Runok Hoklok

[Bartimaeus]

This is based on the game World of Warcraft.

Runok Hoklok
Chapter One: Where Do the Years Go?

What a magnificent tale of a being so strong, known for his weapon of choice, the Bladefist. A weapon that’s literally attached to one’s fist to cause havoc and chaos. Runok Hoklok, the Bladefist Assassin. But he wasn’t always this cunning and stout, let’s go back in time, the time this man was just an infant. A boat, made out of sturdy oak would be seen in the distance of these searing lands, hazy at first till it came closer.

Finally landing, the being within it hopped out of the boat and landed onto the desolate ground. An infant was in his arms, green olive skin and sleeping soundly, shifting side to side at times, smacking its lips.

The being carrying him was an orc, stout and seemingly young; he stared out into the heated lands. It was not yet named, but he knew of the location, and began on his long journey. Venturing past beasts and avoiding them, for his current situation did not support battle. Taking refuge, he ripped off some dried branches from a dead tree, throwing them to the ground and extending his right arm. Lightning exploding from his palm and igniting the wood.

Sitting down and laying on the bumpy and dry flooring, he closed his eyes to rest for a moment; a small green hand came from the infant and laid itself onto the Orc’s chest. The next day, he continued on his quest, till he arrived at a hut, made out of the creatures that inhabited these lands.

Pressing his arm through the opening, he stepped within the haven away from the harsh weather; two orcs were sitting down upon their beds. One was a woman, long black locks traveled down her neck and back till it reached the beginning of her spinal column, large blue eyes that shined with a strong innocence, tusks graced each side of her lips, but barely even left her mouth and olive green skin smooth to the touch. Her expression went from confusion, to happiness in an instant, her lips curling into a smile as she dashed over to the orc. Extending her arms, he looked to them and slowly placed the babe in her caring and motherly touch. Her attire was of shamanistic garbs, her toned stomach viewable to the naked eye. The child turned onto its side, cuddling up against the woman’s chest and smiling, smacking its lips once more.

“His name is Runok, remember I will be watching him. But do –not- tell him who I am, or his true last name.”
The other orc stood up at this comment, dropping the animal he was skinning for more leather, approaching the orc and towering over his own height. His appearance was the complete opposite of the she-orc’s, his eyes an intense blood red, his tusks large and as sharp as daggers, his skin tone was a dark green, brown short hair that stood up in the center in a straight line, he wore the leather of animals he had slain.

“And why should we do this to the child? Do you want him to be blind, and now know who he truly is?”

The nomad being accused of isolating the child chuckled to the words, crossing his arms and shaking his head to the hunter. Eyeing the two for a moment, trying to sum up the words to respond in an intelligent manner, satisfied he began to speak.

“The boy is better blind than heart broke; just say you’re his real parents. He’ll figure it all out when he’s no longer a pup.”

The two foster parents looked to each other, trying to read the other’s emotional response. After a few moments, they nodded and the true parent turned away as the she-orc spoke.

“Lok’tar, Zeus.”

He smirked, turning his head to the side and spoke in a silent manner.

“Thank you, Dre’kel.”

Leaving the hut, the child cried in response to Zeus’ departure, leaving Dre’kel to soothe him into a deep sleep.

-Seven Years Later-

An orc boy sat in the bushes of the large plains, the silent and soothing sound of birds chirping and the wind blowing at a moderate rate. His blood red eyes stared out, looking for something to hunt down till they locked onto a figure. A plain strider, pecking at a dead plant, long legs stretched out and beak slamming into the decrepit food source. A bow, strung and ready to launch a arrow, the arrowhead graced with a strong rough stone. Finally, the time had come to fire, the tendril shaped figure of death slammed into its head, in-between its eyes. Collapsing with a loud cry, the beast had been killed. The boy grinned and jumped out of the hiding place, approaching his kill. The hunter took out some rope from a pack on his left hip, kneeling down to wrap it around the four legs and tying it in several knots before hoisting the rope over his right shoulder and dragging it.

Finally after thirty minutes of dragging the large beast, he had arrived at his home. Pushing the blinds out of the way to enter with his catch behind him, he picked it up and laid it onto a table already blood stained. Little did he know, his mother came up from behind him and grabbed him swiftly, taking her knuckles and ruffling it through his hair. Laughing and pulling at her arm to be released, he finally succeeded and pouted. Drek’Tal smiled and placed both her hands onto his cheeks, leaning forward to press her lips against his forehead. The boy whined and pushed her face away right after she had done it.

