A Rekindling.

[Panashea 3326]

 

The shaman descended the cave steps, shadow cast over him. It seemed the spirits knew of these dark times, the orange sky of twilight blotted with black clouds. Doubt had riddled his mind, countless, countless times. His brothers and sisters had been butchered,cut down by the world itself, all races barred against their kin. It was nauseating to think of the genocide endured by his people in his absence, and the shame he bore for not defending orckind.

 

His people’s strength had been drained like the crimson within his dwelling. The sanguine offering had failed many times before, the source of his ever-faltering faith. Ash soaked the floor in a pool of reminders, a clear indication of his failure. It stained his hands and body as he danced about the room, spreading flame in the center of the cave.

 

Smoke filled the room, not of cactus green, but of an oppressive smog that made his head spin. His bloodied hands gripped the earth, begging for something, a sign, a call, some sort of blessing or message.

 

Kulgarok beat his skull against the ground, blood welling from his head as he cried out. The halls rumbled with his prayers, and his hands shook with desperation. The shaman sought flame and sought power, Skathach, Elemental Spirit of Flame. It would be his light that guided their people on, and rekindled their spirits.

 

Flame reached out to him, stretching from the small pit and onto his defeated frame.  He had been burned and scorned time and time again. Smoke had filled his lungs.The shaman lurched forward, darkness engulfing him.  

 

 

Black desert surrounded him. Cold bit at his leathered hide, much stronger than any tundra or winter. His senses were quickly overwhelmed with the stench of rotting flesh, and the sound - rather, the silence brought about only by death itself. He pushed himself up off the ground. In all directions around him, the only thing for miles, a black horizon.

 

Fear tightened around the orc’s throat as he trudged forwards, searching for whatever spirit had brought him here.

 

His footsteps grew heavy, and the frost grew on his hide. Never had he felt so cold and near to death, yet he continued. For a time immeasurable, for there was no sun to measure it with, the orc ploughed through the ashen desert.

 

A final step left the orc breathless. The cold had pierced through his heart, and his body had grown rigid and his mind grew dark.

 

Glowing light snapped Kulgarok back to consciousness. It granted him respite from the cold, a shelter from the bittering death he now felt. His eyes forced open, witness to the creature before him.

 

“Few have visited me, Uruk.” it spoke, the sands shifting with each booming word uttered from its mouth, “What purpose do you have in these forlorn lands?”
Kulgarok bowed his head at the sight of the spirit. “I seek strength, strength from flame.”

 

He had never seen the spirit, or heard of its lands. “I seek for flame too, orc, for I am life, death, and ash. I have longed for the flames for eternity. I am Ash. I am Aelesh. ”

 

“Then,” Kulgarok stepped forward, his eyes raising to the spirit’s blackened pits, “I will take to rekindling your ash.”

 

The spirit seemed to cackle, leaping up with glee as fire shot out from the veins on its crackled skin. “Yes... Yes!! Bring forth fire, shaman, and cast away the dark.”

 

It burst bright with flame, blinding him with bright light, wrenching him from the creature’s ashen lands, and into the realm of mortals. Kulgarok felt his body strengthen, for within ash, held the embers of power and honor.

He awoke, ashborne anew, fire veins. Ragged breaths echoed through the cave as he emerged to the violet night sky, calling out to the Mohk'Izghul.

 

 

 

 

"I have found Hope!"