One Honorable Dwarf [PK]

[TheMessenger 104]

One Honorable Dwarf

 

 

Malagor, the Black Hand, Honorary orc of the Iron’Uzg, had been tracking the Mori for weeks, months, years.

 He was sick, sick of never being there when the Mori had attacked the orcs, his adopted people, the greatest people he had lived with for those forty years. He still held memories, those sick memories of his time in Urguan, his time as Oinn Silverbeard, son of Okri Oathsworn. Was he truly worthy of the orcish loyalty? Was he truly an orc? Or was he just a dwarf, running away from home in some form of rebellion for his father and his people?

He harshly pushed those memories to the back of his mind, they were of no consequence now. He was not Oinn, he was Malagor, he haltingly assured himself. He served his Rex faithfully for all these years, never holding doubt in his mind that this path was a righteous one.

In recent days, he followed a trail left by the Mori; they were gathering in big numbers. He came upon a party of cloaked Mori. In a quick action he dropped to his stomach, away from their evil eyes.

The leader’s gaze flicked in Malagors direction, who offered several prayers to many spirits not to be seen. The mori’s gaze returned to its original position, edging his soldiers onwards.

This was it, thought Malagor, this is what all his work would be leading up to, all his time away from his home to finally find the Mori's true goal. He followed them at a distance, his eyes blazing brightly in his own excitement.

As they continued, the path became ever familiar. An odd thought in Malagor’s head, but he focused his mind on the here and now, continuing to follow them.

It was then that he noticed the fire in the distance.

 

It came to him at first with the smell of smoke, then the blaze. He finally knew why he recognized the path the Mori were following. This was the path to the Goi.

He watched in wide eyed horror as he saw his home, his city, his people in a blaze that mirrored the eyes in his skull.

He fell to his knees, the mori no longer a concern in his Anguish.

He fell on his hands as well, digging into the trampled dirt beneath him.
He failed. He failed his people. He had done just what he hoped to avoid. He had not been there when his people needed him. All his work in these past 3 years had been for nothing.

In his anguish, he failed to notice the mori behind him, some stragglers who happened upon an easy kill.

In that instant, his anguish was gone. He was no longer before the burning city of the Iron’Uzg, but the grand gates of a city, beautiful in all ways. The city of Stargush’stroh. The gates opened before him, the spirits of Orc and Honorary welcoming their bruddah in with open arms.

A tear fell from his face, not of anguish for his loss, but of joy, for he saw he was worthy, worthy of the people he had lived and served and believed with. He was home.

Edited May 7, 2023 by TheMessenger

[MagicMonkey_ 30]

Fribb takes a large drag from his blunt, dedicating this smoke to all of the bruddahs that fell in the siege of San'Velku.