Warsong Offspring - Chapter 2

They say an orc is ready for combat training at the age of six. They say an orc is fit to join the hunting parties at the age of twelve. They say an orc reaches adulthood at the age of sixteen. Moreover, an orc is supposed to be able to carry their clan’s honour since the day they were accepted among them.

Learning the way to natural balance, however, is a timeless struggle for any orc.

“Concentrate, boy! How can you ever expect to sparkle a fire at you feet – let alone reach out to the elements – if you can’t even draw the correct rune for the aspect of fire? Try again!” With a sudden motion, the bottom of the wooden staff was brushed over the rune that one of the young orclings had drawn in the dry earth. The young orc leaned back and sighed, rolling his eyes at the strict yet revered shaman.

The middle-aged shaman, with his hair and beard stained by silver and his stubby frame hugged by a far too narrow kilt, used to make it a habit to gather the young, aspiring shaman of the clan village on this hill in the early morning, the air still fresh of the sweetness of fruit that has passed from merely ripe to mellow and rich, and of sunlight touching and awakening their essences. Not only would it be easier for him to ramble on without any of the orclings being perky enough to whisper to one another about just how boring some of his lessons are, but it would allow him to send the orcs home earlier as well, giving him more time to spend the rest of his day on more important matters concerning spirits and elements. Or perhaps simply some good bean soup.

“Now remember, students,” he said as he started walking along the rows of young orcs who were each drawing their own runes into the earth. “It’s no small feat to just request anything from the elements. When you're performing your ritual before you go hunting a talbuk, your resolve won’t be shown from some sacrifice, Grohkar. It’s in the heart of an orc. You don’t truly need to revere them every day, or until they grant you what you desire, Vrog. And I know that look on your face, Mordakesh! You don’t need to lie in your hammock in the morning when you can have some good bean soup instead! It’s not about what the elements can do for you or your clan when you summon them, but about what you can do for the elements on your clan’s behalf – without making yourself look like a fool!” He waved his slender hand in the air, motioning all the orcs to resume their work with renewed spirits as he kept on walking among them. “The most important aspect in our efforts, however...” he leaned down to one of the younglings, staring sternly in its face as the words rolled over his red tongue. “... is passion, Kozgugore.”

The young orc he stared at curled its little tusks in what can be described best as a sheepish smile. He had always thought Galth to be just a bit more than a regular oddball – and not only for his passionate love for bean soup. It was one of those oddballs you respected, however. He may not be the elder of the village, but he was close enough to have about as much say in your life as your own father does. Once, he had even allowed Kozgugore to join him in his Dry Season rituals, gathering firewood and even allowing him to join the chanting as they requested the blessing of the elements for a fruitful season.

These were the kind of matters that Kozgugore only did because he had to, however, and because he was simply said to be good at what he did, or so he was always told. Later on, it seemed more like that was simply an excuse for him given by his parents to simply keep on going. Because even back in those days, he had other things on his mind than just ancestors and elements.

It’s a heady thing to suddenly be the centre of someone’s world, even if that someone is a new-born orc. Although the sensation wasn’t completely new to Thrylka, it was something that the young Kozgugore was far from used to, now that his mother had given birth to a healthy girl.

Kozgugore was well into his seventh year when he was joined by his baby sister, who was named Thrazna. He didn’t quite mind, as life was often quiet at home. Thrylka was usually working on the leathers while Thorg would be gone hunting. Instead of the calm scrapings of leather, Kozgugore’s days would instead be filled with the suckling sounds of his little sister, who would constantly cling to the bosom of his mother for a healthy mixture of blood and milk. At times, little sisters simply want to drive any brother out of home, however, and it would be during those times that he would go out and meet with the other children of the village. It was often a very different world in its own right.

Some of whom he played with were in fact quite different than him. They were not trained to be shaman, but warriors instead. Although Kozgugore was to undergo the same training as them, like any Warsong at the starting age of six, these orclings knew and cared little of how deep the ways of the spirits would go. And to Kozgugore, this was a blessing.

“You cheat!”

