Earthwielder: The Wetlands

These stories took place during user:p3a's Spring 2010 absense from the game due to school. They feature Ursala Earthwielder, a young orc shaman.
==Day One: Choices==
I was a little sad to turn my back and finally leave. I felt as though I had forgotten to do something. As though this was an ending.But, I remembered: endings were beginnings. Balance would be kept. Harg had assured me of that, and he was old and wise.I walked.My boots - by no means new, but well worn in and Naudiz had shown me how to take care of them - were caked in mud in the shortest amount of time I would have thought possible.I walked.It began to drizzle: not, I noted, one of the spectacular thunderstorms that Water put on in Durotar on the rare occasion it chose to gave its blessing. This was routine, and dreary, but necessary.I walked.There was a subdued rumble of thunder. A crocolisk eyed me. I stared it down. Neither of us were looking for a fight. It was getting dark.I walked.It was getting difficult to see far ahead, so I let my attention wane, watching how the mud squelched under each boot as I placed it inelegantly into the substance. Little streams of murky water flowed over the loamy ground. It wasn't the lack of light that gave difficulty in sight; all orcs were blessed with the ability to see under cover of darkness. It was the rain that made things unclear. I gathe--I was greeted by the Earth with an almost playful faceful of mud. Was that Water's influence in it? I got the sense that somebody, somewhere, was laughing at me.I stood from the undignified fall, using a dirty hand to ineffectively wipe a dirty face. What I had tripped over hadn't been a root. It had been a body of some kind. I knelt down by the filthy creature, and tried to clear its face, to see what it was.It was a dwarf.Further wiping down of armour revealed it to be an Ironforge dwarf. I couldn't discern colour, but that was an Alliance emblem for sure. It was leaking (probably blood), even through the mud. It was warm, as well. And, as I held the thing in my lap to investigate, it gave something which - given a little more inertia - would have been a cough.Life. It still had life. Just about.And now was not the time to be a member of the clan of the Dagger and the Totem, nor of the Horde. Not even the time to be an Orc. Now was the time to be a Shaman of Restoration. As this, I understood one thing: this time was not this dwarf's time to die.I was not grandiose in my movements. I was not a mage. There was no mortal to see, and spirits and elementals were not impressed by showmanship; what would be the point? No. I turned it over onto its side, facing towards me, and held my hand to its face gently. My requests were small, and subtle, but Water had no trouble answering them. I cleaned the dwarf's nose, and mouth, with the clean water that the element granted to my hand - then turned it onto its front, patting it gently on the back as encouragement to breathe.A warrior of some kind, I would guess. It was wearing chainmail armour. As I cleaned absent-mindedly around where the links had been rended open, I noticed an axe sticking out of the bog a few feet away. Belonging to the dwarf, I assumed. Soon, I could at least see its wounds. I thanked Water, and shivered as it took what it needed.Now... I closed my eyes, and asked of Earth. It would not be well to be asking too much of one Element, either. I placed my hands on the dwarf's back and let the magic flow freely through my body. It took as much as it gave, from me - replacing the dwarf's lost blood with mine, although thankfully not literally. This was not the coarse debt usually scored by healing spells, to be later repaid. This was more immediate than that. Cuts became scars, flesh knitting together slowly. Slowly, and steadily. As they did, I felt my own strength being sapped. It was easy for my body to give to Earth in return for this - I lived easily up to my name of Earthwielder. I couldn't repair its armour, but I could restore its body. It was so similar to healing an orc... perhaps Earth was breaching the gap for me. It was often difficult for me to separate the will of my own from Earth's, especially whilst healing. The dwarf coughed quite a few times, clearing its lungs of blood and water and soil each time.I do not know how long the process took; it was fully dark when I opened my eyes again, and the drizzle had stopped. The dwarf's breathing under my hands was one of sleep. Exhausted, I pushed the creature off my lap and onto the muddy ground again, face-up. I stared at it dumbly for a few moments. Unfortunately, I had not yet finished my part. I had to keep vigil whilst it slept.And slept it did. My eyes dulled several times. Several times, I paced a short way in an attempt to