Jorsa

A vast expense of rocks spewed with thorns and thistles separates Vihaa and Higherland, with only birds and butterflies overlooking the dismal vegetation. But over time, men, elves, and dwarfsdwarves patrolled the border, anyone who dared cross over.           One day the elf king, Kjaer, sent three elves, Jorsa and his friends Igir and Puyt, to keep watch. All had pointed ears and youthful-looking skin devoid of wrinkles. Their hair reached to their shoulders, and they all learned the art of fighting at a young age, meaning they had skill in using both a bow and a sword. Jorsa, however, had one unique feature to him alone. Instead of fair skin or a darker complexion, like some in Awinta, Jorsa had blue skin.         As Jorsa and Puyt scanned the plain, Igir sat on a rock. The wind blew from the depths of Vihaa, bringing with it the smell of sulfur. Occasionally, a dark cloud of dust would race across as if earnestly trying to run away from some untold malice.         “Jorsa, I believe only the dust and stench are the only things that will ever escape from such a desolate place if you don’t mind me saying so,” said Puyt. “But all the same, I’m thinking of going up in one of them yonder trees and a have a better look. I feel like this day is different.”         “Puyt, you know you don’t need to ask me for permission. But it has been a few years since you were up a tree, and your belly has grown in the past few months.”         “Well, I can’t deny I had a few too many cakes lately. You know, with all the recent celebrations. I always enjoy seeing Lef come by and telling us stories of how a dwarf defeated Torish. I never appreciated dwarfsdwarves much, if you don’t mind me saying. They stick to themselves in their mountain, but it warms my heart to know there are a few good ones left in Higherland.”         “Puyt, it wasn’t only the huge dwarf. ”         “You are right, Mr. Jorsa, sir.”         “After all these years, Puyt, you still call me ‘Mr. Jorsa.’ I’m your friend, not your father.”         “Yes, Mr. Jorsa, I mean, Jorsa.”         “Puyt, you are more than capable of knowing what to do. I trust your insight and I so appreciate all that you have done for me. Do you remember when I started school, and you and Igir stood up to fight the other elves who said Karlek cursed me for having blue skin?”         “Yes, sir Jorsa, I remember well. You have proven them wrong over and over again with your heroic deeds. Like when we staved off a dragon flying over Awinta-our very home.”         There was a pause, as if Jorsa had transported himself to the very night when there was the sound of trees ablaze. He still remembered the smell of smoldering timber and hear running dear. Then the ultimate horror came when the dragon, the winged terror, flew over Awinta. Did the dragon know where it was going?         But there was no time for idle thoughts. Elves with archery skills made their way to the treetops as if daring the dragon to torch them. All were ready to make a deadly strike, but after constant barrages of arrows, nothing pierced its scaly armor. But it was Jorsa who aimed at its wing. The dragon hollowed in pain, flipping over a few times in the air, before plummeting to the ground, where others took up swords, hoping to slay it. But when Puyt and Igir were about to deliver blows, the dragon took off.            Puyt departed while Jorsa daydreamed, but he shook himself to reality, knowing the borderland was his duty.         “Jorsa, remind me why we took this job. No one can get across this vast plain,” said Igir as he pointed to the land before him. “Our king is punishing us.”         Igir had some truth about their predicament, thought Jorsa. Beyond the thorns, the land reminded him of stories his father told him of faraway places from his blessed home of Awinta. As he thought, the smell of rotten eggs filled his nostrils, making him wonder if Igir was right.         “Igir, how is your father doing? Did I ever tell you how much you look like him? You have the same blue eyes, and you both look like you could run to Kor and back without trolls ever knowing something was in the woods.”         “Jorsa, flattery will get you nowhere. You are just as fast, but your blue complexion makes you an easy troll target.”         “Now, back to the question I started with.”         “Oh, yes, the one about our current picturesque landscape, complete with blowing dust and odd-shaped boulders, not to mention the hoard of goblins and a new creature called a Polith. Oh, did I fail to mention the only being alive with the audacity to go to the Island and challenge Karlek to combat?”         “Yes, Jorsa, you made your point, but it gets dull looking at gray sand.”         “Well, if you don’t like the view, we can reminisce about old times. Did I tell you how the king saved my life?”         “Yes, Jorsa. Everyone knows your story. There was a problem with your birth. I remember you told me how your mother died, and how the midwife stared in amazement at your blue skin.”         “Igir, you remember my story well. But did I ever tell you how my father wanted to kill me?”         “Jorsa, how can I be your friend for so long, and you never tell me about such an event in your life?” asked Igir, turning his eyes away from the plain littered with rocks. “Don’t you trust me?”         “I’m sorry for not telling you, Igir---the details are painful. The midwife carried me to one healer, but he couldn’t change my skin. My father thought there was a curse upon him for killing his mother.”