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Scarred Story: Calling of the Ancestors


Wizzar
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  Scarred Story II

 

          Every orc feels its presence in the back of their mind, an everlasting conflict between honor and brutality. A desire to satiate their sanguiness yet abide by the teachings of Krug. 

 

The hobgoblin lifted a large, ragged rock over his head. He would look up towards the midnight sky, aglow with a constellation of stars depicting that of a wing, signifying the season of Krugbroshan, of health and healing. 

 

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        Pride, a double-edged sword. Pride holds an orc to high standards, keeping them optimistic in the darkest of times, and spurring ambition and leadership. However, pride conceals bloodlust in a guise of honor, justifying savagery against the weak.


The impact of stone with bone resonated across the empty mountains, echoing around the hobgoblin. The blood of the beast splattering over his face as ribs cracked and splintered. His bloodshot eyes opened wide as he breathed in deep, heavy breaths.

 

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        Balance is a façade, a utopian impossibility preached by those in power to subdue their subordinates. An orc should be judged on honor and honor alone, this is the path towards the Stargush’Stroh.


Thrusting his hands into the beast’s chest, he gave a distorted snicker as a smirk crept onto his features. He was enjoying this, it satisfied something deep within him. His mind, consumed by his sinful desires, obscuring his purpose.

 

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      Snagas are weak, fragile people. They are thrusted into a culture, often lost and unable to decipher the purpose of their roles. Disobedience is natural, intolerable, but should be expected. This insubordination must be resolved, though the tendency is to always give into our curse. Snagas are beaten, dismembered, and killed, pushing them further off the course of cultural and spiritual enlightenment. 

 

Pulling his hands towards his face, he’d stare as the claret ooze seeped down his arms. He’d shut his eyes, inhaling a deep breath, fighting against the viciousness that had taken hold of him. Slowly, he’d enter a trancelike calmness as he called out for the ancestors to guide him. 

 

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      His time as Snaganoth was brief, lasting less than a cactus day. Still, he had learned a great deal. The snagas were misled, a wild bunch that defied the fate the spirits have assigned them. Brothers and sisters were too impatient and prideful, often failing in their duties that Krug took upon our people to guide the other descendants towards honor. The practice ultimately furthering our descent into bloodlust.

 

He pulled the heart out rather easily. Its clotted purplish form glistened under the stars of Akezo. A current of wind pushed against his body as he stared down at the source of bloodlust. It was then that he felt the calling of his ancestors.

 

His doubts vanished, the path towards honor clearer than ever. Pride and Bloodlust must be contained, the orkish people tread too closely to their beastial nature. The ancestors hold the answers. This will not be the first time he will call for them.

 

 

 

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Proud of my Izigs writing great posts! Love forever <3

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