remain waking... always ending sat once more. In the end, nothing short of slapping my own face did the job. I was cold, and wet - very, very wet - and tired, and my stomach was beginning to growl. The fruit that I carried in my bags would not do. It needed meat. The wolf-Gremkarc had told me that I would hunt for it as a wolf would, but that would come later. I knew that merely my waking presence would keep scavengers away, but maintaining such was difficult.At last, just before sunrise, the dwarf roused itself from its sleep. Its voice revealed it, finally, to be female. She sat up, and looked around. She saw me, sitting as I was (cross-legged). She jumped. Emotions crossed her short, oddly-arranged face - anger, confusion, dismay, and panic.I raised my hands.She scrambled for her axe. I sat there, watching her patiently. One of Naudiz' stories had taught me something - the right gaze can win a fight against a sadly mistaken axe-wielding maniac. She couldn't pull her axe free of the bog..."Perhaps the Elements will it not to be, dwarf."She gave a startled cry at my words. I forgot that she could not speak Orcish. How foolish of me. Short on other options, the confused dwarf began to charge at me, fists raised high.I watched her, looking her in the eye.Her charge wavered to a jog, which in turn slowed to a walk. She stopped about two feet in front of me. My hands were still raised above my head, although my tired arms were beginning to give up. I was sure I looked tired. I was still caked in mud. Although I wasn't wounded, I was in no fit state for a fight.Eye contact was made, and maintained. A good shaman can convey meaning without words. After a minute of that, the dwarf bowed to me.I bowed back, from my seated position.She went - walking pace - back to her axe. Without her crazed pulling, it was gently wiggled free. I glanced at the blade, and back at her. A weary smile.Without a word, the dwarf turned and walked away: back into the damp wilderness.My first trial was over, I felt. Without delay, I slumped sideways; I was asleep before I hit the sodden ground.
==Night Four: Dreaming==
It wasn't Hammerfall, that's for sure. The place I found my dreaming self was an internment camp, but not Hammerfall. I didn't recognise it. I stood as a pup, looking through pup's eyes at an adult's predicament."You! Child!"A human voice – they sounded soft and weak compared to the comfortable, warm growl of their Orcish counterparts. I turned to look at the pinkskin. It was twice my height."Are you doing anything?" It was a demand, worded as a pup would. Well, I was a pup."No, ma'am." A very small pup. My voice was the same pitch as hers."Then come here." No room for argument there. The human – woman, I think – grabbed me by the scruff like a dog and pulled me along with her.One of the many huts that I had grown around was a sick bay. It was the one place I had seen where orcs cared for other orcs. She led me to it now, throwing me inside before stepping in after me. I stumbled to a stop. There were others here. They no more than glanced at me."You will work here," she said. The Orcish words rolled off her Common tongue like something that ought to have been in her stomach. She made them sound ugly."How?" It was a simple enough enquiry."You will heal," she drawled. She was annoyed, and bored already, but there was barely even a growl from her. Humans used so little expression in their voices."But—""You will heal." This was final. I'd seen her explain why to the older ones - a dead orc was a useless orc, and the humans sure did have uses for us - but a pup got no such thing. She turned to leave, locking the door behind her.I was a pup's height. I'd already noticed that I had no tusks. I knew mine had grown in incredibly late, really – obviously, this dream was set in a time before they had exceeded the length of my other teeth. I walked along between the sickbeds until I reached one that I thought looked interesting. Thought with a pup's mind; my choice was an interesting one in itself."Hi, sir!""Speak proper Orcish," growled the patient."Um... Throm'ka, sir..." I ventured. I was very young. The word wasn't quite right."Better. Lok'tar." He couldn't see who he was speaking to, I realised. I clambered up onto the end of his bed so that he could see me. That was polite, wasn't it?His response wasn't. "Ha!" he barked, before coughing. "They're breeding runts now, I see!"My face fell. I hesitated, but continued. I had been sent here to work. If I did not, then that would be bad news. Bad news meant the whip. Worse, if you were older."Sir, I was sent to heal you, sir.""Heal what? I'm an old man, pup. Even the real medics can't heal away the years, let alone a runt. You sho—""Heal you in any way I can, sir," I interrupted, not wishing to hear what he would say next yet again. There as a pause. I bit back the shame burning so clearly on my face. Even pups didn't cry at being called names by old, bed-ridden men; pups cried at lots of things, but not that."Pah." He snorted, and let out a hacking cough. I left another silence."