“Moooooom, stop treating me like a pup.”

The man of the family entered, carrying two buckets in each of his hands with ease. Shifting his gaze from Runok, then to Drek’Tal his lips curled into a smirk and rested them by the table the boy had placed his kill. The buckets were filled with water, fresh and ready to quench any of the green skins in the hut. Approaching Runok, he placed a hand onto his head and messed with his hair by brushing the large palm against his scalp.

“You make me proud each time you get a good kill, we’ll be feasting well tonight.”
Runok emitted a silent grunt of approval, a grin stretched upon his olive green lips; his head arching downward from the force of his foster father’s hand.
“Thanks, pop.”

His father smiled warmly to his appreciation, turning from his son and to the deer he had taken home from a good hunt. The beast was large, looking as if it could serve a family for three days, he knelt down upon the dirt ground and extended his right toned arm to wrap his hand around the base of an axe, usually used to butcher up meat or cut down trees. It was a bit worn out, a chip in the center of the blade, but it had proved its usefulness over the years. Standing upright, he lifted the large axe and sliced off the ligaments, then slicing the meat off of the oversized bird. As the slashing of flesh was going on, Runok walked outside; his bare green feet walking upon the rocky surface of the barren lands.

The boy knelt down onto his right knee, then carefully laid onto the ground while brushing rocks out of the way so he didn’t feel any sharp edges upon his back. His large red orbs stared into the night sky, the stars poked their little heads out into the huge dark blue blanket, their shining aura reflected into his eyes. Meanwhile, a harsh gust of wind brushed against his plump cheeks, leeching off of his warmth to give off a shiver from the cold. Suddenly, out of nowhere he heard gallops in the distance, swiftly standing up he winced and placed a hand onto his right leg, wiping his foot off of the sharp rocks. His attention immediately went back to the gallops, he saw a bunch of black figures, he could pinch them with his fingers since they were so far.

He squinted to get out more detail, but to no avail, the figures came closer. He could see large and long vertical poles with blades at the end, more like sticks to him.

“Mom, Dad! I think someone’s here to see us!”
Runok’s foster parents walked out with a casual mood, still relaxed and smiling like they usually did, but today was different. They squinted, creases on their forehead very visible till they flattened out by their sudden reaction of shock, wide eyed. The man grabbed Runok swiftly, wrapping his arms around his small frame and bursting with incredible speed with his mate behind him. But they stopped, another wave of beings was just ahead, making large thumping noises, making the earth rumble and shake violently. The orcs nearly lost footing when they had stopped, looking behind them and forward, sorrow filled their eyes.

It was too late to flee from the quarrel that was about to occur, Runok’s foster father looked to his mate. He gave her a warm smile, taking one of his large rippling arms to wrap around her waist to bring her into an embrace. Their pants were apparent, while thumps and sounds of marching came from all sides. The couple pulled back, eyes locking with one another to kiss passionately, lips colliding and smacking while their tusks brushed against the other, the male’s dwarfed the female’s. Runok watched in disgust, sticking out his tongue and giving off “ewwww” sounds. They both laughed their last joys away, each force from the west and east now charged in.
The galloping was really strange creatures; their lower halves bore a horse’s frame, long powerful legs and brown horse tails while the upper half was a human, toned bodies with a tan, pony-tails and bearing long spears in their right hand. The rumbling and shaking of the earth were really bull like creatures, long horns that looped around twice and had golden rings and clang to the bone structures, wielding large axes and totems to attack their annoyances, along with riding large creatures with large humps on their backs and huge tails that swished back and forth violently.

And before the orcs knew it, they clashed with the two opposite forces. The male ran through the holes of battle, with his mate following in suite and avoiding axes and spears. A centaur was impaled upon the chest, gore filling the cold calm night, blood splashing onto the Tauren’s torso as he screamed a battle cry. The Centaur fell before the male, he stopped in his tracks and jumped over it, and just as that happened a Tauren was jabbed with a strong spear. Piercing through its skull blood slid down from the forehead and the back of its mane, collapsing with a loud thump. The woman shrieked from the bull like creature dead before them, panting with fear and adrenaline.

