The very early morning - early enough to still be considered nighttime - started off eventfully enough. The orc woman (girl? it was hard to tell age with orcs) came stumbling out of the inn and not a moment sooner started howling and yelling what Arlon could decipher as Orcish curses. Decipher? The golem could speak Common well enough, but the fact that he found himself understanding the Orcish language was interesting indeed. Arlon had noticed over the years that people beheld him with awe and fascination, even discounting the fact that he was a living suit of armor. It wasn't until an avaricious merchant mistook him for an inanimate suit of armor that Arlon learned why.
"I should have known the orcs would curse their metal!" the merchant screamed, fleeing from the suddenly-sentient Arlon.
Orcish metal. Perhaps Arlon knew the language because of his innate ties to the orcs, awakened once the golemantic enchantment was placed on him. That, then, calls the question of how his master had acquired such a set of armor to begin with? Arlon was bound and enchanted in a decidedly human city, in a time when interracial mingling was frowned upon. Could his master have hunted the orcs? Perhaps the armor was a gift from an ally? Arlon's thoughts spun, but still no answer for his curious understanding of the Orcish language came. Then the golem had a chilling thought: What if his knowledge of the language was unrelated to the make of his armor, but to the nature of his enchantment? More and more lately, Arlon had been subject to very unsettling thoughts and feelings, ones that by all rights a golem should not have. He knew of a ritual that would bind a soul magically to an inanimate object, be it sword, shield, or shears. Legends of talking weapons that guided their masters to heroic glory and heroism abound, and all but outright supported the ritual's use. However, when a soul is ripped from its body and mind, they cannot function unless given a new soul or a fitting substitute.
Quite a fascinating subject, is it not?
...The voice again. Arlon was getting irritated with having his thoughts invaded all the time.
But are they truly your thoughts?
This question gave Arlon pause. If what the voice is implying is true, then that means Arlon himself was indeed created with a soul-binding ritual. Quite possibly with the soul of his body's previous owner. An orcish soldier to whom the armor belonged to, most likely. The thought of being created by a mage or wizard so depraved as to forcibly take another's soul disgusted the golem. Fortunately, another howl of pain from the orc woman broke through his deep thoughts, and his guardian's imprinting kicked back into gear as he strode over to the pained orc. "Are you injured?" he asked, before giving her a sweeping gaze that told him all he needed to know. "Come, beside the inn. There is an awning that will shield us from the rain." He stated, the hollow and metallic echo of his voice giving way to a beckoning gesture as he led the way over to the aforementioned awning.