...heal your cough, sir? Could do sommit' abo—"I squeaked in surprise as his ineffective fist was thrust angrily at me. It was too far away to connect, but had it done so, I would have been sent flying. I was small and light."Speak proper Orcish!""Uh... d...""Go on." He growled, a snarl forming on his lips."D... Dabu, sir.""Good." He grunted. "I suppose you won't leave me alone until you've felt you've done something besides irritate me with your pidgin Orcish.""N... no, sir." I was fairly sure that, if I blushed much more, I would have a blood vessel burst somewhere in my face."Didn't think so." His tone slipped into one for patronising the young with. "Now, what was it you were going to heal?""Your cough, sir?"He was making it clear that he thought I was wasting his time. "And how would you go about that, pup?"I grinned my tuskless grin and crawled on the bed towards the greying orc. I looked around – nobody was watching."I've got a secret," I beamed.He sighed impatiently. His look told me to get on with it. I continued, at a whisper."It talks to me all the time. Sometimes, it helps me. And I try to help it back, but the humans make that difficult. Can I show it to you?"He stared at my young face. His creased one was difficult to read; I kept grinning as I put my small hand on his bulky shoulder, and......Earth came to call, waking me up. Words formed in my head as a concept: time to move. It was sunrise, or perhaps sunset. I grunted, sat, and made a token effort to rid myself of some of the mud of the Wetlands. I would stink when I got back, I was sure. That didn't matter now. Now wasn't about getting back.I didn't let the dream weigh heavily on my conscience as the world shifted around me, just a little, to allow me to take the form of a wolf. It was either a memory (not necessarily mine) or a total figment of an Orcish imagination. Perhaps both, in equal parts.I went to find breakfast.
==Night Six and Day Seven: Equilibrium One==
...I was back at that damned bridge.
I had attempted to get away from it. I had been away from it for some time, a few days, before it had turned up the second. I assumed bad luck, and turned away. The third time, within an hour of the second, was when my suspicions had been aroused; this fourth time I had explicitly walked in a straight line away from the bridge. And now, there it was, in front of me: the Thandol Span. Again.
I gave an irritated grunt. I understood that I was a bad navigator - but not that bad, surely.
There was laughter. I knew whose it was, so I raised an eyebrow. A gust of salty air reached my face from the bridge direction - strong, but it whipped at my clothes and hair playfully. Curled around me. I tilted my head, frowning a little.
In my heart was where the other manifested. I clutched at the sudden heat in my chest momentarily before I realised what was happening: it was bringing the other half of the message.
I had to find balance, as I understood it in my Orcish way - or the trickery would continue.
Well, then.
This hadn't happened before.
At first, I didn't know where to begin. Then I realised that perhaps beginning with Fire was the best idea. It wasn't directly opposed to my primary, at least. Not for the first time, I approached a tree and began to climb it. This time, though, it was a specific tree. Specific because I knew it had branches to spare.
I took some of these, thanking Earth for them. I clambered slowly down from the tree, lost my footing at the last and landed hard on my back. This seemed to be a theme. I sat up with barely a grunt, and went about finding a relatively unsodden piece of ground, hidden from the view of the road that led from the bridge. Water didn't take kindly to Fire, and the water was in the earth here.
The branches were damp, too. But not useless. I had herbs and a lot of time. I took my pestle and my mortar (palm-sized) from a frostweave pouch, and I took two types of herb and a small kind of fish from another. Holding the dried fish by the tail between my teeth (it tasted bitter. If I swallowed it as it was, it would make me ill), I ground the herbs together with regular motion. Once they were powdered, I crushed the yellow-and-orange fish - its tiny bones barely cracking, the crisp scales making more noise - and ground that in, too.
It was drizzling again. Water didn't want this, but it was a petty dislike. The kind of contempt that friends hold for you if you spend time with different friends and not them. Fleeting. Water always was tempestuous.
