Yar And Nargii

[Catarrh 720]

   Tall, dry grass rustled in the wind of the cool night in the Orcish savanna. The last few Braduk rhinos in existence huffed and grunted as they grazed in the field. The heavy thud of their footsteps was audible to the nearest of the orcs, even with the wide berth given to the temperamental beasts. In the nearby swamp of the Lak clan, rats scurried about, and a jabbernak hissed in protest as it was stabled down in a cave for the night. The orcs of the Trog were just finishing up their labors for the day, and the slaves were being corralled back into their pen. In the Yar camp, at the base of the giant World Cactus, a bowl of herbs smoldered in front of the totem of Yar, and Malog was gathering his clan. A heavy, patchwork flag of crudely-stitched black and white pelts hung overhead, as the orcs huddled about a small fire. Malog looked about the Yars and any other orcs assembled, and began to tell an old story of the ancestor for whom his clan was named.

   ((Written in Common for ease of reading. For immersion’s sake, I used a simplified version of the Blah for any dialogue in the story.))

   Some of you have heard the story of Yar before. You have heard of his birth, his wisdom and his death. You’ve heard the broad strokes. You have not, however, heard any of the more specific stories from his life. I have, therefore, decided this night to tell you, my brothers and sisters, this tale from his life, and I hope to tell you more in the future. Tonight, I tell you all the story of Yar and Nargii.

   As those who have heard the story of Yar know, Yar was a great shaman, and took some apprentices during his life. At one point, he taught a group of four young students: Naramok, Makor, Shula and Nargii. Naramok was his favored student, the most advanced and naturally-gifted of the four. Makor and Shula were a young couple, who sought to learn alongside each other, and serve the village as shamans together. Nargii, however, was the least-talented of the four.

   It wasn’t so much that he lacked potential. He simply progressed at a slower rate. Consequently, Yar rarely allowed him to practice any actual application of shamanic power, as Nargii simply wasn’t ready. Day after day, he was forced to go over the fundamentals: collecting reagents, carving tokens and masks, practicing his pronunciation of the same, basic Old Blah phrases ad nauseam; with very little actual magical practice. All the while, his fellow apprentices were already learning to brew bottled hexes, and Naramok was even beginning his training in ritualistic curses. Eventually, Nargii grew bitter and jealous. “Yar,” he complained one day, after carving his upteenth prayer mask, “for h’ash years mi have been lats apprentice. For h’ash years, mi have been repeating these same dry lessons. The others are already practicing real powers, and I’ve barely ever been allowed to boil a few herbs. When do mi get to start studying some real shamanism?”

   “Nargii,” he responded patiently, “a sapling bears nub fruit, agh rain does nub fall out of season. Lat will move on in lats training when lat am ready.”

   “Mi am ready now!” he protested.

   “Lat am ambitious, agh lat have potential to be a great shaman ash day; but lat am nub ready yet. Mi will blah lat when lat am ready, young brother.” Yar then patted him on the shoulder,      

   “Now, go to lats blarg, Nargii. Keep practicing the fundamentals.”

   “But… Mi…” Nargii began to speak, but realized it to be pointless to argue further. He left the tent. A bundle of bones above the door flap clacked together as he exited with a sour grimace across his dull green face.

 

<O>

 

   “We are the conduits of the spirits,” Yar said the next afternoon as he sat cross-legged on a woolen mat, his four students seated around him in a semicircle, “We are their instruments by which they enact their will. We are their weapons to bring justice upon their enemies, agh we are the links by which the balance between our world and theirs is maintained. Naramok, what is our duty?”

   “To guide our brothers agh sisters in the path of honor, agh keep them in the ways of Krug.”

   “Hosh.” Yar nodded approvingly, but Nargii simply sneered as he looked down at his most recently-made token, resenting Naramok for holding their teacher’s favor. “Nargii, mi peep lat have made another token.” Nargii looked up to see Yar’s extended hand. He nodded, and placed it in Yar’s palm. Yar held the token up to eye level. It was two-inches long and made of bone, carved to resemble a cage. “This is hosh. Lat am getting hosher. Keep this up, agh lat will be ready before lat gruk it.” He then offered the token back to Narmii, “Hang it from lats staff.”

   “Rulg,” he replied with a slight smile, and pulled a leather strap from his bag to tie the token to the top of his staff.

