An Ascension

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxW93q31V0c

 

 

 

            Zogrocka continues to pack his large hiking pack. He heaves it over his shoulder, the dimly light in the makeshift hole irritating his eyes. Several other Orcs and pink-skins fill their bags with various needs, all turning to Zogrocka for directions. A loud grunt is heard, just a grunt, no lengthy speech. Zogrocka wields an ancient staff, glowing with life, rare gems to a shaman outfitting the staff… None might recognize the staff, only for the oldest shaman alive might he catch a glimpse of the staff and know of its origin.

            The staff was Krug’s, a remnant of his life, a remainder of his power. The dark shamans ascend from the tight-fit of a hole, months they dwelled there, training, killing, terrorizing. Finally they caught sight of a new home, and Zogrocka was leading them just to that. They all hiked on foot, on the eve of night, carrying torches and covered in black shouls, bearing pointy black hoods. Escaping the desert, they wandered onwards, passing rich forests and finally arriving to the edge of corrupted land. They took a sharp right, arriving at a ruined castle.

            Heated bricks and rocks of what once was scorched their feet. They placed their belongings on a cooled part of the area. The felling of trees was heard soon after, they wasted no time in gathering materials. Zogrocka sat on the crunched grass, a large totem next to him. He hummed loudly, a thumping noise heard from his throat, silently chanting. His body was riddled with sweat, a long meditation exhausting him. A thick green, rich mist dispersed from his pores and clung onto the totem, embedding itself in it.

            Exhausted, Zogrocka stands with shaky legs, with his last strength hoisting the totem up and approaching the center of the corruption. A simple stab into the earth distributed a powerful blessing, the scorched rock gathering moisture and lichen beginning to overcome it. In a day’s time the entire area was full with rich grass, the dark shamans building mighty teepees and walls, swiftly getting to work. A new camp being born, the seed of an enemy to Krug’s children being planted behind them.

 

[small post, we set up a camp and just y’know… Writing about it…]

[marimbamonk 1501]

Brunhyldir, meditating upon a windy hilltop, narrows his eyes. They open, scanning the area. Giving a nod, he closes them again, continuing his meditation.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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