I ignored it. I couldn't be like Yemoya, joyful as she was. I couldn't simply appease one side of the argument to the exclusion of the other.
I spat into the mixture, and took out my little tin of alchemical instruments. The little tin I'd had in Howling Fjord. Taking the tiny whisk between forefinger and thumb, my hand moved quickly and expertly - the fire oil was done, though it was thick. It didn't matter for this. I used the whisk to dribble it over the wood, then spread it with my fingers.
Then, flint and tinder. This was a tribute. I knew that I must not use magic for this. The tinder was wet, so I omitted it from the equation - the fire oil alone would suffice. And suffice it did. My pyre was small, but the flames grew on it, consuming the gift eagerly. To me, it looked a hundred times bigger.
I grinned wolfishly into the flames, letting them dance over my eyes. I shed my gloves - instead of delving them into the soil like I usually did, I offered them to the Fire without thinking. Now, there was to be no thinking at all - only feeling. The pain was... well, it tingled and skipped over my skin, barely hurting at all. I looked at the yellow-green going brown, black, and curling; I did not see it. What I saw was an exchange of meaning, an embrace of some form, and - as I turned my dully aching hands in the flames, moving creaking fingers slowly into other shapes - terms of an agreement. Something, somewhere within me, changed.
The fire, without a further word, went out. I... I wasn't Gremkarc. My hands were left as they were, and the pain overtook me all at once. I howled, falling sideways and cradling them close to me. There were no words for what they felt like. I'd held the conversation far too long, for what it was about. They hit the cool damp earth, and I realised what I was going to do before tears had chance to form. No. No, that's not right. I didn't realise what I was going to do. Earth told me what I was going to do, and I did it.
Gentle waves grew from where my charred hands touched the ground, soothing the pain first. I wasn't watching, but I was confident that they were being restored. Earth had suggested it. I knew this was not out of benevolence, but out of a practical need for my having hands in order for me to do what I must do - I preferred this. Benevolence scared me. Duty was familiar ground, especially coming from Earth, although it was never put so simply.
I had failed that one, I understood. I would have to try it again, I understood. But not today.
I fell asleep. I do not know how long for. But when I woke, it was by the the sun beating angrily on my face. It was rare that it got to shine directly on the Wetlands; I'd learnt that already. This felt like a telling-off.
And... by the wind tugging at my hair, and clothes. I looked at the trees. Their leaves were not being disturbed. I was still near the bridge.
This was more difficult. Air was less tangible, and it would cheat. Those, however, were not reasons to back down - the challenge had already been set.
==Day Eight: Equilibrium Two==
It came to me in the morning. And it did not occur to me what language it was in, but Air formed the twisting words in my head:
The knoll has a secret
The secret is gold.
The dog knows the secret
Without being told.
The dog takes the secret
While four masters see;
The dog tells the secret
The wind makes it free.
A riddle, then. I nodded. Air was fond of riddles. I preferred stories, but such was the way. Whilst I might have held no love for the medium, the cause was important enough that I might overlook how it conveyed itself. I wiped the daft smirk that Air always brought with it off my face and began to walk, contemplating the convoluted concepts carefully.
Well. ‘Knoll’ fairly blatantly eluded to the local gnolls. I was sure their tribes and clans had names as ours did, but I did not know them. Or… would the true meaning be more complex than that? I would take it literally for now. The gnolls had a secret, then? A golden secret? Or… was that a metaphor?
My Earthbound head twinged. I wasn’t built for thinking like this.
I understood that Air had called me a dog. Hah! I supposed that I was becoming as a wolf, in parts. I hunted as my wolf self, and even out of it I was beginning to take on aspects. I was learning to speak with my body to ones without language, or without a language shared – snarls and growls were simple enough, but other things were beginning to form in my head. How scratching with a front paw like this and sniffing there meant one thing, and twitching an ear like that and wagging the tail (just a little bit) meant another. I had met another shaman here, and we had communicated – he was also in a strange land, and learning. We were appearing as wolves; it surprised me that when he took his humanoid form that it was not that of an orc or troll or tauren, but that of a draenei.
