Collection

[Ilikefooddude 430]

The faint noises of twigs snapping and falling to the undergrowth below were barely heard above the ruckus of the mid-morning jungle canopy and the laboured breath of the Orc who was trying to climb it. Thurak’s hands and arms ached from the day’s fatigue, and a rebellious bead of sweat had started to slide troublesomely down his face. He wiped it off with an angry swish of his free hand, and pulled himself up to the next branch. He’d been at this since the early point of dawn- Climbing, swearing, and searching for just the right type of branch. It sounded like a pointless job as he thought about it, brushing aside leaves as he ascended further up the behemoth’s wooden trunk; searching for a twig amongst woodland full of the blasted things. But this one had to be just right. It would have to last a lifetime, after all.
Much to the dismay of the Orc, it soon became apparent that he’d nearly come to the top of his climb. Indeed, the branch he wanted would most likely be on the highest canopy of some towering pillar of wood, but he knew wouldn’t enjoy the climb down nearly as much as he had the climb up- And not much could be said for that, either. With a sudden burst of blinding light, Thurak broke to the surface of the tree’s leafy expanse. He was at the top. As he glanced around, he slowly realised how high he actually was. Then, dauntingly, he realised how high he wasn’t.

With a grunt, and a dismissive shake of his head, he chose to ignore the swaying sentinels and continue the task at hand. After much time spent slashing awkwardly through leaves and smaller branches, he finally grinned with pleasure at what he found beneath them- A branch the perfect size for what he’d come for. He placed it across his knees, wiped the leaf litter from his dagger onto his loincloth, and proceeded to carve out the wood, humming happily the whole while.

On the evening two days after, Thurak stumbled inside his blarg; hot, panting, and overwhelmingly tired. He shuffled over to his bench, wiping a pool of sweat from his brow with a filthy rag from his loincloth. There he placed the small, wooden object he’d made those two days before- A carved smoking pipe. He set it beside various other miscellaneous objects, glancing down at them with a faint hint of fondness. There laid many weeks of his hard work: a small drum, made from the hide of an ancient Braduk Rhino, a rattle made from dried, hard cocoa beans from the sturdiest jungle trees, a mortar and pestle he carved himself from the rocks of the southern mountains, and finally his most prized object; a long, wooden staff. The object was of fine make from fine materials, and was adorned with many runic carvings across its length. At the tip was secured a small golden nob; which when examined carefully would seem to be made of ivory coated in a thick layer of Arcaurum- more commonly known as magegold. He’d used the last of the Braduk Rhino horns to embellish the staff, and wasted no expense finding the purest magegold to coat it. Across its length, small gems of malachite were imbedded into the wood; cleaned and polished until they shone. These would be the tools he would use for many years to come- not as a warrior anymore, and not even as an alchemist, but as a shaman. His journey as a Farseer of the Uzg would be a long one, but a path he would take gladly; with the help of Kroga and the other Shamans, Thurak would soon join the ranks as the newest Farseer of the Uruks. 
 

 

 

Thurak sauntered slowly into his teacher’s blarg, an empty bucket

tucked under his arm and a displeased expression on his face. He’d

failed this test, he knew, and he’d have to do much better in the

future should he wish to proceed in his training.
“Kroga!” He called, nudging aside the vines that always blocked his

entry into the musky hallway, “Kroga, ah-“ He paused, ear twitching.

Nobody was inside, it seemed; which was strange, as Kroga had said

to meet him there after he’d completed the test. A large mountain of

books had been moved to the end of the hallway, each of them dusty

and worn. Beside them, the form of a grey, gnashing hyena faced

the wall, drooling as he stared blankly at the bricks. Thurak edged

slowly away, hoping it wasn’t diseased or possessed or something.
The Uruk grumbled as the back of his head knocked a heavy wooden

sign, swearing that it wasn’t there before. As he turned to examine it,

his pained expression switched to one of intense curiosity.
“For Thurak”
A book sat below, new unlike the many others that littered the badly

organised library that was the Shaman’s abode. Strangely enough, it

was his name that was the title, written in the harsh ink of Kroga

herself. He cautiously lifted it from its pedestal of rotting Elf skulls,

brushed off the debris of flesh, and flipped open the cover.
“Thurak, ahm leevin. Diz am ull latz nuw.”
 

And, yet again, Thurak has to walk this path alone. 

 

So! This is the start of my journey into Shamanism. Expect a lot more posts about Thurak's travels in the future, detailing his various visions and such. Poots the Hyena will be tagging a long, too, so don't forget about him! Hope you enjoyed the read.

[JVQ 1719]

((Great read, look forward to reading more

[Raptorious 1899]

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