“Ha! I can’t help it your arms are too short to even reach for my head, Muzg!”

The ground here was scorched, but it wasn’t so because of any harsh seasons or an unfortunate encounter with a herd of beasts or the like. No, the sole reason all grass had faded away here, was because of the many orcs utilising this outskirt of the village as brawling grounds. And now, a class of little warriors in the making were working one another towards the ground, rolling through the red, dusty earth, which painted a natural war colour on their half-naked, brown hides.

“That’s not it! You just lifted me by my belt!”

“That’s right! Didn’t stand a chance! Hah!” The orc towering over Muzg widened his jaw and laughed out loud, swinging his bulky arms, even for a youngster, around in the air in glee and victory. All of a sudden, however, his arms flailed again, but if this were meant to be any kind of victory dance, it would be the ugliest one ever recorded in orc history. Instead, the bulky orcling got floored, and Kozgugore crawled on top of him to wrangle him into a grip.

“Have to keep your guard up, Orboz! You’re as big and clumsy as an ogre!”

Orboz, who was superior in size over both of the other two orcs, bit the dust as he tried to roll around on the ground in vain. While Muzg rushed in to join the lock on Orboz’s head, battlemaster Galrat was already stomping over to the three orclings, the dust that wafted up from the ground being enough of a warning to all three of them to know what time it is.

“What do we think we’re doing, little bunnies?! Your fathers sent you here for practice, not to go sitting on one another’s heads! You three have got exactly five seconds to dust yourselves off and make yourselves useful!”

As if they could already feel the master’s whip on their backs, they all jumped up straight, albeit not without giving one another an elbow in the side.

“Pfah. Fine then. You two think you are at a disadvantage because I’m bigger and stronger than both of you combined? I’ll race you both instead!”

Both Muzg and Kozgugore merely snorted their noses at Orboz’s challenge, knowing full well that they both made up for speed and skill what Orboz had to compensate with brute strength. Clearly he didn’t get to suckle his mother’s bosom long enough and had to make the jump to raw meat even before he had grown all his teeth. It was the only explanation they could give that made him such a first grade, thick-headed boaster. “Other side of the peninsula far enough for you, Orboz?” Kozgugore replied.

“Meet you on the other side!” the bigger orcling responded, and all three of them dashed forward towards the tree line ahead. They could still see the battlemaster scratching his head in disapproval at them, this being not quite what he had in mind in terms of “usefulness”.

They ran through the small woods that bordered the village, jumping over branches and roots, before a long, lush plain stretched out ahead of them, mountains reaching out towards the horizon in the far-off distance. They could only imagine what possibly awaited them out there, in the wide world beyond. They had heard of tales of the Blade’s Edge Mountains with its dangerous clans of ogres and even gronns, and of the beautiful, sacred mountain in the Land of the Wind to the south. Even the Devouring Sea, which rested in the far east, hiding many mysteries and lush islands. One day, they would run all the way there – but now, the outstretching peninsula with those daunting mountains up ahead was more than enough for them. They were truly blessed with a rich and wonderful world.

Indeed, one day, they said to one another, they would see it all. They would conquer it for themselves.

Gn'hhh!

more! i must has more to read!

nice reading about kozzl'es past, when its so little talked about

((Another lovely read, but it leaves me wanting for more. MORE! I like how the different characters are introduced, and the dialogue. Especially fond of the poor shaman teacher! Must've been a real headache to try to teach Kozgugore something aside from killing! Rawr!

Anyway, you scrub. Get to writing more.))

Again, a brilliantly and wonderfully written story that just leaves the reader wanting more!

Whoops, I only just now got to reading this, but I'm so glad I did. You really do a thorough job of describing the culture and your venture into the mind of a young orc is believable -- you take the reader right into the story and setting.

When you do write more, please know that you have another avid (if rather slow on the uptake) reader!

Well, there's a coincidence! I was just thinking of writing down the next part the other day. Already got a bit of it done. Just the lack of time that's been keeping me from continuing this thing properly.

Either way, thanks for the (late) responses!