It said in the riddle that I would know the secret without being told. I would not be able to ask for help or guidance, then. Air would cheat, that was for sure, but that was within its nature – you could not have Air without it trying to wiggle free of whatever constraints you put on it. That would make it something other than Air. You could have Ursala Earthwielder without her trying to cheat around clauses of an unspoken agreement, though. Air could cheat (I supposed that it wasn’t really cheating, since it was allowed to do it) but for the shaman to do the same? That was… forbidden. Taboo. These things were things that were worthless to question – fairness was a mortal concept.
I touched one of the memory pouches on my sash, a little uncertainly. In my head, meaning and subtext and context and language and intention and words crashed against the insides of my conscience as waves against cliffs. I stopped walking, and opened the memory pouch, my fingers finding two troll dice there without me asking them to. Orcish memories. The chaos drowned them out if I didn’t keep mnemonics, and that’s what these dice were. They reminded me of one who was clever with words, cleverer than I was, and helped me bring Orcish order to elemental chaos.
I turned the dice over in my muddy hands. I would go to the gnolls and try to find their secret. I would be looking for something gold, but that may have been a metaphor. Maybe just something important and hidden away. I would then take it to a high place and wait for Air to set it free. Perhaps it was alive, then, and Air would break its bonds. I didn’t understand the part about the four masters; that thought evaded me in the way that it is difficult sometimes to see the mountain, for you are stood on top of it.
So, gnoll camps it was. I took the form of that dog and ran.
==Day Eight: Equilibrium Three==
I observed the gnolls from a distance. I was lying - almost lounging - on a tree-branch in my wolf form, paws dangling over the edge and tail keeping me balanced as I watched the mongrels waddle about their primitive camp. There was one specific part of the camp that they guarded heavily, and it was a tent. They were all armed, but they were smaller than me: and I had the Elements on my side. These particular gnolls were aberrant creatures, perhaps corrupted by something into beings that didn't belong. Even their geomancers were merely bastardisations of what they ought to be.
I leapt out of the tree and landed neatly on four paws, dancing towards the camp.
They were bad guards. Tents have two entrances, no matter what anybody tells you, and I nudged my muzzle under the flaps at the end of the tent not facing towards the campfire at the centre of the settlement. The two gnolls inside didn't realise I was there until I shifted into my Orc form, and they spotted me whilst I was knelt on all fours trying to get into the chest they had at the back of the tent.
One carried a spear. The other, a rusted shortsword. I drew my own weapon. It was not an elemental one, but it was another mnemonic. A mnemonic for the Den Mother, as it happened - the Dagger to match the Totem. The spear-thruster's aim was bad, and his weapon thudded into the ground next to me. The tent was small, and bad for fighting; I couldn't even stand straight, as much as I tried. They, essentially, had me cornered.
There were no special skills I had, impressive-looking or no, to deal with this.
I was distracted from my tactical assessment by a small creature winding me in the stomach. My centre of gravity was low, so his charge didn't knock me over - but I was left breathless for just long enough that the gnoll could retrieve his spear. Kneeling up, I clumsily thrust forwards towards it with my dagger in hand... and missed. Twice, actually. It snickered. I growled.
The other one made its move. The shortsword was Orc-sized; he had to wield it as a bastard sword. This made his movements slow and clumsy, and the swing he made with the sword was easily dodged. I grabbed him with my free hand by the scruff of the neck and quickly slit its throat - it gurgled. I dropped it and--
Ow! The other creature's spear was sharp, and it at least bruised my leg where he'd essentially poked me with it. I wouldn't be able to tell if he'd drawn blood or not until later. He seemed to be trying to keep as far away from me as possible: which appeared to be beneficial to both of us, as neither I could reach him with my short arms and dagger, nor he could get proper strength behind his thrusts with the spear.
We reached a manner of stalemate. We were both glaring at each other from opposite ends of the tent, not daring to turn our backs to each other. I supposed that it was not entirely underhanded for me to do what I did next - which was send a resonating Earthshock his way.
In the time it took for him to come around from the concussion, his throat had been slit. So he never really did come around, I suppose.
