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The Perils of Mugdul'Yar


Ibn Khaldun
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

The encampment in the savannah rivalled its environs in both noise and stench. The camp included Orks such as Mugdul'Yar and other slaughtermen preparing the meal for the remainder of the party currently outside Krugmar to the north-northwest. The party of Orks had set out, with some youth, to go on a hunt and help the youth earn their bones for their ritual adornment. The entirety of the camp exuded bustle and energy as some of the Orks wrestled in makeshift pits while other Orks took care of errands.

 

In the confines of a sweltering space including a pock-marked pit dug in the earth and a gathering of the day's hunt, Mugdul'Yar set out to fill the pit with the makings of a large fire surrounded by a phalanx of skewers and rotisseries. His aids worked to skin game, carve flesh from bone, and separate the organs between those they would consume in a stew and those that proved too inedible for their palate. Mugdul'Yar directed the skins to another set of Orks who laid the skins atop the sides of tents to dry in the savannah sun. Mugdul'Yar brought out a giant pot rivalling the size of some of the smaller tents in the camp and slid it across the pit full of fire. The group of slaughtermen poured dozens of waterskins and tossed a variety of herbs and vegetables, some whole and some coarsely chopped, into the filling pot. Then the group chucked their cuts of meat and organs, mostly liver and heart, into the pot that had already began to boil.

 

The stench of setting meat and the aroma of the herbs washed over the Orks outside of the cooking confines and seemed to agree with them. The camp broke out in even greater activity, urged on by the impatience for the meal in preparation. As the pot's contents boiled, Mugdul'Yar found himself entranced not only with his work, but in a desire. Mugdul'Yar walked out of the cooking confines and found himself looking across the savannah's horizon, imagining the hulking silhouette of a prairie dulk.

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

Shamans play a fundamental role in Orkish culture. When they bade you move you moved; when they bade you stop, you stopped. Their influence reached all things Orkish: love, war, diplomacy, your exit in this life. To the wise among those who weren't Orkish, the place of the shaman in the hierarchy of Orkish society made complete sense. The Orkishkind and their bloodlust needed a mechanism by which they would neither tire themselves out to the brink of death from overexertion or sit too long with pent up rage and virile energy.

 

Mugdul'Yar and others amassed in front of a single figure sitting cross-legged atop a lengthy totem. The figure, painted in both blood and the pigment of earthen minerals, sat quietly. The party looked to the shaman as he sat with the dead of silence as if communing. They looked to the shaman to decide who should set out for the hunt that day. Mugdul'Yar, seething with skepticism, had not been selected in the previous days and thus relegated to the duties around the camp. He looked up to the shaman and held himself back from scoffing as he saw the shaman still quiet.

 

The shaman pointed a bony finger towards Mugdul'Yar with an unflinching conviction.

 

"Latz. Latz will hunt.", the shaman pronounced with authority. Mugdul'Yar found himself rubbing the look of incredulity from his face so as to not offend the shaman. The Orks around him shouted and patted Mugdul'Yar on the back and embraced him as if he had received the greatest news in his life.

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

Some preferred swords, some preferred spears, yet none of the Orks choosing showed any fear. Their choice of weapon seemed purely motivated by their preference for whether they wanted to exert themselves up close or from a distance. Mugdul'Yar chose a spear and chucked between both hands; he enjoyed the smacking sound the ash made against his coarse palms. Those assigned to the hunt slowly gathered in disorderly fashion, coaxing one another to anger with taunts and dares concerning who would find what and kill which creature. Mugdul'Yar learned to ignore most of the banter in previous hunts and  so he tried to imagine what game they may find across the savannah.

 

The vision of the prairie dulk came to him again. A hulking beast and a lumbering quadriped, the dulk seemed to glare into Mugdul'Yar's eyes and kick its back leg repeatedly as if daring him to challenge the dulk. A slap to the back of the head erased the vision and lurched Mugdul'Yar forward as the party departed the encampment. Mugdul'Yar reached back to swipe at the orc who had slapped him and followed the hunters past the gate. The head of the party dispatched a couple of Orks to move ahead of the party and ascend sloping hillocks in order to look across the terrain.

 

As the scouts returned, with news in the affirmative of game found or with nothing in sight, the head of the party divided the party to hunt or to stay back as they loitered in the bright and blinding sun. Those Orks sent back with the scouts bringing news of game sighted cheered while the remainder of the Orks grew impatient and eyed others with contempt. Hunters returning with a panoply of gazelle, zebras, and other creatures slung across shoulders like men bearing crosses or cradled in their arms like fallen comrades only further agitated those who hadn't gotten their turn to hunt.

