Makoa looked down at the new scars to add to his collection and grins. “We are all made of scars.”, he says dropping back into his stance. Years he has trained to make himself a weapon, to not need the careless trappings of his ilk. Axes and blades are a lesser form of combat in his eyes, but he casts no judgement, “All must be left to their devices.”, he says wiping the blood from his arm. His mentor was cruel to him, as he was a half-breed, but Makoa never let the hatred of his orcish nature surface. He trained his mind for years to resist the bloodlust in his nature, for if he submitted he is no better than the man who sired him all those years ago. He was afterall the son of an orc and an elf seamstress who was forced to birth him in a raid those many years ago, her face forever with the scar from a dagger by her left eye.
Makoa hated steel for this reason. When he came of age he left his hometown of Elmhurst to learn the ways of the Bear Wrestlers, and ancient monastic order of the closed fist style. Though he was a head and a half in height above his mentor, the man was just as dense in build as he. Makoa stood at 6’4 and weighed close to 280 lbs. What he lacked in speed he made up for in stamina and strength. Makoa was a patient fighter, and only choose to spar with those who would use weapons on him. You see in Makoa’s mind he thought the more blades used against him the tougher his flesh will be, and he was right, years of scar tissue made him resistant to much abuse from weapons of steel, stone, or stick, and more scars always pleased him.
Makoa sizes up his mentor and waited for the next swing. The axe came spinning towards him, he saw his opening, parried the attack, and was able to get low enough to upheave his attack and placed him on the ground causing the weapon to fall to the left as he used an arm bar to disarm him. His mentor grinning says, “This concludes this lesson.” Makoa released the lock and offered to help up his master, who even through all the cruelty he put Makoa through, he respected a great toss followed by a grapple hold., “Pig spawn, you learn well, considering i was only using half my skill this lesson.” Makoa offered his hand once again, to help up his mentor, but was waved off as his mentor kipped up. “Next time I’ll scar you with a heavy blade orc kin.” , his master spits., “I am shocked you managed to grab me.”
Makoa has gotten used to this resent he receives from his mentor, but even through it all he must respect his master. Thinking to himself, Makoa thinks it a lesson in humility, praise followed by hate, to keep him humble. “Today’s training is over orc-blood, go lick that wound or what ever you green spawn do with those wounds.”, he grins. Makoa just turns and leaves the dirt and gravel sparring circle for the bathhouse. A few of the other students watch as he leaves whisper, “Why does he take such abuse?” Makoa breathes in and says, “I must honor my mentor, and if i was to kill him, I’m no better than the man who rapped my mother out of hatred for her kind.”, looking over his shoulder. Makoa walks on.