The Bull's Departure

[_pok_ 1768]

Listen to this:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6lTKqnhsoU

 

The waves crashed against the quiet shore, all was calm in the South. Alone on the platform out on the docks stood an old shadow of an Orc, wearing a dark robe, looking out over the quiet sea. Behind him marched five others, these Orcs were also in robes. Upon further inspection, it would be noted that an outline of the head of a bull could be seen on the back of each robe.

 

 

A single Orc cub looked out over the plateau, swinging his legs as he watched the Orcs march. His mother called out to him, and then noticed what her child was observing. She immediately called over other Orcs to show them what was going on. “It’s Pok,” mumbled Moksha quietly to himself. He shook his head and walked off, shouting at the Lurs to follow him and stop watching. Moksha rubbed his temples, grumbling.

 

The old Orc turned to face the five, looking them each in the eye, his eyes heavy with what almost seemed to be dry tears, however it was unclear. He motioned to the boat beside him, its sails a solid black color. The robed Orcs quietly boarded the vessel, the elder boarding last. Each Orc took an oar, while the elder stood in the center, preparing to play the drums to sound the oars into motion.

 

 

Slow at first, and then faster the Orc began to beat the drums, the oars splashed in and out of the calm sea water, splashing each Orc as they sailed. After gaining momentum, a single loud crash on the drum signaled the oars to stop. Southern winds took the vessel and carried it away from the shore rapidly, San’Orka and the rest of the War Uzg slowly fading from view.

 

As the winds carried them South, Pok sat down, tired. He ordered another Orc to take the drums while he rested. Pok handed the Orc a map that followed a long route south east, they would be at sea for some time. “I expect to arrive in three days, no less.” grumbled Pok, leaning back in his chair. Soon Pok began to think over what he had just done.

 

Had he left because of fear? Of course not. Pok would kill anyone who would accuse him of such. He looked back, only to see a long expanse of sea. The War Uzg was gone. Pok let out a deep sigh, talking to nobody in particular, but for all on the boat to hear.

 

“We did not leave out of fear,” he looked at each of the rowers, some turning to look at him, others continuing to row. “We left because we had to. The War Uzg is doomed and we are all aware of it.” His voice trembled, the mighty Wargoth had never been so shaken in his life. “Those who we left behind, they are doomed to death at the hands of the pink skins.” Pok cringed at the words, biting his lip. “There is nothing we can do now except ensure the survival of our race. We make for our new home.”

 

At that Pok stopped speaking and began to think. He’d return to the continent, no doubt. However, how long he would be gone was unclear, and what scared him most was what he was going to return to.

 

After two and a half days of constant rowing, a large shape began to materialize in front of the boat. Pok stood up, nodding. “So the goblin was correct.” He looked out at the island grinning, “We may be half way between Anthos and Kalos here, it does not matter to us.” How the goblin had been able to chart out the course for him was a mystery, but it pleased him nonetheless. On the horizon a great island began to take shape, a wide grin on Pok’s face.

“We’re home.”