The light receded from the room at an increasing rate as the hours passed, wandering over the floor and wall as if trying to escape through the ceiling. Had that been the case it wouldn't have been the least bit strange. This was a prison after all. The wooden building was one of several in the camp, all filled to the brim with Orcs, packed in like goods in a warehouse. There was little to no malcontent over the horrible living conditions however, as you'd expect, the prisoners either didn't care or were housed separately due to crippling insanity. Ghelgor, belonging to the first group, sat in a corner of the building and followed the light's path up the wall. He wasn't sure why, but he felt it helped him keep some semblance of himself by focusing on something tangible and changing.
Many of his fellow prisoners of war had lost themselves to despair or insanity, a fate he intended to avoid at any cost. He thought often of how he would finally meet his end in this place, for escape was definitely out of the question. Even in these thoughts he realised he'd lost that which made him who he was. The old Ghelgor would never have admitted defeat without first lying in a pool of his own blood. He was not completely spared whatever curse hounded the rest of the Orcs. He would fight this curse for as long as it took for him to meet his end in a proper way, a desperate assault on the guards if need be. Any death would be better than wasting away in this stinking human-made hole.
But contrary to his strong and vivid thoughts, his body simply didn't care. It was happy to ignore the wishes and dreams swimming around inside it's mind. So Ghelgor sat in his corner, day in and day out, attentively following the light's journey. He had plenty of time to think of the past, for there would be no future to worry about. He was proud of his past, as most orcs were. Regrets were generally uncommon in their culture. Yet for all of his pride, he couldn't help but question his last major decision. It had been an impossible decision to make, both options being equally good and bad.
His family, or his clan. That had been the question. A question he never imagined he would be faced with. When his father and brother had come to him and announced they were leaving the clan, he'd lashed out at them, called them traitors and cowards, disowned them even. He blamed his father the most, his brother simply chose the other of the two equal evils. Ghelgor just couldn't understand how his father, one of the most feared and powerful warriors in all the clans, could flee to the hills like a peon. His mastery over Mannoroth's gift had been unrivaled by anyone in his clan, the Twilight Hammer, maybe only surpassed by that of Hellscream himself. This earning him the name Bloodfiend, a name Ghelgor was looking forward to inheriting when that time came. But what was the name worth now? The name of a traitor.
But despite his loyalty to his clan, he could not bring himself to expose the plans of his family, instead turning a blind eye as they escaped the camp unnoticed. He then followed his clan on their journey, even though it took them away from the war. It didn't make sense to Ghelgor, but he was a warrior, he trusted that his Chief knew what he was doing. Not long after, Ghelgor and several others were attacked by humans while scouting and the survivors were taken as prisoners. And so Ghelgor ended up where he now only wished he'd been killed.
He'd heard bits and pieces of the guards' conversations over the last few days, and there were news of internment camps falling, liberating the orcs housed within. He didn't put much faith in those news, he didn't have any faith to put anywhere anyway. But still, as he stared at the last patch of light near the ceiling, Ghelgor smiled as he dreamed of once again joining his fellows in glorious battle against deserving foes.
