in the dim candlelight. Orestes smiled up at his father, only to be met with lowered eyebrows and a porcine snort, “Iph say you in trouble…not a good boy?”
Orestes groaned. Obviously, his mother had told his father what had happened. “Look, dad, do I really need to do this? Can’t I just help you in the workshop?” His father grunted in retort, “No Orry, you stay. Work hard, make Iph proud.”
Orestes, sighed, his hand putting the quill back into the wooden inkwell. “But dad, didn’t you work with your father, wasn’t that how you learned your trade?”
Orestes’ father stiffened, and he turned away to busy himself, arranging some cups on the far shelf. Orestes heard a low chuckle from his father, “Orry, my father not a good man. My father murdered my mother, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins. My father did bad things.”
Orestes looked straight at his father back, his mouth open. He had never heard his father speak about his grandfather before. “So, he was an orc then, dad?”.