Awareness: Part 1

[Smaw 2376]

A furious visage broke the darkness, its scream accompanying the swathing hues of purple light that burst forth from it's sinister core.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

Kharak awoke in a fluster of heat, his face sweating profusely as his heart beat furiously against his chest. He darted his focus across his cave, searching for any sign of life. It was empty, as usual. Anything living rarely found its way into the Orc's abode; save for the sparse rats that would later become meals. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to see something around him. Anything that would be a sign of his disturbance, anything not born of his own heart.

 

The cave itself was rather small for an Orc, and especially bare. There were no decorations strung across the interior, nor finger paintings of great battles or idols of worship. It was an empty environment, save for the bones of varying sizes scattered around the rough floor. Kharak was sat upright on a meshy bed of cloth and straw towards the far end of the room. He was still searching the dark room, panting heavily and shaking to a degree. As he looked around, he would note the jagged edges of the walls. They manipulated the shadows that clung to them, causing a great number of hellish faces to form before Kharak's eyes. He dragged himself back further, scurrying to the end wall. 

 

As he slowly rose to his feet, his back remained pressed to the rear of the cave, the sharp edges that hugged the wall cutting into his flesh. The Orc gritted his teeth, reaching for the small dagger attached to his loincloth. It was a fine weapon of ivory, decorated to the highest degree in jewels of varied rarity and colour. His spare hand shakily reached out, grabbing every so often at the air before him. As time passed, Kharak began to calm. He had seen the faces on the wall countless times, and was sure the room itself was empty. After all, he was still alive and unharmed.

 

He squinted in the darkness, dropping to his knees as he searched the floor for something. He brushed away bones, dust, and sand as his hand continued to peruse the flat rock. His other hand was still gripping his weapon tightly; shaking less now than it had done moments before. Eventually he came across an old and weathered pipe. It seemed to be made of a dark wood, with many cracks adoring its shape. Toward the end was a small string, wound around it and attached to an unusually small pouch. He nodded, grunting as he reached for his scarred back, a stain of blood smearing his hand. He held his hand there, the shaking barely noticeable as he pushed himself onto his feet. Kharak walked from his room, breaking out into the interior chambers of the Raguk fort.

 

Strolling along the empty hallway to the gated entrance he peered over his shoulder every now and then, as though to ensure he was alone. As he reached the gate, he set his things aside on the floor and raised it with the mechanism beside him. When the gate was at a good enough height, he kicked his items under it and slid along after them. The iron crashed onto the stone floor behind him, sending out a ringing, almost melodic chime that reverberated sharply throughout the fort.                                                           

 

He made his way toward the great steps of the fort, rising along them at a languid pace. His spare hand brushed along the wall as he continued to look behind him along the journey; a bloody trail left behind upon the stone.

[Angmarzku 1251]

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