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Miranda stumbles back upon the tiled floor of the grand hall, wiping the blood off her cheek with the sleeve of her jacket. The half-orc’s eyes glow with a yellow glare as she growls, staring at the older, larger, imposing woman before her.

“Still not enough for you, old lady?” she growls. “You must get all punch drunk before my ceremony, too?”

The older woman, Ognesha, as Miranda came to know her, stands dressed in a flowing party dress, her hat gently askew. Though she’s most certainly human, a greenish twinge to her skin denotes her ancestry. When she pulls back her cheeks in a barbaric growl, her slightly elongated tusks show off the intensity of that bloodline. “This ceremony is pointless. It’s not a true test of honor and strength!”

Ognesha rushes forward, throwing a punch at Miranda.

Miranda is ready for her this time, deflecting the hit with a palm and grabbing her by the arm. “Ya bloody git, you’re the one who paid for all my schoolin’!” she follows through by elbowing the woman right in the stomach, though her corset blocks most of the blow.

Ognesha backs off, grunting, staring at Miranda as she holds onto her stomach, her eyes blinking, her gaze more white. “Why… why of course I did… why would you… have to remind me?”

Miranda snorts, adjusting her jacket. “Clyde!” she shouts.

The old servant and a few maids approach, bowing politely.

“The old hag’s confused again,” Miranda says, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing her lips. The glistening red leaves a coppery taste in her mouth. “Where’s the bloody doctor?”

The stooped old man bows again, motioning to the maids, who walk to either side of Ognesha, holding her gently and cooing to her sweet platitudes. “Apologies, my lady, but she assured us that the medicine she prescribed would be enough to last for the day, so she left to go home.”

“I’ll have some things to say about her meself,” the half-orc says, combing her hair and heading toward the mirror. “Bloody hells, that first deck got me good, din’it?

The older woman’s sing-song voice echoes from outside the adjacent chamber, “You need to learn to dodge, dear!”

She whirls around, her fist clenched. “And you need ta learn when it’s appropriate to throw a punch, ya crazy git!”

“Lady Miranda, please!” old Clyde says, clasping his gloved hands together. “Ever since the mistress took you in, she’s been kind to you. Please, show her respect in her hour of need.”

“Hour… days… weeks. I got plans, Clyde. I wanna get out of this city. I wanna be someone. I want to do more than just survive day to day. That’s what she taught me; now, she’s my biggest obstacle.”

In the other room, Ognesha sits in a chair, accepting tea from one of her maids. Her hand shakes as she takes sips from the drink. “No one can understand me, ladies, not like she can, yet she doesn’t know it.”

“Of course, mistress.”

Ognesha places the tea down and snorts. “After all, there isn’t another noble in Anteronia whose bloodline can be traced to the Warlands beyond the sea.

“Indeed, Mistress,” says the other maids.

Ognesha hops up to her feet, stomping through the small sitting room. “How am I supposed to attend some fancy party when we should be out there, getting drunk and making merry in a time of great victory!? She doesn’t understand. She can’t understand.” She says this, clutching her head and trembling at the window overlooking the Anteronian cityscape. “My sweet Miranda, always forsaking her birthright, never wishing to travel to her ancestral lands.”

“You make it tough, old bird, to make me wanna go there! Are all the orcs as crazy as you, or is it your human side what done it? If that’s the case, then I’m doomed to the same fate, innit, right?”

Ognesha whirls around, roaring and storming out of the room, her hands like massive paws as she swipes at the smaller woman.

Miranda spits and rushes forward, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The two crash together, with Ognesha dropping her hat on the ground, wrapping her massive arms around Miranda’s waist, lifting the smaller woman, and flinging her behind, landing the grad against the ground with a serious crack.