A centaur spotted them, roaring and charging toward the company. Taking the spear that was still in the Tauren’s skull, ripping it from its head and with his massive green arms, chucked the weapon toward the beast, screaming.

“I am Omarious, son of Helgar!”
Swirling and twirling the blade danced and landed on its target, sliding through the horse man’s head and causing it to collapse while spinning onto the ground and crashing till it stopped before them. Runok was confused and frightened, all the while in awe as his foster father destroyed an enemy that tried to rush them. One of the huge creatures opened its maw, chomping upon a horse man’s waist and lifting it into the air, slamming it into the ground then tossing it into the air to trample onto another Centaur. The tauren looked at Omarious and cheered, they pushed back the Centaur force, and the bull-men stood around the orcs with smiles.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, come with us…We shall give you shelter.”
The orcs were confused, but followed them all on foot while they walked, and some used the strong beast to cover much ground. They stopped at a large camping area; they called themselves “Bloodhooves”. The area was surrounded in huts, all made out of animal skins and runes on every single surface. A large fire burnt within the circle, this must be where all of bull-men celebrated and made their food. When the orcs passed by, they all cheered to them and gave them hearty grins.They must have been part of some kind of tribe, Runok scanned the bull men up close, and for being such stout beings they were very kind. The company was taken into a hut, where they would stay with their new found friends. Omarious situated himself by resting a few moments and going over what had happened earlier. His mother sat down with her legs crossed, the boy rested on her legs as she stroked his hair and rocked him back and forth.
Another Tauren entered their hut, but he was in shamanistic garbs, he had shoulder pads made out of a crude wood, totems rising tall from each side, while he was covered in robes made out of animal skins, runes covered the entire thing, he had black fur, ocean blue eyes, and a wide smile upon his maw. His three fingers intertwined with the other and he leaned forward to give us a bow.
“Welcome to Bloodhoof Village, friends. I am Yurmerium. We wish to know much of who you are, where you come from, and why you despise the Centaur as much as we do.”
Omarious stood slowly as the shaman spoke, walking casually across the hut till he was in front of the bull-man, staring him up and down before he began the tale.
“We were part of an invasion force in the second war…A storm caught up with our ship and threw us off course. We lan-crashed upon this place, in these strange lands. Many of my brethren died of the heat, others died from other animals that we had no idea on how to handle. But me and my mate, we survived and have been living in this territory for nearly five years now. We are just glad to have escaped the senseless killing that has befallen our people, we are orcs.”
It was a lot for the Tauren to take in, but he nodded and asked no more questions. He looked over to Runok though, squinting and tilting his head to the side at the boy. Runok looked back, but not in fear, wonder and curiosity of the bull-man. He only flashed a smile in return, he turned and before exiting, he said one thing.
“Your son…Has a prophecy. Be sure to enroll him in our hunts and trainings of battle…He’ll need it. Good night, friends.”
And with that he was gone…His foster parents stared at him with wonder, then nodded to one another.
“He shall be a fine warrior indeed.”
The boy blinked, wanting to ask so many queries but knew his parents wouldn’t answer them just yet. Relaxing his muscles, he suddenly felt very drowsy, his eye lids flickering before finally clamping shut, the world vanishing before him. Many hours passed before he would open those gates to sight only to find that his mother and father were gone. The boy was buried beneath a large skinned blanket which was heavier than twice his weight. Pushing the luxury off his green little body, he stood up and began to stretch.
The Orc's palms reaching out into the sky, groping the air and standing on his toes to relieve his calves and the rest of his legs of stiffness. Runok turned to look at the exit, walking up to the flaps of doors he pushed them on each side, separating the skins so he could find his way out into the outside. Strong rays of light poured into his eyes, the Sun was relentless this morning it seemed. Placing a palm onto his forehead to use as a visor, he winced from his eyes attuning to the newfound light of day. His gaze went over to the huge flames in the dead center of the village, approaching it with wonder. He recognized two beings that sat in front of it, his parents.
