The Whitewash And Dhaub

[Catarrh 720]

As the sun sets over the deserts of the Iron Uzg, Malog’Yar finds a spot near a fire and calls as many other orcs who are willing to gather around for a story. He packs some green into an old bone pipe, lights it up and takes a long breath from it. He holds the smoke in as he passes the pipe to the uruk immediately to his right. After about thirty or forty-five seconds, he exhales a pair of billowing plumes of green smoke from his nostrils, and informs those gathered that he’ll be telling the story of the whitewash and Dhaub:

 

    ((In Common for ease of reading))

 

 

     Long ago, in another land far away, there lived an uruk named Dhaub. Dhaub was born in affliction and suffering. His mother died in labor, and he was born feet first with the umbilical cord tangled around his neck. His father managed to deliver him successfully, however, and he seemed not to have sustained any lasting damage, though the shamans warned him that the circumstances of his birth were a bad omen.

 

As Dhaub grew, his life proved to be one of affliction and pain. In his first hunt, he lost an eye. In a klomp with some other cubs, he broke a leg, and the bone stuck through the flesh. The wound became infected, which led to several other diseases, and nearly killed him. The bone, when it did heal, proved to be improperly set, and didn’t heal correctly, giving him an awkward limp. The father, burdened at having to raise the child alone and fearing that he would grow up weak due to his constant misfortune, shamefully took his own life, adding embarrassment to Dhaub’s physical suffering. Dhaub vowed to prove his father wrong, and strove hard to overcome the hardships of his life. Though he continued on in almost constant agony, he grew stronger and wiser for it. He worked hard all his life, harder than any other orc in his village.

 

There was another orc born around the same time as Dhaub, who in his youth saw the hardships of life in the desert --especially that of Dhaub-- and fled to the human lands. There he begged at the feet of a wealthy pink-skin merchant, who took pity, and adopted him. The whitewash lived a life of ease and decadence. He slept every night on a soft bed with clean sheets, and clothed himself in fine silk of purple and scarlet. He feasted sumptuously at every meal, and grew to be a rich, fat merchant like the one who raised him. He bought a mansion, attended by many servants, who saw to his every need and desire.

 

Meanwhile, Dhaub couldn’t keep a house. Every hut or tent he built would be struck by lightning or blown down by a strong wind. He tried living in a cave, only for an earthquake to collapse it. Eventually, he decided there would be no house for him, and started sleeping outside. His nights were often restless, however, as he was awoken frequently by sand rats trying to nibble at his sores and wounds. The only thing that kept sand out of his wounds was his tattered cloak spread out on the ground. He ate whatever he could get by strenuous labor and long, difficult hunts. He was lean, but, through unparalleled effort, he kept himself strong in the face of disease and misfortune.

 

After many years, Dhaub died in a scatternak hunt. Despite their best efforts, his fellow hunters were unable to retrieve his body from the mandibles of the great beast, and they were forced to retreat. The whitewash choked to death on a chicken bone, and was buried in a church cemetery. He was given a human funeral overseen by a priest. It took ten strong men to bear his oversized, silk-lined casket. The immortal spirit Kor bore Dhaub up to the Ancestral Plane, to be with the great orcs who came before him. The whitewash was cursed to wander restlessly for eternity. In an endless plane, harsher and hotter than the most lifeless desert, the whitewash trudged on in regret and emptiness. He looked up, and saw Dhaub, whom he knew as a cub, resting with the ancestors in perfect health and happiness.

 

“Krug!” the whitewash cried, “Father! Please, help me. Can you not see that I am in agony, doubled over in pain and hunger? Am I not your child? Send Dhaub with just one morsel from your table, that I might know some relief!”

 

But Krug looked down from the Ancestral Plane with a disdainful sneer, and answered him, “From your very youth, you rejected me as your father. You rejected the ways of your ancestors and your people. You chose instead to live among the pink-skin, in luxury and comfort, while my true cub, Dhaub, worked hard and grew strong, overcoming every trial in his path. He died with honor, while you died as a selfish fool. Now, he shall have rest, and you shall suffer affliction.”

 

The whitewash pleaded with Krug, “Send me back then, I beg you. Give me the chance to redeem myself, and live as a true orc.”

 

“There is no going back. Even if there was, you would not change. You are weak, and you always will be. You would return to your whitewash life of pleasure and indolence, just as the fly returns to the dung heap.”

 

With that, clouds of fire covered the sky, obscuring his view of the Ancestral plane, and leaving him to wander and suffer alone. Dhaub finally found the joy and rest that life had denied him. Remember, brothers and sisters, it is better to suffer with honor, than to sacrifice integrity in the name of pleasure.

 

[LaCabra (Soda) 1519]

Dude, keep up the great work. Love reading your stories.

[Catarrh 720]

 

Hidden Content

Thanks!

[James 425]

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