When Miranda awakes, she’s lying in bed, and sitting beside her is Ognesha, dressed in her house robe. Tearstains run down her cheeks, and she jumps up and clasps the hand of the girl in the bed, squeezing her hand tightly. “I’m sorry, oh Miranda, I’m so sorry. These fights have gone too far. They’re no longer playful things. I… I’ll do better.”

Miranda snorts, turning away from her. She rubs her head, wincing at the bump that’s still there. “How long ‘ave I been out, old bird?”

“Only an hour. We can still make it to your graduation.”

“It’s just a ceremony,” the girl says. “Yer right. I can’t be what I’m not. So, why don’t you and I find ourselves a fighting ring by the docks?”

Ognesha blanches at that, pulling away. “No-no, I can’t, I couldn’t. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“And there it is,” Miranda grumbles. “Good Old Ognesha, the hypocrite.”

—

Lady Miranda, an aristocrat of Anteronia, steps through the asylum halls, following the doctor in charge.

“The prognosis is grim, Miss,” “There’s no more treating the Battle Fever here with our medicine. The only cure may be in the lands to the west.”

Miranda takes a deep breath. “Can she travel?”

“It’s hazardous. It would require quite several accommodations.”

Raging roaring on the other side breaks through the wall as the elderly woman on the other side fights against her binds.

“It’s okay,” Miranda says, a frown. “There ain’t no expense too great for the lady who made me who I am.”

________________

The cries of gulls and the shouts of sailors fill the salt-stirred air of the Anteronian docks. Miranda stands with her shoulders back and arms behind her, dressed in a seafarer’s coat, leggings, and boots. She looks towards the small sailing vessel that will usher in a new age.

“Everything is settled to your specifications, miss,” says the swarthy sailor, a man of partially elven stock and a bluish tinge to his face.

“Thanks much, captain,” the orcish woman says, turning towards the street. “All we need now is our cargo.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon about this, ma’am,” the captain says, “but may I ask what you plan to do when you make it ashore?

“That, I have no bloody idea,” she admits, sighing as the sounds of screams drown out the calming presence. “But I’ll have to think of something, won’t I?”

“Aye, that you will. That you will. So sorry to hear about it. My old man was a fine sailor, but his mind left him in his old age. Bless my mother for staying with him as he got more decrepit, despite herself not changing since they met. I'd say never was a truer love story than that one.”

“Never saw a sailor who would openly admit being a mother’s boy,” Miranda says, a soft smile emerging.

He scoffs with the enthusiasm of any stout-hearted sailor. “We owe everythin’ to our ancestors, don’t we? Our parents just happen to be livin’ with us for a time.”

Miranda’s mind flashes with a certain pang, the memory of a drunken orc she had only ever met once, clenching her fist as she thinks of the woman. “Please, excuse me,” she manages to speak before she walks out to the carriage.”

The thing rocks violently with slams from the inside. The orderly driving the horses fights to keep the animals calm, and the poor little man apologetically stares up at the approaching noble.

Miranda doesn’t speak to him as she gets to the door, throwing it open and facing the elderly woman, who leaps out in a simple white dress stained with spit and grabs at Miranda’s throat.

The younger orc-kin grabs the woman by her throat and flings her to the ground.

Ognesha groans, writhing about a moment before she calms down on the cobblestones, her breathing quieting.

“Listen to me!” Miranda hisses, showing off her teeth. “I’ve defeated you. This fight is over!”

The old woman clutches at the girl’s wrists through shaking hands, her lips quivering, her eyes shakey and unfocused.

Miranda responds by shaking her once more.

Ognesha blinks and then glances around. “W-where…?”

“Where at the docks, Ognesha,” Miranda says. “And we’re going on a trip. Do you understand?”

“Where?”

Miranda sighs, letting go of the old woman, but still, her hands are ready, twitching.

Ognesha picks herself up and looks over towards the vessel. “Is that…?”

“The Mermaid’s Favorite? Aye, that she is. Not the best accommodation for your pilgrimage, but it's all we can afford now.”

Ognesha snorts. “Poppycock,” the woman says, turning away from it.