The child’s elders sat beside one another, green fingers laced around the other, it seemed like an intense act of holding hands. The flame’s dancing casted a reflection of red and orange upon their faces, Omarious had a determined gaze while his mate had a concerned look. Runok slid the sole of his right foot against the desolate ground, brushing sharp rocks and dirt out of his path, finally finishing his journey to stand behind the two. Runok prodded a finger at Omarious and Dre’kel’s rough shoulders. The company turned, his mother placed a comforting touch upon his arm, while his father gave him the same stare the fire received.
He spoke with a rough voice, weary and dry from last night, but Runok listened to his speech intently.
“Son…It is time you used your arms, legs, and heart for something more than just hunting plain striders. Dark times are upon us once more, and you must prepare to protect your honor and allies. You will be lead by Yurmerium to the training grounds. They don’t have many young for you to train with, but you will manage…You will prevail.”
Runok was taken back from this, his father instilled so much into him, it made the boy proud that his elder thought so much of his worth. He embraced his parents, knowing when he came back he would be a different person, a different man. His mother sighed happily, a tear slid down her right cheek and dripped off of her chin onto his tunic. Yurmerium stood behind the orcs, smiling and sighing with happiness, large puffs of air escaping his nostrils. The bull-man now carried a staff, it twisted around in a strange form but the tip was a totem like the others.
“It’s time little one…Are you ready?”
Runok glanced at the shaman, then back at his folks as they both nodded to him, confidently. The boy pulled away from them, walking beside the Tauren which dwarfed him by many measures, he even towered over his parents.
“I’m ready, cow-man.”
The Tauren blinked at his reference, laughing heartily and placed one of his large palms on top of his head to rub it around on his black hair. The large man lead him astray from the village, out into the plains where there were other Tauren. He nodded to them, and each individual presented themselves to him. One bore heavy mail, his fur was brown, spots of white upon his heavy arms and stomach, he called himself Bull Rush, he was his weapons trainer. The other had a bow in his right hand, a quiver of bows strapped onto his back and wore rough leather, white fur with black spots, his name was Granim.
And the final one, was a Tauren with very large horns and a grim look upon his face, pitch black fur with a few visible scars where fur no longer grew, intense blue eyes, and bearing a scythe for a weapon, he called himself Grim; he was his stealth teacher. For Bull Rush, he was taught with the axe and one handed swords to dual-wield with. He sliced and hacked at a dummy made out of wood, bulls-eyes on the arms, legs, and head. It took Runok a long while before he mastered the art of accuracy to hit his enemy in the right areas with swift strikes. Granim taught him to use the bow and throwing knives, firing at the dummy from long range and heating it upon the arms and legs most of the time, but missing the head by only a few inches. It took this orc a long time before he hit the dummy in the head with deadly accuracy, shooting his arrow as it span through the air and slammed into the center of the head.
Grim taught him to linger in the shadows with daggers in hand, to pounce out at the enemy and stab the weapons into their weak spots. They did this at night, where they lunged at plain striders to stab huge pieces of metal into their necks. Runok frightened the animals quite frequently while he attempted this act. But over the years he finally mastered it, and he grew into the man he was destined to be. Runok was taller than his father and mother, and only a few feet shorter than his Tauren peers. His crimson red eyes with determination like his father’s, large pecks and a six pack resting upon his chest, black hair brushed backward. He stood with a pack of Tauren warriors in the center of the flames, growling with anticipation and ready for the killing of the Centaur.

