#my skin feels too small and my joints are all wrong and my skeletal muscles hurt and noises are terrible and my scalp hurts and— | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewholekeg · 6 years

Text

Greta Sol, Pt. 1

With the latest chapter of Birthright finished, I decided to take a little bit of a break this week. Which, of course, means writing something else.

This has been a little idea that’s been stewing in my head for a while, based on a couple of old Pathfinder characters who campaigns kind of died unceremoniously. I don’t know that there’s enough to build something good on without going for a whole new novel, but it’ll be a nice distraction.

Expect to see the next parts coming in the next couple of days or so!

Greta Sol knelt in the soft soil, tending to the plants.

She liked tending to the plants. It was quiet, and it was calm, and there was nobody there to worry about. It was easy work, for her at least, and as long as she was careful--and she was always careful--then there was little danger of hurting the hearty vegetables.

She gently pushed aside the leaves of the turnips, teasing out weeds with a small claw, and watering the soil. The dry spring had already given way to the warm summer it had promised, and the plants drank the water greedily.

Greta straightened up, knuckling her back. She couldn’t tell if the burning sensation was her aching muscles or the heat of the sun on her woolen robe. Either way, it was pleasant enough, but it wouldn’t be soon. Besides, it would be time for midday prayers soon enough. She would have to return to the temple.

But… that was for later. For now, she tended to the plants. She liked the plants. She liked the way the green of their leaves mingled with the green of her skin. They made her feel at home.

She let herself be lost in thought, so much so that she failed to hear the footsteps behind her, or a feminine voice clear its throat. She continued to work, blissfully unaware, until the voice spoke, “Greta.”

Greta snapped out of her stupor, gasping loudly. She scrambled to her feet and fumbled to set the claw down, but only succeeded in nicking her thumb and dropping it unceremoniously. She abandoned it, slapping the front of her robe clean, and spun around.

The speaker was a tall woman, skeletally thin. Though she showed her age, she was almost free of wrinkles--her skin was pulled too tightly over her bones, showing off every edge and joint, for that. She loomed over most of the nuns, but to Greta she peered up sternly. She was no less intimidating for it.

“P-Prioress!” Greta stammered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you coming! You walk so quietly, a-and--”

Prioress Signe stared at Greta, her eyes glinting like onyx. “It was Agne’s turn to tend the garden today, Greta,” she said. Like the rest of her, her voice was thin and tight.

“Y-yes Prioress,” Greta said.

“It was your turn to do the laundry today, Greta,” Signe said.

“Yes Prioress,” Greta said. She gestured hopelessly back and forth. “B-but! Bending over for the garden hurts Agne’s back, and the smell of the soap upsets my nose, and the warm water soothes Agne’s hands and my back is stronger so I thought--”

Signe reached out and caught Greta’s hand. “You thought you would spare her the danger of gardening?” she asked. A thin trickle of blood ran down Greta’s thumb where it had been cut.

Greta looked down, and only then noticed the blood smeared on her thumb and robe. “Oh no!” she said. “I’m sorry, I-I was just surprised, and--”

Signe shushed her, pulling her hand closer to inspect it. She brushed her fingers over Greta’s cut, brushing away the dirt. Her fingers were like nails: long, cold and hard, but her grip was gentle.

“Y-you don’t need to do that, Prioress,” Greta said. “It’s only a nick, and it’s my own fault--”

Signe’s hands began to glow. At first it was soft, like the pale light of morning, but it grew in intensity until her fingertips shone with the golden light of the sun. She brushed her fingers over the cut again, and Greta felt the warmth of a summer sun spread through the wound. The pain faded, and when Signe had taken her hands away the cut was gone.

Greta’s gently flexed her thumb. “Thank you, Prioress,” she said

“It is also Mia’s turn in the laundry today, wasn’t it?” Signe asked.

Greta winced. Then, slowly, her shoulders sagged. “Y-yes,” she said, rubbing her thumb. “Well…”

“She and Sander spoke to me this morning,” Signe said.

“I didn’t hit them!” Greta insisted.

There was a long moment of silence. Signe raised an eyebrow.

Great stared at her feet and rubbed her arms. In spite of the heat, she felt suddenly cold. “I didn’t,” she said. “I just… growled, a little.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at Signe’s expression. She had seen it before: Frustration, irritation… fear. Signe hid it better than most, but Greta could still see it.

But Signe just sighed. “Oh, Greta,” she said. “You need to learn to control your temper.”

“I try!” Greta said. “I really do. But they’re always talking about me.”

“They’re only lashing out, Greta,” Signe said.

“Then why don’t they ever lash out at anyone else?” Greta asked, throwing her arms wide. “There are almost a hundred women living here, why does it always have to be me!?”

Signe sighed, and placed a hand on Greta’s arm. Slowly, she managed to unjumble Greta’s hands from one another, and took one of Greta’s massive palms in both her own. Signe’s pale skin was a stark contrast against Greta’s dark forest.