   Within a few seconds, right as Yar was about to address Makor and Shula, the the clacking of bones was heard. Yar and his students looked to see a young warrior stepping through the tent flap, “Throm’ka, brother Yar. Mi hope mi du nub interrupt anything important, but there is news.”

   “News?” Yar arched a brow.

   “Yub. Some traveller from a far away land wants to blah to lat. He is an albai, but it seems he brings a tribute of resources. Would lat have us flat him?”

   “Nub yet.” he sighed a bit at the interruption. “If he has brought tribute to help the village, we may as well hear what he has to blah. Mi will determine the worth of his blah.”

   With that, the warrior nodded, and motioned the visitor in. Into the tent, accompanied by two elven guards, strode a lithe, pale elf, with long cornsilk hair cascading gracefully down his back and shoulders. A pair of thin braids dangled beside his long ears, and his narrow eyes were green as spring grass. With a smooth, sweet voice the elf spoke, “Karin’ayla, Yar.”

   “Ug,” replied Yar with little emotion, clearly unimpressed by the thin creatures in his tent, “Blah.”

   The elf nodded, “My name is Celador. I have heard your name in my travels, and that you are a wise and powerful shaman. Having heard tales of you, I sought you out, in hopes that you may be interested in a certain proposition.” Celador stopped to await a response. Yar crossed his arms, and looked sternly upon the visitor, visibly suspicious of the elf’s words. He said nothing, allowing the elf to continue, “Well, anyways,” Celador continued, a bit unnerved by Yar’s stoic demeanor, “I come offering payment; gold, iron, pelts and many spices. I can give you all these things beyond measure, if you will do but one simple task for me. The Rex is a brutish cretin.” Celador spoke boldly as he regained his composure. “I should think that a wise orc like yourself would make a much better Rex. My request, therefore, is that you put a curse on him, so that I may strike him down. You, then, could fight alongside me, and take the rexdom. Under your rule, I believe we could both prosper greatly.” He grinned expectantly, fully confident in his words.

   Nargii’s eyes lit up at the mention of such treasures, but Yar stood to his feet in a rage, “Celador, lat am a dishonorable coward, agh mi will have nub part in lats plan! Flat these albai!”

   At Yar’s command, the students rose from the floor, and the young warrior raised his waraxe. The elves unsheathed their own beautifully-crafted blades, and went on the defensive. A loud clang sounded as the warrior’s axe slammed against the blade of one of the guards. Celador pointed his own blade out in front as the shamans approached, and saw, from the corner of his eye, his companion struggling under the strength of the warrior. His other guard alerted him to the fact that the rest of the village was becoming aware of the situation, and advised an immediate retreat. Celador nodded, and turned to run, leaving their companion to his fate, and cringing as a he felt a chunk of hair getting ripped from the back of his head by an orc’s hand. As the two sprinted through the village, they heard the agonizing scream of the guard they’d left behind. The villagers readied their weapons, and charged after the escaping elves. A spray of blood hit Celador in the left eye, as his only remaining guard was hacked down right beside him by a berserking feorc with a machete. A thrown spear narrowly grazed his cheek, and chunks of sandstone whizzed past him from behind. He barely managed to escape with just a few bruises. The orcs returned to their business, and Yar called his students back inside to continue their lesson, while Nargii glanced briefly over his shoulder in the direction of the fleeing elf.

 

<O>

 

   The following night, after the others had gone to sleep, Nagrii was still awake, and thinking of Celador’s offer. The lust for wealth had taken root in his heart, and he’d even deluded himself, thinking that he would finally be taken more seriously if he could curse the Rex himself. He took his spear, and lied to the watchmen, telling them he was going hunting for the night. With their consent, he left the village, and tracked down the elf. There wasn’t much to go on. He found the occasional drop of blood, a discarded piece of damaged chainmail here and there and a little bit of blond hair. Eventually, after many hours, he found a cave, and decided to check inside. He saw Celador sleeping in a cot near the back. As he entered, a loose piece of sandstone broke free under his foot, sending him tumbling to the floor. Celador’s ear twitched, and he sprung up from his sleep at the sudden noise. Snatching his blade from the floor, the startled elf barked, “Stay back, orc! I’ve had enough of your kind.”

