The Chime of Bones

[Smaw 2376]

"They will feel the pain I have endured."

 

 

Deep within the crimson sands of Guul'Akash, the harsh, rainy winds pushed against the enormous tent Kharak was sat within. The leather door flailed around in the air, slapping against the wall every so often. The interior of the hut was Stygian and dusty, cramped by the innumerable tomes and vials that littered the floor. The Red Orc himself would be sat amidst the towering books of old, peering over the large, bubbling cauldron set directly in the centre of the room. He rose to his feet in a languid pace, bringing an open tome with him as he continued to inspect the waters within the cast iron. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, using his free hand to sprinkle some aged leaves into the concoction.

 

Meanwhile, a party of Orcs appeared to be swathing through the intense weather. They were red skinned and clad in tattered robes of cloth, serving as a mild protection against the beating rain and sand that swept across Guul'Akash. They appeared to be hauling large bags over their shoulders, with pairs of Uruk assisting each other with the larger sacks. As they edged closer to the tent of the Wargoth, they set the bags in a pile beside it. The larger bags were jutting in many places, several bones protruding from the openings. When all of the bags had been set in place, the group of Uruk merely turned from the tent, making their way back to normality.

 

Kharak grumbled to himself as he looked over the bubbling waters, kicking the fires beneath the cauldron to stamp them out. He cursed to himself, wading through the littered floor as he made his way to the exit. He squinted as he rose the leather door with his arm, shielding his face from the onslaught of rain. As he glanced across the landscape, he took note of the bags set beside the hut. He edged out into the red expanse, making his way toward the pile. When he arrived, he dug his hands into the larger sacks, inspecting the varied bones that were resting within them. A faint smile morphed across Kharak's face as he began to drag the bags into the tent.

 

The Wargoth slumped himself down beside the pile of bags, leaning over to reach for what appeared to be a small tool belt. He procured some chisels and rope, and began to take out some of the contents of one of the sacks. He carved into the bones, shaping them into horrific fetishes. It appeared as though he was making separate pieces of a larger whole, with neck-pieces and anklets already lost within the tomes and vials that scattered the floor.

 

 

Kharak had taken on a new task, perhaps one that would prove more demanding than those of his previous titles.  He had entered the world of the Witch Doctor, a path he would utilise to spread misery upon those that threatened the Orcish way of life.

 

[_Jandy_ 3519]

((10/10, well written for a loser

[Reeg_ 75]

As a player, I'm not involved in anything Orcish... But your stories I've read are very well written. Thumbs up +1 

[Trenchist 864]

Zislag'Raguk watching his Wargoth spending days and nights in the tent, placing skulls, bones and ingredients near the entrance from time to time.

[Angmarzku 1251]

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