A Forgotten Ancestor's Grave

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

 

            A crisp wind blows across the savanna, blowing softly past Zhol’Lur. He looks to the afternoon sky, the sun high above as it warms him to the point where beads of sweat begin to rush down his body. He continues walking as the dry grass brushes past his feet. The Lur has been away from the Uzg for a few days, living out of a simple hiking pack. Some would find this time most miserable, but the Orc does not agree, he feels as if he’s now closer to the spirits, the elementals keeping him alive for the past few days. Votar, the spirit of the hunt, has been very kind to Zhol, many squirrels, rabbits, tiny animals of the like hanging limply from his large hiking pack.

            He stops to admire his surroundings, the Lur simply sightseeing. He admires the soft touch of the wind that still brushes over him, the water channelling smoothly across a small river, breaking as it intersects with large rocks. But he is not here to admire nature, no. The learning shaman is here to connect with the ancestors of the past. He leaps across the river, landing on a rather flat rock, before jumping again to the other side of the river. He continues making his way across the wilderness, body looking idle as he lazily looks around, daydreaming under the heat of the sun.

            He suddenly comes to a stop, the Lur’s eyes fixed on a den before him, vines cascading its entrance, hiding it. His eyes are shimmering ever so slightly before approaching the cave. To any Lur they’d recognize the smell, the mangie taste that fills the air. This wasn’t a mere den. A pair of illuminating eyes focus themselves on Zhol. The travelling Orc takes a cautious step backwards, snarls coming from the den.

 

 

            The Lur wolf by instinct charges out of its den. It begins to circle the Lur. He unstraps his backpack before scampering to his feet. His spear is left sticking out of his hiking bag, far from reach. All he has to wield is a simple skinning knife. He unsheathes the small knife, footsteps following the wolf’s the two both circling each other. The wolf crouches, its legs strong, flexing before a low growl emits from the beast’s maw. Zhol stops, also crouching in response to the wolf. He readies himself for the pounce, his eyes are locked, so focused, he doesn’t want the wolf to do anything unexpected.

            The wolf leaps forth, mouth opening, claws forth as it goes to push Zhol onto the ground. Though, Zhol ducks as he slides towards his bag. The wolf missing ever so slightly. The hunter struggles as he drops the knife, tearing the spear out of its holder as he turns around quickly, hands tight around the spear, squatting low as he watches the angry wolf turning back around. The two circle each other once again, the Lur’s spear very steady now, his form resembling a very experienced hunter and warrior. The wolf quickly drags its feet, its claws gripping the ground as it pushes off its two back legs towards Zhol, its head rotating sideways as it goes to bite the hunter.

            Zhol’s actions were quick, his spear on target, his precision exact, sharp, excellent. The spear enters the maw of the wolf, its thrust going upwards as it exits out the back of the wolf’s head. The hunter drops to his knees quickly after the wolf falls to the ground, its eyes going still. The hunter holds the wolf’s head up as he sets it on his lap. He holds his head close to the wolf’s face as he whispers very quick, hasty prayers. Death was not his goal, he was not obligated to kill the wolf. It was an option. He took the option, and he feels as if it was a mistake to do so.

 

            His attention now is taken off the wolf, his heart beating as sweat now dribbles down his back. He enters the dark, cool cave, instantly retreating out of it. He walks to his hiking pack as he removes a large branch and some clothing, followed by a tinder box and some green liquid. Zhol wraps the clothing around the top of the large branch, bathing it in the green goo, then lighting the torch aflame.

            He goes back to the cave, delving into it. He finds many flies buzzing around dead corpses of animals, birds, a human… He stops as he reaches a wall, he looks left to right, the entire wall covered in moss and vines. Though a glimmering object catches his eye, a dirty gem is spotted between the thick fungi, moss, and vine that covers the cave wall. Zhol begins picking at the coverings curiously, shaving the moss off the wall, parting the vines, and removing the fungi.

            What the Lur uncovers is an ancient scripture, some words come to recognition, but others he cannot read. He sees a carving of a wolf, the name Lur coming afterwards… His brow quirks as he exits the cave, extinguishing the torch as he equips his bag, sheathing his weapons, not before burying the wolf he killed properly, burning the corpse as the smoke ascends to the sky, the wolf’s spirit returning to its rightful home.

 

[HappyShackles 886]

The Rex mutters quietly to himself on his crude throne.

 

"Deir am nuw zhomoz en da maykin'..."

[Raptorious 1899]

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