Miranda catches Ognesha by the arm and turns her around with gentle nudging, walking closer to the vessel. “Trust me. It’s good enough for a hardened warrior, and the sailors on board are vetted and paid well enough to keep things secret.”

“I can… be myself?”

“As much of yourself that’s left, Oggy.”

“Ugh, must you call me that?”

“As much as you beat me as a lass.”

“I was training you!”

While they bickered, the Captain opened his arms for the approaching two. “Lady Ognesha, being your captain for this journey is a pleasure. If there’s anything I can do for you during our journey, all you have to do is ask.”

Ognesha smiles with a warm charm, holding onto Miranda’s arm for support. “Well, if you aren’t a lovely young man. I hope I won’t be too much of a bother to you.”

“Oh, not at all, madame,” he says, bowing and motioning to the gangplank with one swift motion. “It is my honor to take you to the lands of your people.”

Ognesha’s grip tightens around Miranda’s arm, and the crone grits her teeth. A growl rises from her throat as she stares down the sailor. “And who told you about that?”

“I did,” Miranda says. “I told them, and they’re all paid to keep your secret among themselves.”

“Any sailor who won’t keep his word will be kicked off my ship at sea. Of that, you have a word.”

Ognesha snots. “They’d better. Maybe I should show them all the strength of an orc!”

Miranda offers the captain glare while he offers an apologetic smirk, following the two of them on board.

Sailors mill about doing their business, readying the ship for its departure, while Miranda takes Ognesha to face the sea.

“You’ve never been to our homeland, have you? Miranda asks, guiding the old woman’s hands to the railing.

“Never,” Ognesha says, sniffling, her shoulders stooping. “It was a dream of mine since I was a little girl, but I could never leave. I can’t leave!” she spins around, her back towards the sea. “What would everyone think? They’d call me a monster, a brute!”

Miranda claps her hand on the elder’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Ognesha. Remember, we are not brutes; the desire burns in our blood. We are different from them, and we should be proud.”

Ognesha smiles, a hand resting upon Miranda’s. “Oh, and I am proud, and you should be too. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my ward.”

“Nothing… right…” Miranda says, patting the older woman’s hand, her mind returning to her youth.

________________

“You’re weak!”

A crash of furniture summons Miranda out of her chamber, where the tantrum interrupted hours of study. Out of the master bedroom, a man rushes out, slamming the door behind him, catching his breath.

Miranda, dressed in her loose-fitting house clothes, eyes the stranger, noting his unkempt hair, his broad shoulders, and his wide-eyed stare.

“She picked ya up from the arena?” Miranda asks, leaning against the doorframe.

The young man wipes his brow and nods. “Ah, yeah. I just won a fight, but damn, she’s stronger than the challenger I went up against today.”

“That’s where you got your black eye?” she asks, “or from the old woman.”

He reaches up.

Miranda chuckles. “Yer one of the lucky ones. Once she gets in a bloodlust, that’s it. You gotta fight or run.”

“I didn’t want to do either,” he says.

Miranda tilts her head. “Chasing her money or her tusks?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she says, walking up toward him. “Loverboy.”

“Look, kid. I’m leaving this place before that lady figures out how to open her door again.”

He moves forward, bumping into her shoulder, but Miranda grabs him by the arm and throws him up against the wall, chest first. She leans in, standing on her toes. “Are ya, now? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re planning on leaving this ‘girl’ alone with a madwoman in an old manor. You came here for some action, didn’t ya? Well, how about someone your age?”

He gulps, flexing his arm. “Let go of me!”

“Make me.”

He snarls, throwing his free elbow back and smacking her. Miranda stumbles back, and he rushes her, shoving her shoulders up against the opposite wall, his breath heavy as he looks over her.

Her breath comes heavy, too, watching him with half-lidded eyes. “Bedroom’s back there,’ she says, tilting her head to the door beside her. She reaches out, grabs the knob, and turns it.

