The Sea Of Sun

[SteelMarshall 190]

 

The sun had reached its highest point in the day, and it hovered like a blazing eye in the clear sky. Its glare reflected off the landscape, an unending expanse of slowly shifting sand. A shimmering haze rose up from the yellow dunes, only adding to the oppressive heat that baked the desert. Not that there were many creatures to feel it; the species that could survive such hostile conditions were few and far between. But despite all of this, there was a lone figure that made its way across the barren surface.

 

Each step left a massive and indented footprint in the sands of the Southern Deserts. The heat would have burned the soles of many; yet the wanderer’s bare feet were thick and able to withstand the intensity of the harsh environment. Coarse and pale-green skin protected against the sun’s rays, as well as the sand that was occasionally whipped up by battering gusts of wind that twisted across the plains. Large muscles rippled underneath, a constant show of power and physical prowess that set his kind apart from the other descendants. A pair of brown eyes were sunken into an ugly visage, sat above a fear-inspiring maw of sharp canines. Two large tusks protruded from the corners of the large mouth, curling the large lips back into a formidable frown. A rough hood of cloth rested over the orc’s head and hung over his shoulders, though did not taper into a cloak. He wore nothing else but the traditional loincloth of his kind, baring his skin to the elements.

 

Thur’Druul continued across the sweltering desert. He was small for an uruk; stunted, even, standing a few inches below seven feet, though he still possessed the well-muscled physique of the children of Krug. It seemed that this setback actually belied strength; the weak did not survive in the War Nation, and the fact that he had lasted into maturity despite his runty height would speak volumes to the perceptive.  He pressed on now, his shoulders hunched as he persevered against the inhospitable nature of the sandswept wastes. The words of his mentor, Elder Thurak, echoed in his head, over and over again.

 

“From a dry sea of sun, the son gifts me blue blood.”

 

Thur growled, his gnarled claws clenching into fists as he racked his brain. He had been out in the Southern Desert for days now, and had still found nothing. Had he been wrong? Perhaps he had misunderstood the first trial? No, it had to be here. This was the dry sea. He had to keep looking, he decided, as he trundled past the bleached bones of a human or elf, half-buried in the pale sand. He crested the large dune before him, grunting with some effort as he made it to the top of the sloping hill. And then he saw it.

 

 

A small oasis lay nestled in a valley of nothing, the only speck of color in a yellow expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. Thur took care against breaking out into a run down the dunes, and instead saved his energy as he descended towards the small body of water. He knew of the dreaded hallucinations that tormented those touched by the sun; a cruel vision granted by Ramakhet that tricked many into a countless cycle of despair and eventually death. Yet as the uruk approached the oasis, he realized that it was no illusion; the air cooled as he approached, and the sand underneath his feet was slowly replaced by short and stubby grasses. This was the blue blood gifted in the sun’s sea. Thur’Druul knelt at the edge of the pool and drank, the crystal-clear water invigorating him. After he had sated his thirst, he took a crude wooden cup, held to his loincloth by a rough rope, and filled it with the life-bringing waters of the spring. He then slowly rose, offered thanks to the spirits, and prepared to return home. His first task was complete.

 

((Okay, so this is the first of many trials that Thur has to complete to become a shaman. I thought I'd write up his ventures and post them to show people what it takes to become a religious leader in orcish society- and because I really enjoyed writing this. Hope y'all enjoy!))

[Ilikefooddude 430]

A grin peeled upwards across the Elder Uruk's face, flashing yellowed and crooked in contrast to the scarred black/green hide of his aged face. The younger Orc had returned, it would seem, and had been none too tedious yet still none too hasty about it. As he set the wooden cup upon the ground ahead of him, Thurak examined it with a cocked brow and a soft, burbling chuckle.
"Bub'hozh, Thur. Id wuud peep lat haz pazzed." 
With a casual, deft movement the Shaman took up the cup; beholding it once more before pouring its contents into a bowl by his side. A sharp yip came from the corner of the cave and Poots the hyena trotted over- The old dog's nose leading him where his sightless eyes couldn't. Unceremoniously, he dunked his face into the bowl and slurped it up thirstily- the Farseer nodding with a smirk of approval.
"Latz nekzd triyahl wil kum zuun. Prehpaer- Diz tik id wil nub beh zuw zimpul."

[Z3r05t4r 855]

((Like it. I built that. :) ))

[Dakirennis 959]

((Great read man. I look forward to your next one!))

[Glyc 234]

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