I made sure they were both dead. Had they been Alliance or so, I would have ensured that I healed their wounds. They were aberrant creatures with no place on Azeroth, however, so I ensured that my part in the balance was played, albiet with no undue cruelty. Leaving a creature to die was the worst crime I could commit out here: the deaths must be, I knew, outright.
There were no death rites for aberrant creatures. I felt, in my Orcish heart, as though this was unfair - but I knew such not to be the case. I left the bodies neatly, in any case, and marked the Orcish symbol for peace on their foreheads with a paintless finger. Meaningless gestures, but they put me at ease.
I shuffled back to the chest and opened it. It wasn't locked. Inside, there were three objects.
A gold bar, a coil of Goldthorn, and a hipflask.
Oh, very funny, Air.
I put all three objects into a Frostweave pouch and left the way I came.
==Day Nine to Night Ten: Equilibrium Four==
It was later. I had found another tree to climb and was perched where its three strong branches met the trunk. I was unbuckling the leather from around my left leg. The cream cloth underneath was not stained with blood where the gnoll spear had struck it. Good – he hadn't penetrated the skin with the damned stick. I strapped the armour back on before I turned my attention to the headache I was developing.
At first, I thought that it was my mind pre-emptively steeling itself against what I was about to ask it to consider. Then it occurred to me that I might not be drinking enough – it was easy to forget. Then I realised that my head was hurting because I'd forgotten something, and I was being reminded.
The dog takes the secret
Whilst four masters see
That came before the part about telling the secret, and that implied that in order... bah, it was...
I grunted, and rubbed my twinging forehead. Wordplay was far from my forté.
In order to take the secret, the four masters had to be watching. I considered which four masters it could mean. It could mean Harg, Gremkarc, Dishka and Cerk; or, it could mean the four Elements. It'd better well not be the former. I would act as if it were the latter for now.
Earth and Water would observe upon request, surely. We had no trouble asking of each other, those two and I. I had failed Fire here once before, I understood – perhaps it was that?
A voice came. No, not one voice. Many voices. Many biting voices.
A second chance, they spoke.
"Yes," I responded, aloud.
Go, they intoned. Find a red whelp. Extinguish its spirit and take its body.
A pause, then: "Yes."
And so I went to find a red whelp. They were to the east, I knew, so I headed there. One of them slung fire at me as it saw me approach – it found a bolt of lightning ended its second spell. I said the words to send the spirit on its way, and then took the lightened body in my arms.
Something was driving them mad. A red dragon was ordered to preserve life, not end it. I felt, too, something odd of the area; that, however, was currently almost entirely not of my concern.
Follow, returned the voices.
"Yes," I replied.
It was an unspoken part of the agreement that I would not pay attention to where I was going as Fire laid a scent for my spirit-wolf nose to follow. It was in the mountains that the cave was given, and deep in Earth's grasp that Fire had me light the lifeless whelp alight with mundane flame. The fire fed on the wing webbing, then quickly ate up onto the thing's body, outlining it in the blaze. I delighted in the sparks and embers, but there were two more things – three kinds of herbs, and one little fish.
The drifting embers from the whelp danced white and golden yellow, orange and red and blue. Fire wanted to show me something. The heady smoke overtook me, and I began to fall.
I fell for longer than I would have, and more freely. End over end, head over tail and back. I was an orc now, too. The embers twinkled on, almost static in the distance. They formed stars in a sky, but... no, they were small and close and out of focus, burning bright trails on my vision as I fell past them. A crack like a log on a fire, and they changed direction – perhaps it had been them who were falling upwards, rather than me downwards? – and began coming closer.
The first one hit my face before I could close my eyes for it. It scattered into insects against me – they swarmed along my face, my torso, my limbs; their tiny wings whispering against my green skin. They were flying in rings around me.
And that, in retrospect, was probably when I hit the ground: for a rock slammed into my back. It knocked my breath away and my spirit out. There was no pain, but it was difficult to see at first. The colours of the embers hung in front, unfocussed. I drew back, and it was clear that they were over my face as it lay on the red dust. The source of that burning light was a pair of dice. I watched as they spun by my Orcish face where it lay: one, then a four, then a five, then a three... but the flames ate of the dice and the final result of the roll remained unknown.
Faster, it occurred. If they were faster. The voice which spoke was my own, although the thought was not.