The shaman that had watched him grow gave him a wicked grin; he went from a small boy to a strong orc. My have the years passed, he shook his head from the memories of trainings and laughs with the small lad. But now it was time to do what he was grown to be, to kill their enemies and to drive them out of their lands. Standing upright, he spoke with the wind that shifted around in the night to help everyone hear him speak.

“Listen my brothers, tonight is the night we charge into Centaur lands and drive them out! Now is the time we cast them from our sight and make sure they are gone to save our women and children! We shall do this for the Earth Mother, and to destroy our enemies for our people!”

Warriors cheered, clanging their axes against one another. Some, like Runok gripped their weapons tightly and stared at their leader silently. They would save their battle cries for the battle, marching out into the night and then breaking into a swift run. Panting as the warrior clenched the wooden shaft of his Axe. Death was inevitable for these monsters that desolated his home and drove him out. Now it was their turn to suffer for so much they have given him. Galloping came from the distance, along with the centaur emanating their battle cries.

The two forces like that fateful night would clash soon, but he was no longer a boy, but a true warrior, a man. And now it was the time…To do what men did, fight.

[Bartimaeus]

Chapter Two: Savagery

The Tauren and Centaur closed in, the center of these plains full of life now trampled by hooves. War cries blocking out the sounds of owls hooting and crickets that boosted the night’s peace. An ax lifted into the air and creating a loud sound of ripping flesh screams of pain and triumph resulting in the violence. The war began with the first real battle, the shaman from before melded his large palms together, blue strands of electricity forming within them in a sphere shape, till he thrust his palms forward toward a centaur. The ball of lightning slammed into the head of the horseman, he shook left to right violently and his axe dropped from his limp palm.
The beast fell onto the blood stained dirt, smoke rising from the dead foe’s skull. But the Centaur had shaman of their own, lifting their arms into the air, clouds formed over the Tauren force’s heads and lightning bolts slammed onto them. Their fur stuck outward from the static shocks, eyes rolling into the back of their heads before collapsing, some resisted it and went on fighting. A Tauren warrior jumped over the masses of Centaur, slamming onto one of the shaman and taking his axe to slice it through its neck, decapitating it. He stood and roared; arms stretched outward before he span it around, blood leaking from the bottom and threw it swiftly at another shaman. The throw actually cracked its skull, causing it to cry in extreme pain, tripping over its shaking legs and shaking them around till it went silent and lay dead.
Runok was the key to the Tauren’s success, sneaking past the enemies and toward the Shaman to cease their attempts to wipe out their main forces. He appeared behind one of them, taking a dagger from his pack and lifting it into the air to make a quick jab at the back of their head. Piercing into the skull and destroying the brains within the dumb part of his body. None of the warriors of the Centaur even saw him, at his whim many more Shaman fell to his quick jabs of his dagger. Till all of their shamans were depleted, the Tauren now began to decimate the rest of the annoyances. The leader of the enemies called for a retreat, but before he could Runok jumped out onto his back, two daggers in each hand he stabbed into each side of the forehead.
His blades met within his flesh, clanging the Orc removed them and stood to press his feet onto the back and jumped off of the beast before it slammed into the earth. Runok now tired of just using his daggers, put them away and took an axe from the strap on his back. Charging with a bloody roar, two warriors turned to him and before they could retaliate, he span like a cork-screw and sliced the blade’s edge through their stomachs. Both of his enemies slain, he looked all around to scan the area…They had won. Not one Centaur stood; the Taurens cheered and kicked the corpses along with some cursing them for old grudges.
Runok’s green frame was now splattered by blood of his enemies, searching the fields of battle, only a few Tauren were killed and injured. Yurmerium along with other shamans began to heal the wounded, and drag the dead away to take them to a safe area. Most of them lived, but some were too fatally injured to carry on. Warriors volunteered to carry the dead out of the battle fields and back to home where they could be buried with their ancestors. It was grim, yes…But this is what war was to the Tauren, and they had no time to dwindle upon the dead.
Taking the Centaur corpses and piling them as high as a hill, hawks and other birds swooped down to nip at the flesh, ripping the skin and munching upon it. Runok swore he saw some eyes gouged out as well, the thought of having the same thing happening to him made his skin crawl. The orc sat down onto the lush grass, stained with blood of Tauren and Centaur from the earlier battle. Tauren warriors took jars of oil and splayed it onto the bodies, a shaman splayed flames from his palms and the fire lit as quickly as hay. The smell of burnt flesh emanated the sky, though this smell was unbearable, it marked a great day for the Bloodhoof.
