Chapter 5 - An orc's burden

There’s smoke all around. The young orc hunter can’t see much further than his own hand in front of him, but his mind is still sharp. He can feel it approaching, somewhere out there, as it raced towards him. Suddenly he turned, and he sees the face of a berserking ogre right in from of him. The face gets cleaved apart with a powerful swing of his axe, and Kozgugore howls out in laughter as he swings around, chopping yet another ogre in two. They keep coming, but he’s always there, swinging his giant, powerful axe at them all. None of them stand a chance, and none of them can keep him from his glorious prize: Leadership over all the ogre clans.

Why he would want such a thing? Because he overheard Battlemaster Galrat claiming  that whoever controlled the ogres might just be as powerful as the Shadowmoon Clan’s most revered shaman – combined! And they would all be under his command, carrying him into battle in a giant… ogre-carriage. Or no, he would lead the charge himself. What lazy orc warlord would let himself be -carried- into battle? No, he would be at the front of the ogre armies, and lead them to victory on behalf of his beloved Warsong clan! Another ogre approached, but it lets out a bellowing cry as Kozgugore’s axe is shoved into its fat stomach. Nothing can stop him! Nothing will-!

“Uergh! Wh- what?!”

Kozgugore opened his eyes as a slender hand was shoved against his face and motioned itself down along his features, leaving a trail of black paint on his face. The orc in front of him, a shamaness by the name of Sei’hala, gave him a reprimanding look as she finished the paint drawings on his half-naked body.

“Stop daydreaming, boy. You’ll need all the sense you can muster when you face the trial of your Ar’karut. You don’t want to waste Galth’s time now, do you?”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward towards the young orcling, demandingly wrinkling her nose at him. She may not be very old, but Sei’hala certainly knew how to leave a stern impression on Kozgugore whenever it was concerning such a serious matter. After all, the Ar’karut is not something to underestimate, so he had been told. It’s something all shaman of his clan take when they are to rise from mere pupil to an esteemed student of the elements and ancestors. The one test to decide whether or not he will be worth the old seer, Galth’s, time, as well as to see in just what manner he might serve what element of perhaps even the spirits.

“No, Sei. I don’t. Thank you for helping me,” the young orc responded, pouting at her. “What does it feel like? Does it hurt?” He looked up to the young shaman with those big, brown eyes of his, perhaps even a hint of fear in them. Fear for the unknown, and the unexpected. They barely told him anything about the trial, except that it will reveal his future path or something vague like that.

The female raised her back again, letting out a thick grunt as she continued to paint long, dark lines along Kozgugore’s bare shoulders, trailing down along the length of his arm. “Every shaman will have an entirely unique experience. I was afraid of what might happen at first, but it turned out to be very gentle. It was like the wind picked me up and gently breezed along my skin. I could fall through the sky at any time to be crushed at the Windlord’s whim, but my fears were gone. I had trust, and as did the elements. The winds of Skywall had graced me, and I let my spirit flow with its currents.”

She smiled gently at Kozgugore, but then a more sly and sinister smirk curled around her small tusks. “Or you could undergo a more painful experience, like Tardrim did. They say his hands were burned after he was ‘blessed’ with the presence of the lords of fire. They aren’t as known for their gentle and tender approach as the winds are.” There was a spark in her eyes, a playful glint, as she leaned forward and pressed her hand upon Kozgugore’s chest. “But that’s what they are; just stories. Don’t let words discourage you, little shaman. Reserve your fear for your enemies. Open mind, and strong heart.”

Kozgugore nodded at her as her hand slipped from his chest again, taking a deep breath as he straightened his back. “I’m ready.”

Sei’hala guided Kozgugore out of the little hut, and on towards a bigger one on the opposite side of the small square. This was a special part of the village intended only for those spiritual of mind. In fact, it was an honour for Kozgugore to be here to begin with, not even having made his initiation just yet. Others went about their own business, tending to their daily tasks and chores as he was led to the special lodge.

“I may go no further here. Keep your ancestors close to heart little Kozgu, and they will find you.” With that, Sei’hala remained at the doorway, whilst she gestured for the young orc to enter. There, all the windows were covered with thick blankets, leaving but the faintest of lights to illuminate the room. Judging from the runes etched into the ground, it was clear that he would have to stand in the middle of it, as to await his judgement.

It was then, while he was standing there, that he could see four elderly orcs standing around him in the darkness as he squinted his eyes to try and make our their features. He couldn’t see save for their silhouettes, but he knew who they were. The elders of his clan; the most revered shaman and wisest orcs he would no doubt ever meet. It was below his status to even be in their presence, and he knew it as he bowed his head, looking to his bare feet instead.

“Do not be ashamed, youngling,” said a deep, raspy voice from the darkness. “You are here for your Ar’karut, correct? This is a great honour indeed. But first, a test.”

The speaker, an elderly, greyed-out orc with cracked lips, stepped forward as he reached a hand for Kozgugore’s chin, lifting his gaze as to inspect the young orc’s features, as he would the elder’s.

“The jawbones of your father and the eyes of your mother. You are indeed of our blood, but do you -know- your blood as well? Tell me, young one. Death is less painful and easier than life. However…”

“… Death is the opposite of choice,” Kozgugore hesitantly responded as he recalled the old saying he was taught by his father. “And for a Warsong, it is not our choice to make.”

“Very good,” the seer responded as his scrawny fingers traced a path along the drawn lines and symbols upon the orc’s body, inspecting his physique and health. “Praise not the axe or the arrow for their sharpness…”

“But praise the orc who wields them to defend what he loves.”

“Indeed so. Lastly, wisdom only us chosen ones will ever truly understand. Overpowering others is strength…”

“… Overpowering your spirit is power.”

“And may you do well to remember it,” the old shaman said as he slapped Kozgugore on the shoulder. He stepped back, back into the darkness again, as he raised his emaciated arms into the air. “You own the blood and the wisdom of your clan and forefathers. You are an orc of the Warsong. We stand witness to this. Now be seated, Kozgugore of the Warsong, and meditate on this.”

As Kozgugore complied to the shaman’s blessing and instructions by sitting down and assuming a meditative position, he could smell the thick scent of incense invading his nose. As he closed his eyes and began to take deep breaths, the shaman around him began to chant in a low, guttural tune. He could recognize certain parts of the chant as the saga of the first spirits of the world. Of the wolf spirit, Lo’Grakka, who went searching for her two missing cubs after a great flood had devoured most of the land. She found them at the bottom of a drowned valley and brought them back ashore. There they began to split open and emitted a bright light, only to be raised towards the heavens where they formed the Great Sun and the Pale Lady. Their creation brought the world back into its harmonious balance, which evened out the Devouring Sea and the great landscape he now knew as his beloved homeland. All thanks to one she-wolf’s duty towards her kin.

As he was reminiscing on all of this, Kozgugore didn’t even realize his body was beginning to lose its grip on its host spirit. He was trying to move his thumbs, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even twitch a muscle upon his brow as the chanting of the seers around him began to sound more hollow. He began to follow their rhythm, using it to slowly dance his way out of the shell of his body. This is what they expected of him, and it almost felt so easy and natural that he could barely even realize nor prepare for what was about to happen next. His very conscience and nature was about to be put to the test, to be judged for the entire course of his life to come.