He swallows, and then he scoops her up. She drapes her arms over his shoulders and leans in, her forehead pressed to his.

“Let your frustrations out on me,” she growls.

The young man nods, and he stomps on into the room.

Clothing falls to the wayside, torn off by the strong fighter’s hands. Lips smash together in the throes of young lust. Strong orcish hands grip his sculpted human back as he looms over her, pressing his chest up against her own, his turgid length filling her.

Miranda rolls her eyes back, her head dangling over the edge of the bed, black hair sprawled and dangling.

As he thrusts within her, she thinks about all her fights with the old woman—the threats of how a real orc must have conflict and the madness that courses through Ognesha.

She wraps her legs around him, pulling him in closer. She lifts her head, looking into his desirous eyes—the eyes of a champion.

Soon, their lips lock, tongues dancing that dance of dominance as she slides fingers over his full head of hair. This was the human experience, even if it felt like the rush the old woman had explained the orcish side should cherish.

Miranda coos and gasps as she’s taken by this strong man, her body unprotected, even as she holds him in, not allowing him to leave before the deed is done.

With a pitiful groan coming out of the fighter’s throat, he shoots up inside her, coating her womanhood with the seed of life before he collapses onto her, panting heavily, patting her cheek.

“Oh… oh fuck…” he groans, pulling himself back. Her legs give way, sprawling out as he stands over her. “The lady’s gonna be pissed.”

“Let her be,” Miranda says, snickering, sitting up and sliding off the bed.

He shakes his head, blowing out a deep breath. “No, no, I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have. I’m fuckin’ dead.”

“The hell’s your problem, love?” Miranda asks, slipping off the bed and walking toward him. She massages his shoulders, leading him back down. “The old woman brought you over to shag, didn’t she? Well, she couldn’t do it, so I had to.”

“That’s just the thing,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat. “There were rules, you see. She was insistent on rules if I wanted to keep my career in the arena.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake. What are they?.”

“She said I had to dominate her.”

“Tch, good luck with that one.”

“She said I couldn’t touch anything in her house without her permission.”

“Well, that only makes sense, right?”

“It’s the last one, though. That’s got me in a jam.”

She leans in, resting her cheek upon his shoulder, running a hand over his chest. “Well, I’m sure it ain’t that big a deal, mate. Just let it out, and I’ll help ya out.

He takes a deep breath. “She told me, and it was in no uncertain terms. That I should never, ever, touch her daughter.”

Miranda snorts, pushing herself up, arms around her stomach as she laughs in a mighty guffaw. “Oh, love. I’m not her daughter, I’m here, ward… or her pet. Or punching bag!.”

He frowns.

“The old bird doesn’t have any kids. She’s never married. She’s been playing you a fool.”

“You… are Miranda, right?”

The shores of the far-off Warlands look oddly peaceful when the ship arrives. The orcish stronghold where they dock is structured with practicality in mind, with palisades and fences facing in-land and with a dockside open for all comers.

“Are you sure there’s nothing more we can do for the two of ya?” the Captain asks.

Miranda grasps the old woman tightly, shaking her head. “No, this is for me to help her alone. After all, she is my mother.”

________________

Proposed Outline (I will most certainly not get to all this with the time I have left):

A 50/50 story between Miranda and Ognesha, tied between the present and the past.

In the past, Ognesha trains Miranda while fighting against her battle mania. The two dukes it out occasionally despite Ognesha’s best attempts to control herself.

In the present, Miranda abandons Anteronia with the old woman for the Warring Orclands.

Miranda takes Ognesha’s lover in the past, finding comfort in their arms when Ognesha is in battle fever.

In the present, Miranda has to fight Brutlra for the right to leave Ognesha in the lands.

Miranda gets in trouble in the past, and Ognesha vouches for her.

In the present, Ognesha is on her deathbed and needs one last fight with Miranda