Gorgul's Return

[Cracker 4570]

(A short story which may be totally lore-inconsistent on an IC explanation of my char's disappearance. Boxxy requested specific mood music, and since it was his char I figured I should give him his dues. Warning, explicit nature in the music.)

Gorgul's excursion away from the Uzg was marked with a quick departure. Nothing was said to anyone aside from his favored slave and many of the uruks of Strigzgoi were left baffled. The Rex had simply vanished, unseen for months on end, but luckily his father, Thore'Gorkil had assumed the role in his vacancy. But his assumption to power had turned into his full-fledged rexship.

Gorgul'Gorkil was relegated as a lost memory; an orc who had assumed greatness just as quickly as he left it. But Gorgul's wanderings were not an impulsive decision. Years of inner spiritual turmoil had delved him to take a walk throughout Asulon, one which was both physical and spiritual. Delving into his inner demons, whether they were his childhood incidents of whitewashery or his passion and emotions of love, something which he found disgust in as a whitewash, human trait, Gorgul confronted much on his path throughout Asulon. Concealing himself, he wandered to and fro, stopping for days at a time to simply meditate and ponder the wild spirits which he believed to have an affect on him. He had heard of his father's assumption of power and felt content with it; Gorgul simply did not feel ready to assume rex, with his experience lacking.

Nearing back to the goi, Gorgul had stumbled upon the gruesome sight of a fallen brother. Young Krazath'Gorkil, the son of Shar'ku and Gorgul's cousin, laid underneath the heaving strength of a ferocious lion. Gorgul heaved the lion over Krazath's limp body and hid away emotions of sadness. Krazath was Gorgul's pupil, a young orc who had faced the trials of whitewashery just as much as he did, and when Gorgul had witnessed Krazath's battle against the wild Warhawkes, defeating them, he felt insurmountable pride.

In a fit of fury, Gorgul skinned the beast, turning its haggard pelt into a thick leather coat. He carved the beast's head into a hood, and looked to his fallen brother, before leaning to carry him off.

As Gorgul neared the Uzg, the sheer sight of the Goi's mighty gates had brought back a flurry of inner demons to haunt him once more. The same spirits which plagued him with whitewashery and lust had resurface. Dropping the corpse of Krazath, he fell to the hot sands, struggling to compose himself. His eyes flared with bloodlust as his mind began to enter a haze...

As Gorgul began to interact with the world around him, he quickly noted a flying pair of harpies, winged temptresses representing spirits of cowardice and lust. Gorgul summoned strength as he scowled against the creatures who had inhibited him as a child and youth. Evoking his powers as a Far Seer, he began to fight them with a clairvoyance and expertise of only a shaman. Rushing towards the beasts, he began to attack them with a flurry of strikes, wielding two hatchets at once. However, the twin flighted witches had simply evaded his attacks and responded with thick gusts of wind, giving Gorgul no leverage to thrust himself forward and vanquish his nemesis. The winds grew stronger and more piercing as Gorgul soon found himself lost in a hurricane of storm. Tossed asunder by wild winds, Gorgul soon began to lose hope. The concentration required to summon a spirit was lost with the twisting of winds. Gorgul hit the ground with a bone-cracking thump.

Barely able to pick himself up, Gorgul roared in a futile fury as the temptresses came forward wielding twin sickles each. Gorgul tried fervently to summon some sort of spirit, call upon an aide. But the pain of a broken limb brought him little strength. Gorgul began to lean back in defeat, but the thought of his fallen brother began to manifest itself. He could not dare die, when the corpse of his only pupil, someone as close as the brother Gorgul never had, would lay in the desert sand not given a proper burial.

Gorgul lifted himself up in a fit of raw fury. The harpies closed in in distance, and despite Gorgul's wounds, he thrusted an axe forward wildly. The harpies expected a weakened, near-dead Gorgul, and they recieved one wild with fury and ambition. He began to slice and swing with the elegance only seen by a true warrior, quickly hacking at the wings of the spirits to subdue them. Spinning and twirling with hatchets in hand, Gorgul lunged forward and took on both with ease and ambition unseen before in the Orc. Renewed in valor, his faith was restored in his abilities as he quickly finished off the foes which haunted him since birth.