The army began to remove water skins from the large beasts they were riding, handing them out amongst the populous. Runok took his and uncapped it, throwing his head back and letting the cold liquid pour into his mouth and give him a reason to bask in life once more. After drinking much more than needed, he capped it and latched it onto his side; he still needed it for later. Finally after two hours, the army of Tauren began to move once more. War drums pounded loudly and the spirits of the attack force rose once again.
Runok’s blood pumped with a deadly quickness, blood red eyes staring out into the night with eagerness for more enemies to slay. His hands upon his axe again, he wouldn’t have to use his stealth at this time. They were merely going to destroy this village of Centaur, so the Bloodhoof could rid of the annoyances that kept abducting their families. Runok saw it happen too, but he prevented many from actually being killed. The orc remembered the ones he failed to liberate; how their faces were filled with fear…Some were actually calm and died with some kind of peace.
He growled at the memories, as he walked he swiped a rock from the ground and swiped it along the blade of his axe. A loud sound of stone and steel brushing against one another, the rock was left with white scratch marks by the time he was done, satisfied with his blade sharpened from his rough endeavors, he tossed it to the side. Runok walked at a fast pace, keeping his adrenaline pumping and his blood lust at its peak. Suddenly, he tasted something foul within his mouth, he mustered saliva in his mouth and spit upon the ground various times…It tasted like copper with a tint of rotten flesh…It must have been the smoke rising from the corpses. The taste of death.
The orc shook his head, forgetting about the disgusting delicacy and began to break in a jog, strong green legs pumping left to right. Something arose from the edge of the land, it was very dark so the shaman all lit torches and led the way to their destination. It was a village, from the distance it was very small…But as they closed in it was a province probably twice as large as the Bloodhoof’s, but their ways were much more sinister. Spears impaled into the ground, Tauren skulls hung from the top of the rod and so did many other creatures of the land. Strange runes were in scripted into the skulls of their kills, painted with violet upside down stars.
The warriors looked at it with disbelief, then after the shock of what was in this tainted area they scowled and howled with rage. Tauren picked up their speed, hooves implanting into the dirt from the strong burst of velocity they were all striving for. Eyes now filled with a thirst for Centaur blood, they took torches and lit the huts aflame, slaying any Centaur remaining in the village. Runok sliced down the wooden shafts of the spears, destroying the terrible monuments of evil their enemies had constructed. The shaman called down thunder from the skies, destroying all they could.
Finally, the mother and children of the horse-men were obliterated, and the Tauren; including Runok cheered and beat their chests from the victory at hand. Piling the bodies like before, they lit them aflame along with their tainted artifacts and tents; they also destroyed all the supplies instead of taking them with them, so the enemy couldn’t use it if they came back. This indeed was a very large victory, for this was a main village for the Centaur. It was called “Galdien”, though none of them knew what it meant. How the word rolled off their tongues, it felt like they were cursing from even muttering the name. So instead of calling it by its name, they called the desolated village “Tainted Ox.”
The shaman wrote it down in parchment, since they all made maps of the locations, they asked the wind what the exact location was on the scroll and they wrote away faster than a cheetah could pounce. Runok sat beside Yurmerium, looking to the destroyed adversaries and their homes, Pride sparked within his heart, he felt like he did the right thing. Though the shaman looked grim, red war paint spread across his mane and his leather armor, small totems hung from his hair. A gust past the two, and the objects clipped onto his hair whistled like silent harps, paying respects for the slain and the wounded.
“They will be taken to the ancestors, their feats tonight have proven them worthy.”
The shaman spoke beside him, Yurmerium looked serious and cold; Runok hadn’t seen him like this before. He was concerned of course, but he didn’t let it cloud his mind with minor things that were not important. The Orc nodded in approval, leaning back against a totem a Tauren planted into the earth earlier, his muscles ached from the running and the force he used to slam into his opponents; the adrenaline faded from him. Drenched in sweat, his hair soaked from the constant flow of the beads of liquid. Runok wondered if they’d ever be rid of the Centaur, indeed the main village of operations was destroyed along with many other Centaur warriors; but was it enough?
Yuermerium watched Runok’s eye brows furrow and he gave out a hearty laugh, placing a hand onto his head and ruffling his hair in a swift motion left to right.
“Ease Runok, now is not the time of thinking of dark things. We have won an important battle that has given us an extra step against our enemies. There may be more that we will had to slay in order to rid them of their attacks upon us. But…”