“I know,” Greta said, softly. “But what am I supposed to do? File down my tusks? Break my nose? It isn’t my fault.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Signe said.

“It isn’t fair,” Greta said.

“I know,” Signe repeated. “But it isn’t about fair. They’re hurt, and they’re frightened, and they’re upset. All we can do is respect that.”

Greta said nothing. She knew, of course. Mia and Sander had both come to the priory a little over a year ago. Nobody had asked why--it wasn’t important. And the moment they saw Greta, it wasn’t necessary. It had taken Signe and another nun an hour to get them out of the root cellar.

It had taken a week to get Greta out of her bedroom after, of course, but did anyone care?

Greta clutched her hands until her knuckles turned white. But Signe took her hands again, and forced her to look up.

“And we can help them, Greta,” she said. “You can help them.”

“How?” Greta asked. “They can barely look at me without flinching, if I try to talk to them it’s all they can do to keep from running, and the things they say--it’s awful, Prioress.”

“And I’ll be talking to them later, as well,” Signe said. Her thin lips curled into a small frown. “Agne tells me that what they said goes a bit beyond just lashing out.” But her frown turned up into a hopeful smile, and she clasped Greta’s hands together. “But you can help them by letting me talk to them. Let them say what they’ll say. Let them be frightened, and let them stare. Take it with good grace, and they will begin to understand that you are not so frightening as you seem. And if a half-orc isn’t as frightening, then maybe a full orc isn’t either.”

Greta sighed. “I do try,” she said. “I just don’t see why it’s my responsibility to teach them.”

Signees face hardened, as did her grip on Greta’s hands. “Greta,” she said, firmly. “Were you serious, when you took the vows to Hors?”

Greta blinked, taken aback by Signe’s sudden intensity. “O-of course!” she said. “The Priory is my home, I owe it everything--I want to help in any way I can!”

“In any way?” Signe pressed.

“Ah,” Greta said. She hesitated for a moment, shrinking under the dark glint in Signe’s eye. But she breathed deep, and raised herself up. “Yes,” she said. “I want to do for other women, what Hors did for my mother and I.”

“Then that is why it is your responsibility,” Signe said. “Hors does not give out gifts lightly. No one can force you to use it, but if you truly have dedicated yourself to his service, then it is your duty to do so.”

Greta began to nod, but paused. Her face screwed up into a puzzled expression “But… Prioress, I don’t have the gift,” she said. “I’m not a healer. I’m not ever a particularly good physician. Sure, I can set bones, but that’s more about strength than real skill, and…”

She trailed off as she caught sight of Signe’s pained expression. “Did I… say something wrong?” she asked.

Signe rolled her eyes, but laughed. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “If you said anything else you wouldn’t be our Greta.” She shook her head.

Greta wrung her hands. She wasn’t sure she understood, but she laughed along anyways, quietly, and adjusted her hair.

“Greta, I’d like you to come to the marketplace with me tomorrow,” Signe said when she was finished laughing.

Greta’s eyes bulged. She took a step back, lifting her hands in front of her chest and squeezing them. “The Marketplace?” she asked. “You mean… outside of the priory?”

“Well, there certainly isn’t a marketplace inside the priory,” Signe said. “Even if it would make things a bit easier on us. I need to go to the city to pick up some food and donations from the citizens who can’t make it all the way out here, and these old bones can’t handle the exertion on their own.”

She rubbed her wrists, showing off the thin, protruding joints to impress her point--though Greta knew that Signe has as sturdy as the priory itself under all her apparent frailness. Indeed, Signe seemed like she would outlast the old stone, some days.

“I could use someone a bit sturdier to help me carry everything,” she continued. “What do you say?”

“W-well,” Greta said. She peered at the Priory walls. “I just… don’t know if I’m ready to go outside just yet...”

Signe sighed. “You’re sixteen, Greta,” she said. “It’s only going to get harder. If you do want to spend your whole life here, then I won’t stop you--but I think you should at least try the outside world first. The city is nice. The summer festival is still just winding down.”

Greta rubbed her arms. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she asked.

Signe placed a hand over Greta’s stilling it. “Of course you do,” she said. “Why don’t you speak to your mother about it tonight? See what she thinks.”

“Prioress,” Greta said flatly. “My mother has been trying to get me to leave the Priory for years.”

“Which is why she will make an excellent debate opponent,” Signe said. “Did you think I was going to recommend you speak to someone who also wanted you to stay?”

Greta mumbled something under her breath. Signe just laughed. “Now go wash up,” she said. “Midday prayers and meal is soon, and I think you’ve cleaned the garden thoroughly enough. Any more and you’ll start weeding the carrots out of boredom.”

#writing #writing test #orc lady #Trilogy of Triologies

1 note · View note