 

The head of the party is always the most veteran, the largest, the most grizzled of the group. The Orks who let out their frustrations promptly received discipline. The loitering party always stopped more frequently the longer the hunt took as the head would throw himself into combat with those bold enough to protest his decisions. Mugdul'Yar knew better than to get between the head of a hunting party and his victims; to interfere with punishment being meted out. Mugdul'Yar took to ushering attention away from the latest duel when a scout returned crying out for help.

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

The scout ran across the savannah, throwing up his hands to get the attention of the hunting party.

 

"Bub'hozh Dulk!" 

 

He repeated this and widened his hands to signify its girth. The leader gathered himself and barked at the other Orks to pick up their weapons and follow him. The party ascended one of the hillocks, immediately finding the source of the scout's concern by the sight of a dust cloud kicked up into the air past their position. The party found a prairie dulk two-hundred yards from where they stood in a fit of rage. The dulk, clearly animated, drummed its thick legs against the earth and chucked something up into the air with one of its horns.

 

Mugdul'Yar gasped as he realized that the dulk had flung one of the other scouts to his death. The dulk stomped and collapsed the Ork's chest for good measure and stared at his newfound audience. All noise ceased and two-hundred yards stood between the prairie dulk and the hunters gripping their weapons and seething with rage. The leader broke the silence with his litany of orders orchestrating their plan of attack. The party followed their instructions and thinned their ranks, standing at a distance from one another with spear-armed Orks in the middle and flanks of their formation.

 

The sound of the dulk lurching forward and gaining speed caused the hunting party to brace with astonishment. The prairie dulk bellowed and grew restless as it closed in on the Orks. The Orks struck their chests and yelled out, mixing their astonishment with pride and drinking a draught resulting in frenzy. Bloodlust in its primal form has been a blessing in the eyes of Orks for this very reason - powering them through fear when most other races may buckle under the weight on the chest when encountering frightful situations.

 

Bloodlust, for all of its encouragement, can be a double-edged sword. Mugdul'Yar saw that clearly when one Ork rashly countercharged the dulk and the dulk caught him squarely in the chest with one of its horns and had his clavicle yanked from his shoulder. The Ork rolled lifelessly to the side as the other Orks spaced out and tried to encircle the beast.

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

The Orks knew better than to put up a phalanx before the dulk as it raked at the hunters with its trio of horns. Mugdul'Yar dove to the side and tried to prod the dulk and fell back as it turned to face him. The spear-armed Orks continued to spread out and try to surround the behemoth; poking their spears out to put distance between themselves and their prey. With the dulk stunned momentarily with frustration at the different angles of attack at its body, sword-bearing Orks set out from the sides and behind the dulk to swipe at the softer belly underneath.

 

Bloodlust consumed the less disciplined Orks and caused them to grow less coordinated in their effort. The dulk caught one of the Orks' foot underneath its hind leg and caused the Ork to yelp in pain. The dulk, feeling the Ork's foot trapped underneath its own, lifted its hind-quarter and kicked out the same leg launching the Orc a couple of feet away. Some of the Orks grew exasperated with the disarray and began to throw themselves at the dulk in heroic charges. Mugdul'Yar reached out and yanked one of the youth who braced with daring; wanting to imitate the reckless combatants trying to take on the dulk individually.

 

The leader of the hunting party tried to recall the few forlorn hopes who tossed themselves into individual assaults, but to no avail. The dulk cut down bodies like a scythe trimming wheat stalks. The leader, in his own feat of daring, launched himself onto the dulk and grabbed on tightly just below the head. The remaining Orks either watched with suspense or tried to distract the dulk by thrusting spear & sword in its direction. The hunt's leader braced his legs around the neck of the dulk and proceeded to drum his fists furiously against the skull of the dulk.

 

Mugdul'Yar watched as the dulk tried to fight against fatigue, both from exerting itself trying to buck off its assailant and the concussive result of the assault. He took advantage of the dulk weakening to encourage the hunters to close in and stab at its abdomen. With each blow to the head and piercing lance to its abdomen, the dulk's thick legs began to buckle and fold. Orks worked together to catch their leader as he leapt off the dulk before the dulk collapsed onto its side with a series of agonal gasps.

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