   Nargii rose to his feet, holding up empty hands, “Nub nub. Mi nub here to hurt lat, albai. Mi-” he suddenly stopped, and looked about the cave. Stacked against the right wall were chests so full of gold and iron the lids couldn’t close. He saw a huge pile of pelts to his left, and dozens of jars filled with various spices. He forced his gaze away from the riches, and continued, “Mi want to help lat.”

   “How?” snapped Celador.

   “Mi am Yar’s apprentice. Mi will curse the Rex for lat.”

   Celador grinned. He could see the greed in Nargii’s eyes, “Is that so? Very well then. You put a curse on the Rex for me, and all you see here is yours. Make him weak and fragile. Sap his strength for me. Is that possible, shaman?”

Nargii looked to the bone token dangling from his staff, and nodded, “Yub. That can be done.”

   “Excellent!” Celador picked up a hefty bag of gold, and tossed it to Nargii, “Consider this a down-payment.”

   Nargii caught the bag with an eager grin. “Rulg, albai. Mi will do hosh work. Lat will peep.” He turned, and hurried out of the cave and back to his village with one final “Gug’ye.”

 

<O>

 

   Arriving back at the village near sunrise, a morning watchman stopped him to ask about the bag and where he’d been all night. Nargii told him the same lie as he told the night watchmen, “Mi was hunting. The bag is full of sand rats. Mi couldn’t peep much else out there last night.” With a shrug the watchman nodded, and went back about his business. Nargii hurried back to his tent, and set the bribe money aside to immediately begin his first attempt at a real curse. He held up his staff so the bone token hung at eye level, and began chanting to Ogrol, the spirit of despair, entrapment and, most relevant to Nargii’s situation, sapped strength. His chant, however, was awkward, as he had trouble remembering important Old Blah words. Eventually, he came to the climax of his ritual, and raised his staff in the air. Then, the token on his staff began to vibrate, and soon shattered, sending a splintered fragment into his arm. Nargii then dropped his staff, as a horrible pain filled his body. His bones became brittle and porous within him, and he was left hunched over on the floor, too weak to even stand.

   Then, as if he had been waiting for him outside, the tent flap flung open, and Yar stepped inside. He glared down at Nargii with intense disapproval, “Blah to mi, Nargii. Is now the time to take bribes? Is now the time to sacrifice our honor for filthy gain? Are the uruks to be as the gazat, led about by greed? Are we to be as the shara, lusting after power? Perhaps, lat think, it is the time to be as the albai, sneaking around in the shadows. Peep now how the curse lat intended for the Rex has fallen upon lats own head, traitor.”

   Nargii looked up in astonishment, “B-but… how did l-lat… gruk?” he asked shakily in his weakened state. Immediately, Yar’s sister, Voltha the Huntress, entered from behind, tossing the corpse of Celador before Nargii. A thick orcish arrow protruded from his neck.

   “Mi do a lot of night hunting,” interjected Voltha “but mi had never peep’d lat hunting at night before. Mi peep’d lat in the cave with the albai, Nargii...”

   Nargii was speechless, and without defense. “Nargii,” said Yar, “lat have nub integrity or uprightness in spirit, so lat shall have nub in body. Lat am a whitewash, and a traitor to this village and the whole Uzg.”

   Nargii was dragged to the center of the village, and tied up, too weak to resist. He was sentenced to death by de-boning. His screams echoed throughout the desert, as his fragile bones were pulled from his body in front of the whole village until he died. Afterwards, his bones were piled up atop the ruins of his destroyed tent, and burned with his ill-gotten gold. The rest of his body was chopped up, and thrown to the pigs. So, to this day, de-boning remains the Yar clan’s punishment for the absolute worst of offenders.

 

[๖ۣۜ§osa (E.G.I.E.) 520]

Zar'roc yawns to himself and rolls his bicep. "Hozh ztoreh Malug, lat zhuld blah uf dehm mowre." He said, groggily rising to his feet and heading off to bed. "Gug'ye bruddahz" he said to the remaining Orcs around the fire.

[Rig 17581]

Zok'braduk smiles toothily, like a shark. "Mi liekz diz Yar gui, hi amz hozh!" 

[Clayphish 149]

Crystal blinks as the story ends, then shakes her head. "I will never understand you orcs and your violent fairy tales ..."

[Alakabam 582]

Yarrr

(( Good read as always Tyler. ))

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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