Forging the Balance

[Smaw 2376]

Forging the Balance

 

 

 

The Young Rex woke in a hot sweat, his eyes scouring the room in an anxious fashion as he took note of the darkness looming in the sky. The sun had not risen in weeks. Time itself had been lost to the Orcs, who ran through the walls of San'Thraka in fear and apprehension.

 

Orgon would return, it was only a matter of how soon.

 

Kharak looked down to the beads of sweat that ran along his crimson skin. He held out his hand as it trembled, inspecting it with irritation. The Raguks believed that the hands were the greatest tools at an Orcs disposal. They had the power to spare life, and also take it. The ability create wondrous designs, yet also destroy civilisations. He had used his to bring that terrible Spirit into Vailor.

 

He thought more on his clan, the Raguk, who were for a time referred to as the Unbroken. He had lost sight of his origins, caught up in the games of the Spirits. He continued to look around his room, this time in a less hurried pace as he set his eyes upon his pickaxe, which lay pressed against the wall. It was made of strong steel, a sign of the life he had lived before becoming a Shaman. It humbled him in many ways as he rose to his feet, walking briskly toward it.

 

"How could I have abandoned you?" He asked as he picked it up, grasping it in his hand. He ran his palm along the arched shape in contemplation, before noting his reflection in the steel. He was taken aback for a moment, peering toward the violet war-paint that masked his eye socket. His eye had been lost to him during his time in the Raguk mining complex, but he did not share this fact with the outside world.

 

"I found such peace in my work." He recalled, hauling the pickaxe onto his shoulder as he walked toward the open balcony. Before him, the open expanse of the Desert revealed itself. It was not the home he was used to. There was too much space, too much potential, and yet so little at the same time. Kharak shook his head, at loss with his internal conflict. He allowed the now cool breeze of the Desert to settle him into a state of relaxation as he recalled his history, before nodding to himself, and stepping out of his room for the first time in weeks.

 

Kharak descended the city of San'Thraka in a languid pace, making no effort to speak to any of the Orcs he came across on his journey. The young Rex made his way to the base of the city, to the statue at the front gates. It was a depiction of him, something his teacher, Malog'Yar had constructed years ago.

 

 

 

 

Kharak stared at it for a moment, before climbing onto it and grasping the hilt of his pickaxe. He lifted it high into the air, before crashing it down upon the red stone. A small gathering of Orcs watched in dismay as the Rex continued to chip away at his own statue. He ignored all callings, continuing the tiring work of breaking stone. He did not pause. He allowed a different blanket of sweat to course along his skin. It was not one of fear, but of hard work.

 

When the statue had shattered to many pieces, he tossed them aside, kicking the remaining sand and dust on the platform as he found space to stand. A large crowd of bewildered Orcs had assembled around the statue, watching the Rex in interest. Kharak glanced down to his pickaxe, which had proven sturdy against the strength of the rock. It remained Unbroken.

 

The Rex wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked upon his people, the people he had guided into misfortune and despair. He sighed deeply, a feeling of sorrow washing over him. As they looked on in concern and confusion, he rose his pickaxe defiantly in the air, pointing to the patch of taint that lingered outside of the city.

 

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"That, was the result of my foolishness, brothers and sisters. I sought Orgon for protection, and he has given us, for our servitude, the opposite.

 

I do not deserve recognition, and I do not deserve respect. I have failed you as Rex.

 

But I will not cower in the shadows of Orgon's power, and I will not abandon you in your time of need. I remain Unbroken and unbent, and I will instill this in you.

 

We will show the world, and all Spirits, that we are NOT to be betrayed. We will eviscerate the minions of Orgon, and send him back to his realm of despair in solitude.

 

He will have NO servants, and he will have NO followers. 

 

We have that power within us. It is in our hands, and the weapons you wield are only conduits for your power. It has been shown to us, by the Orcs that slew Kuravost; the Lesser Spirit that brought such terror and pain upon us. He is now dead, nothing more than a memory that lingers in these sands.

 

But no more.

 

We will not think of the past, and we will not dwell on our misfortunes. We will look forward, and we will defeat every obstacle that faces us. There are four more of his servants out there, and he is too cowardice to fight us himself.

 

We will kill them all.

 

Nakazu, Pohram, Nimok, and Zelhan.

 

They will all shatter beneath the might of the Uruk, for we alone are the children of Krug, and we will fight as we have always done."

 

 

 

[MangoArt 399]

One of the orcs in the crowd, a Dark Skinned orc cheered at the end of the rallying speech. His massive tusks jiggled as he let out cries of agreement and glee. Anger filled him as he let all the horrid experiences and losses fuel his power, as he raised his sword and prepared to fight another day. "FUHR KRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUG!!!!!!" He hollered.

[Travista 1361]

Swampgoth Schreck'Lak would cross his arms, eyeing the ork's jiggling tusks. "Wub duh skah."

[Catarrh 720]

   Malog'Yar tucks a small lump of cactus green into the corner of his mouth, and begins to chew it. "Remembur nub tu zwing frum azh imbalunze tu da udur..." he mumbles to no one in particular, before spitting some thick, green saliva off to the side and heading home.

[Slothtastic 761]

Jukha would smile upon this, Orgon would pay for betraying the sons of Krug, and his servants will not live. "FUHR KRUUUUUUUUUUG!" He shouts

[𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖚𝖘𝖍 2451]

"KRUG!!!!!!!" Vorgo would chant with the might of the Uruks behind them gallantly striding into battle

[๖ۣۜ§osa (E.G.I.E.) 520]

3 hours ago, Catarrh said:

   Malog'Yar tucks a small lump of cactus green into the corner of his mouth, and begins to chew it. "Remembur nub tu zwing frum azh imbalunze tu da udur..." he mumbles to no one in particular, before spitting some thick, green saliva off to the side and heading home.

Zar'roc'Yar stands with his Wargoth. "Dah Urukz dizpleez ah szpirut, agh den dey wizh tu klomp it agh itz kubz?" The large Orc shakes his head, followed by a deep sigh of disappointment. "Ef wi kontinue wib dah dizpleezun. . . wub will bekum ub dah Urukz ub dah Uzg den, Malog?" The vessel of the spirits follows his Wargoth, seeking further guidance from him on the matter.

[MangoArt 399]

Yuglix would sigh, shaking his head as he was now thinking clearly. "Mi gruk wi cahn lurn fruhm dihz. Ledz juhzt worzhip all dah zpiredz so nuhn feel dizpleazed. Mi wuhll protekt mi people fruhm dah zpired buhd mi will nub aktiveleh zeek dem. Bud en dah meyntik...! FOHR KRUG!!!!!"

[assasinnoah 5]

Solas Glaeus watches the Rex from a distance. He wonders what will become of the Uruk race.

[1 1393]

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