He placed his large three fingers onto the totem, admiring the craftsmanship this particular shaman withheld.
“We shall prevail, for we have the ancestors and Earth Mother at our side, along with you. The way you slid like a panther amongst the shadows to slay the shaman of their tribes was admirable. One had its lock on me, forming lightning in its palms before you stabbed it on each side of its head. Plus, I saw you slay the leader and render their main forces helpless, a mighty victory indeed.”
The shaman placed his palm onto his chin, swirling one of his fingers around a long piece of his facial hair, Runok guessed it was his index finger. The orc couldn’t help but put a stupid grin upon his lips, seeming as if it had reached both of his ears. Pressing his feet harshly against the grass tainted with blood, Runok leaned up against the totem for a moment to rest and attune to stand once again. Taking up his axe and gripping it tightly for a moment to remember those he had slain in combat was almost like a dream to him. Taking his waterskin, he poured the contents onto the blade and retrieved a cloth from the same carrier, wiping off the grime before it rusted the axe.
“Thank you, elder. But I could not have done it without your help and my trainers. I’m sure they will all be proud of what I have accomplished.”
The shaman nodded with content, with his signature comforting smile he walked over to Runok and patted him onto his right shoulder. Turning has back to the warrior, a thought struck the orc’s mind as he spoke swiftly before he would continue onward.
“You are the wisest shaman…Do you know of what they are practicing, and what those symbols were?”
The Tauren stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes closed slowly before he emitted a large puff of air from his nostrils. Turning his head to look at Runok, then to the ground, then back at him his eyes were filled with something he had never seen in Yurmerum…Fear.
“I do not know, Runok. All I know is that it is tainted beyond belief, and I have never seen anything like it. Just be aware, do not stumble into things you do not know, otherwise the situations could be tragic.”
The orc was astonished to the fact that his superior, his commander, his wise friend had no idea what the Centaur were up to. Runok scratched at the beard growing onto his chin, it was beginning to grow faster than a rabbit’s population…He kind of liked it. His blood red orbs stared into Yurmerum’s for a moment before he nodded, but he knew already that curiosity had gripped him. He’d figure out what the Centaur were doing, and he’d put an end to it as well. The shaman turned around and with the air’s aid, he drifted his voice through it and told them all they were headed home.
Some Tauren brought Centaur’s heads onto their pikes as they went onto their kodo or began to walk back to their home. Eyes weary from the day’s hard work of slaughtering their enemies; some were beaming and cheering on the way back. Others were weeping and staying silent as they bit their tongue, seeing their friends and family die had wounded their hearts, but shortly after they straightened up and marched in solitude. Runok now felt as if he were in the center of an earthquake, it was empowering since the Tauren’s hooves and kodo’s bulky weight had created such a powerful presence. And to think, Runok was part of this earthquake of chaos, he grinned like an idiot with the rest of his companions.
The trip home didn’t take as long as he had expected it to, for they arrived in under an hour where the warriors cheered and ran into the village. He watched as men embraced their women, they were at somewhat peace, their concerned looks wearing away. Others were crying for their beloved’s dying, which made a tight not of sympathy tie within Runok’s gut. Unlike the Tauren, Runok didn’t have to look too hard to find his parents since they were the only orcs in this encampment. He rushed toward them, embracing his mother who had done the same with him, patting his shoulders and laughing heartily with joy.
Turning to his father, who also embraced him but with a fiercer grip grinned just as foolishly as Runok had. Yurmerum walked over the pair of green skins and bowed his bulky body forward, lifting his head up.
“Many were saved from Runok’s efforts, you should be proud of him. He fought well and hard, and I can swear he killed about twenty tonight. Peace be with you Runok, and may your family prosper.”
Soon after he spoke, the shaman left to speak with other families while his father’s chest sweltered with pride of his son. They ushered him into the hut, where they screamed with glee, Runok told his tale of the battles while his mother and father listened intently, they reminded him of himself when he was but a boy. They were on their knees, leaning their heads forward and perking their ears to hear the story, when he told them about the symbols and totems…His father and mother looked at each other with sighs. Runok knew then, that they had experiences with such an art of filth. He dared not to ask too much of them though, otherwise they may not answer him and he’d get no information whatsoever.
“So…You know what they are, tell me please. We need to know of these annoyances so we can crush them the next time they true and use the terrible powers.”
Omarious placed a palm onto his face, letting it run down his facial structure to stretch out the muscles in his cheeks and chin. While Dre’kel straightened out her kilt and looked to her mate, ready to accommodate him in his explanations.
