An Orc's Trials

[Zezimus 1523]

An Orc's Trials

 

 

Amongst the great orc jungles, a shroud of mist hung low in the air. Small animals scurried through the bushes and brambles as the sound of exotic birds resonated throughout the treetops. It was from within the mist that a large figure emerged, crunching twigs beneath his feet as he carelessly strode on through the protruding leaves and branches. He was adorned in little but the furs of beasts he had skinned in years long passed, his skin a sickly shade of green. His eyes were filled with a crimson red bloodlust and his arms appeared scratched and scarred from years of battle. His tusks jutted out from his gaping mouth, sharp and thirsting for blood. The orc towered above the many wild animals of the jungle as they stared on after him.

 

 

His name was Muzgash, clanless. For years, he had grown tormented by the shades of his past. Dark thoughts lingered deep within the very corners his mind. He had left his mother’s womb during a time of great hardship, having known nothing of who or what he descended from. He had no memory of ever looking into her eyes. War had torn through the orcish deserts, scattering the clans into chaos. Instead he lived the life of a simple clanless orc, with neither a purpose nor goal in life. It was as he believed, his destiny to wander.  Yet he strove for a sense of direction in such a world where beings had so little control over their own fates. For many years, he scraped together a life from nothing, hunting and protecting himself from the dangers of the land he lived in. Yet for all it had borne its burden upon him, he had always wished for something more. As he dwelled upon his past, the orc raised his head, looking far up into the treeline that stretched above him. His mind delved into memories of one of the many times he had been forced to fight for his survival.

 

 

He recalled there and then his first kill. Humans and dwarves had attacked the city of San’Jezal, razing orcish huts to the ground, while pillaging the surrounding lands. Muzgash and many other orcs had been forced to retreat into the forests nearby while a patrol of humans stalked them close behind. The young orc had hidden behind a tree, burying himself among the branches and leaves, a jagged blade, strung from bone gripped between his powerful hands. He watched as the horses had made their way into the enclosing at the edge of the treeline. A single knight, armed with a blade and spear dismounted, drawing his weapon as he stared relentlessly through the forests. Muzgash tightened his grip on his own blade as he immediately lifted himself from the ground to make his attack. Charging forward into the armoured human, digging the weapon through his chest without warning, the knight quickly fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. The survivor drew his sword, rearing his horse in the opposite direction as the orc turned after him, grabbing the spear from the fallen human. He gave a deep breath as he stared on after the rider. Raising the spear behind his shoulder, he took a few steps forward before launching it into the back of his chest. The rider gave a desperate cry of agony, before falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Muzgash loomed over the corpse, as blood soaked into the soils. Throughout the years, he had grown familiar with taking the lives of others.

 

It was then that the orc’s trail of thought was suddenly interrupted. A bright light shone through the foliage, illuminating the ground at his feet. By now, the fog had subsided and the view ahead was much clearer. He stood in silence, a cold glare across his face as a wave of heat hit him. He closed his eyes, slowly stepping forward as he brushed the leaves aside of him, the terrain beneath his feet becoming lighter. He squinted slightly, as his eyes begun to grow accustomed to the light.  There Muzgash stood in awe before the sight of a vast desert stretching before him. Sand blew across the horizon, the skies above becoming swiftly darker. If he were to find what he was looking for before nightfall, he would surely have to hasten his search.

 

 

Muzgash gazed out across the long desolate wastelands that stretched before him. He raised his arm, clenching his fist as the sand slowly begun to settle before his feet. Far in front of him, he noticed the silhouette of a single figure, slowly striding through the hot desert sands. He was large, like himself. An orc from the war nation most likely. Muzgash lowered his hand towards his weapon, eyeing the figure as he made his way towards him. He was a large red orc, with gold trimmings hanging low over his chest and legs. He halted some metres away from Muzgash as the two orcs begun to circle around one another. “Wub ‘az latz com’ tu da desertz fur?” Muzgash stated plainly, giving a slight grunting noise. The red orc continued to look back towards him, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking. “Latz luukin’ fur da Kaxils?” he asked. Muzgash gave a nod, yet with a sense of suspicion filled in his eyes. Broxigar as the red orc was called, gestured for Muzgash to follow after him. From there the two set off deeper into the deserts. Yet the sandstorm had by now grown ever fiercer, blotting out the rays of the sun. A darkness had descended upon the pair of orcs as they lumbered on through the gates of San’Orka.

 

The first of the trials to become one among the Kaxil Clan was a maze, filled with deadly traps and pitfalls. As Muzgash stepped inside, he looked through the darkness, noticing the sight of skulls and dismembered corpses strewn around. Watching his feet as he made his way through, he leaped over obstacles and with some degree of luck, found his way through the many dangers it posed. By the end of the maze, the orc was bruised but alive. Broxigar stood sternly, looking back at the orc, congratulating him upon his success. Muzgash etched his name into the wall alongside others before he looked back towards Broxigar, eagerly awaiting his final task. The pair of orcs travelled far from the deserts to the newly established orcish city of Gronkkston. There he was greeted by two orcs, Vulgrak and Xanroq, Kaxils themselves. Together, they would travel to the Conclave of Malin for a feast of sorts. By the time they arrived, they had managed to pass through the gates unnoticed. A single elf stood aside his stall, offering his wears to passers-by. Muzgash and the Kaxil orcs steadily begun to encircle the elf, grabbing him quickly and dragging him down the staircase from the city into a nearby stable. Only screams could be heard from within as Muzgash drew his bone blade from its sheath, driving it directly through the centre of the elf’s chest.

 

 

The orc ravaged the elf's corpse, digging his tusks deep into its flesh before raising his head, his mouth coated over in a thick layer of blood. Henceforth he was to be known by a new name. As one among the Kaxil Clan, he had found his purpose. For months he served under his new found brothers, tirelessly doing their bidding at every turn. His mind became devoted to their will and what arose was a sinister being, a shade of his former self.  At long last, he had uncovered the life he had been searching for.

[Lago 2572]

Zeziorc?

[Sneaky 189]

Boul'lur headbutts the new Orc a new brother a new fighter

[brotherpig123 38]

Gug doesn't know if he should tell Muzgash about the blood around his mouth.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.