THE LONG MARCH HOME

[Inferno_Ougi 1454]

Spoiler

 

 

 

The wagon shook and halted. The silence of the travelling caravan was broken with short murmurs quickly spiraling into angered shouts. A figure clad in steel, caked in dirt and blood, dented and in poor wear, jumped down onto the muddy ground and headed over. Silence returned. His face was grave, his glass eye shifting and shaking as he moved. The wheel had came loose, but his attention turned to the orc driving the wagon for who he quickly smacked across the backside of his head. Ignoring the curses of the other orc, he pushed the wheel back into place, and looked down from whence they came. “We ztill got tik, boyz. Ztill got tik.” Garrond’s Vale was not too far off, but only the spirits could count how many orcs they had lost on the way. These thoughts filled his mind before he was the one being shouted at, rushing back into his wagon and the caravan moving once more.

 

San’Kala. It was a beautiful city, even if it was destroyed by the druidic monster that was the September Prince. Even then, he still admired it, and more so when he had practically ruined the center of the city to even make it dependable. But they had lost, his toils for naught. In the battle he had rushed out in a fit of pure rage and was quickly beat. A mistake he regretted, knowing that if only he and the small group he lead were to stay, perhaps they could have won. It was too late to linger on the fact, however, his brethren and allies holding to the very last man against the hordes of humans and elves. That, at the very least, made him smile. Still, the journey had felt alien to him. San’Kala was a city lost before he was born, gained by a Rex he had overthrown, and lost once more. It was not his home.

 

He walked up the steps, a path he had remembered since childhood. Taking the lift up he could only smile to find the heads he and Rognor spent painstakingly acquiring still there, sitting upon their spikes. They had rotted over the years, but he could remember all the battles he and duels he had on the roads to acquire them. He took heads, he took snagas, it was so very simple. Then, he was just a cub, born and raised in the fort alongside the hardy dwed of Kaz’Ulrah. Still a young and naive orc. He looked over the edge, seeing the vale he had grew up in. If the orcs could survive without San’Kala, then without a doubt, they could survive once more. The memories of San’Gorka still brought grief. Rognor was dead. Together they overthrew the Rex they both grew up under. Now, Rognor had entered the gates of Stargush-Stroh. In the end, the Red still stood.

 

“Mi am Glottgut. Agh mi am home.”

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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