“The runes and figures you speak of are a decent of magic our race has been gripped by, the reason we have green skin and a blood lust. Not just any blood lust, it can never be sated, you must have experienced this since the first battle you couldn’t stop just looking for something to kill, anything. What this is…Is a magic of the fel, demonic is what it is. I have no idea how these beings were able to grip the powers of the darkness…But it is going to prove fatal if we don’t crush this very source. But…Let us not dwell on such depressive subjects, celebrate my son! For you have made your family proud and our neighbors, the Bloodhoof for your deeds of courage and relentless killing of the monsters that wished to destroy the lot of our lives.”
Runok was sitting cross legged, elbows upon his kneed and palms rested under his chin, listened to the explanation of the “fel” magic his father told him of. He still didn’t know much of his heritage of the orcs, all he knew was that he was green, and so were they. The warrior tried to relax, but in vain so many thoughts intruded his relaxing attempts and frowned upon the curiosity that prodded at his brain like a bee to a flower’s nectar. He excused himself for a moment, exiting his hut and walking out into the cold night, the celebrating had ended and now the village emanated with sounds of crickets singing to each other. He took both of his palms and slapped them to his face, sliding down his face and stretching his cheeks downward.
“Why did so many things have to be complicated? Why can’t anyone just speak to me with answers, instead of just driving me away with another question or riddle?”
Frustrated, he kicked the rocks of dirt into the air to collide with a totem, pebbles shattering as dust was left behind while fragments of the rock became nothing but specs of its former self. His hands clenched up into fists, squeezing them so hard blood formed beneath his finger-nails. He needed something to punch, before he lost his mind and woke everyone up. He remembered, the dummies that Bull Rush had him fight with blades were still around outside of the encampment. Breaking into a jog, he pumped his legs again which ached from the battle before, but weren’t as damaged like the last couple of miles.
Feet pounded onto the lively grass now touched by the swell forms of dew, the edges of the grass brushing against his ankles; it actually cooled him down. After what seemed like ages, which was more of just twenty minutes he saw the victims of his torture upon the hill ahead. Grinning wickedly, he burst into a sprint and climbed his way up the gaping piece of land. An axe was left on the center dummy’s head, seemed Bull Rush got angry since the piece of wood was sliced very deep.
“Might as well finish what he started…”
Runok muttered this beneath his breath, wrapping green palms around the axe and struggling after awhile till he ripped it out of the wooden skull. Lifting the axe high in the air, he slammed the blade deep into the wood like a lumberjack, hearing the loud sound of metal pushing against the resistance of his strength and steel. The orc ripped it out as splinters flew out of the way and onto the ground. Twirling it around in his hands he shifted his legs to the left side and slashed at the side of the dummy’s position, landing onto the waist of the wooden construction, it reminded him of cutting down a tree. Memories filled his mind once again, anger flickering into his mind like a candle fighting to keep its flame alive.
Continuously Runok sliced and hacked at the side of the dummy, eyes flashing a bright red while he continued his violent efforts. Blood pumped through his veins, anger and confusion leading his axe’s contempt to destroy his enemy. Huffs and puffs of breath shot through his open mouth, sharp tusks glimmering at the tip for a moment. The warrior was enraged, his muscles rippling with strength to aid the green skin in slicing. Till he lifted one last time, and made a maneuver to slide the blade right underneath the wooden neck, beheading the annoyance with a desperate roar.
Throwing the axe to stab into the center of the dummy’s being, he knelt down and threw his arms back while bellowing.
“Tell me your blasted secrets!”
Panting from the acts he had down, he lifted himself and basked in the silence of the night, the only thing disrupting it were the crickets still chirping. Hair drenched from his sweat, he wiped his left palm through the strands of black. Grunting, he continued to pant and catch his breath, heading back to the village so his parents wouldn’t worry about where he was. Seeing as how loud he screamed, someone might have noticed and looked at him strangely while coming back. But he didn’t care, and only continued down the grass plains with a sigh.
What the warrior didn’t notice was that there was a shadow, standing on top of the hill garbed in a black cloak. The figure’s arms wrapping around one another while the figure grinned at the orc’s frustration. The wisp of existence followed behind him, looming over like his very own shadow till it stopped. Watching the orc continue along his way, it shook its head and gave off a silent chuckle.
“Now is not the time…But he shall know when it is, it is only a matter of time…”
The robed figure vanished, and just as he did Runok looked behind him…Nothing was there. Shrugging, he turned and continued his expedition back home, no telling what they had in store for him tomorrow…They always had Runok working like a pack mule.