Gorgul panted heavily as the two spirits fell in a crumpled heap. In the back of his head, he could faintly hear the whispers of the late Krazath Gorkil.

"Me served latz honurably.. latz am a true leader, Gorgul. A hosh klomp we had...agh alwayz me will serve latz."

The voice of Krazath began to fade out, as Gorgul himself reawoke in Asulon. He found himself sprawled against the desert at the thick of night. Chilled to the bone and suffering a wounded leg, Gorgul hobbled to the Rex's palace with the dead Krazath on his back. Gorgul was truly unsure what realm he was in; whether he merely suffered a hallucination, a dream, or he if truly had faced off against his demons in the spirit world.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Stumbling through the Goi, Gorgul makes his way to the Rex's Court. A small horde of Orcs follow suit, awed at the return of the former Rex. As Gorgul approaches Thore, he hoists the dead body of Krazath up for Thore and Krazath's father, Shar'ku to see and drops him to the floor. Collapsing a bit due to the pressure of a broken leg, Gorgul feebly mutters

"Popo...me hab returned wid me blood, agh dah blood of cub of Shar'ku, Brute Krazath'Gorkil.

Me return nub az Rex, but az bruddah. Gib any rank latz lyke...me gruk me made mistake leavin me bruddahz...but spirits haunt me nub'more. Me am ready to be a true uruk again."

He looks up with hope at a seated Thore and the orcs gathered around him.

[George of House Glover 372]

*smiles as he sees Gorgul return*

Ad lazd, anuthur shaman, me am bored uv been de unlie ash

[Shar'ku/jenspelao 410]

*Shar'ku wakes up stretching his arms as he stands up, he prepares himself some roasted halfling for breakfast, once he finishes it, he opens the door and walks to the rex's palace to ask for orders. Shar'ku kneels on the floor as he enters, definitely dejected, putting his hands on his head, not believing what he sees. He mumbles to himself silently.

"Mi firzt kub, mi hunurable firzt kub, flattened, whu da skah kuld haf dune diz." He says discouraged and sad, he stands up yelling, still saddened.[/color]

"Mi kub dezerves a pruper funerul, agh mi 'ill du id"

He lumbers forward to the corpse of his son, taking it over his shoulders as he walks away.

[George of House Glover 372]

*Growls as Shar'ku kneels, knowing Gorkil will be ashamed of what he is doing

[Cracker 4570]

Gorgul shifts his glance to the saddened Shar'ku. Handing the corpse to Shar'ku, he mutters

"We wyll hab a funeral fer him. It am nub'hosh when popo outlazt dah kub...diz will bring him peace"

Noting that Shar'ku's grievance is just as Gorkil's grievances over the fallen Krug, Gorgul sighs, feeling sad to be such a bearer of ill news to his uncle. He is content that Shar'ku did care that his son died, just as a true Gorkil does, unlike a Lur who holds no value to the family.

He shifts his glance back to Thore, awaiting a response.

[Austin 697]

Thore'Gorkil nods to his son, who has been gone for so many seasons, who left thore anxious and concerned. He smiled to Gorgul and motioned him and Shar'ku to follow. Night had fallen upon the Strigzgoi and Thore grabbed a torch off of the wall of the Palace, and they wandered into the desert. They came to the mighty Gorkil keep and went inside. Thore opened the doors to the catacombs where memoirs of fallen Gorkils remain.

Gorgul laid the body of the Young Gorkil onto the stone slab formed like a table, Thore took Krazaths blade from it's sheath and put it aside, he then lit each corner where the oil ignited setting the corpse a blaze. Finalising the ritual of a spirit passing from body to spirit world. He bowed his head in respect and waited for the embers to burn out.

Thore took the weapon of the Young Orc and brought it to a open casket. Where he set it down inside and pushed the stone lid ontop. He inscribed in the stone "Krazath"