The fire went out for the first time. With the dice gone, I returned to my body and watched the stars still. The embers became as eyes. And the rock was under my feet now. I understood that I was safe, but I did not feel it – the rock turned to sand and began rising. Some of the lights blinked out and were replaced with shadow. In my hands, I grasped at a stick – and this shadow held in its hands a similar one.
I watched it move. Its gestures with the stick eventually resolved to a strike. Because I had taken too long to watch, I had no time to parry it.
Too slow.
The blow came in the form of smugness from the shadow; nothing more. One of the lights, I swear, winked at me. As I turned to look at it, unsure of what to do, my stick burst into flame. I screamed without thinking: for the sudden light blinded me, and I could feel the sand creeping away from beneath me. The shadow screamed, too, and melted away in the blaze I was holding in my hands.
There was laughter from a thousand voices. Some Orcish, although not all – some mere spirits, the essence of what it was to have a voice and not necessarily actually a voice in and of themselves. One of the voices was mine.
Play the game, they spoke. More laughter. It was not unkind, but nonetheless unashamed. Dominant. Confident. One of the voices was mine.
Join the dance.
The fire went out for a second time.
I must have slept for some time. When I woke, I did so well-rested. I never woke well-rested from a vision that strong unless my mind stole rest in-between. I sat too quickly and nearly fainted as a result. It was with interest, though, that I lay on my back and watched the stars winking out from behind clouds – I was not in the cave, but half-way up a mountain face. I decided that it would be wise not to attempt to rationalise this, because my headache was resurfacing.
How I got here did not matter. Air's strength, Wind, was nearby. That did.
I could take the golden secret that Air asked for now, then. I'd had three golden secrets. Only one of them was correct.
Fire's influence sparked in my heart and burned in my mind. I made the decision there and then, taking the hipflask out of a pouch with one hand.
"Here is the secret," I said aloud, "and I shall take it with me now."
My four masters saw. All was well.
I would climb the mountain a little further now before telling the secret. I pocketed the flask and did so as a wolf – the wind on the mountain path made it difficult, but this was a game. One that I knew how to play, no less.
I didn't stop at the top of the mountain. I stopped well before the top, in fact, on an exposed plateau open to the full fury of the western winds. I was an orc again. I leaned into the gale, grinning. It was expecting me.
"Here," I said, reaching into the pocket and retrieving the hipflask. The walls of air buffeted against my form. The wind changed, swirling around my hand and tugging at the hipflask. I laughed, having nearly – but not actually, and you see, there was the important part – fallen forwards.
Tell?
"The secret was golden beer. Hah!"
I unscrewed the top hastily. Air curled around and pulled at the container. I was not strong, and my outstretched hand trembled dangerously in the gale. Some spilt. It did not hit the Earth, no. It was taken by the wind.
Wind will make it free!
I poured the flask.
I woke again later. The remnants of a grin burnt on my wind-chilled face. I didn't dismiss the smile this time, but – finding myself on a rock, and under a drizzling sky – set about lighting a Fire instead. I set about finding another spare branch and snapped the deadwood off the tree before taking it back to the rock and lighting it with magic.
These last few days, I'd been all of frustrated, damp, cold, angry, tired, and annoyed. Here, with the Earth at my feet and the Water on my face and the Wind in my hair and the Fire dancing before me, balance was made.
And I joined the dance.
==Day Twelve: Sharp One==
I woke, and stretched, and grunted. Sharp pain was making every joint in my body cry out in pain. Perhaps I'd forced myself too hard in running.
I looked down at myself. I was, quite literally, covered in mud. I'd stopped being able to smell it around the day before yesterday, but it would be bad for the leather I wore regardless. The sea contained brackish water that was bad for washing. There were pools of fresher water further to the east. The largest was by the dam. That was several hours' walk from here, but there was no hurry.
Just as well. My knees ached dully as I walked on them. I asked Water for help unstiffening them, but was told that there was nothing to be done. If anything, asking had confounded the matter further. Perhaps this was payment for a debt scored yesterday – or, as it sometimes happened, tomorrow.
Now, though, I promptly got lost. Rather than annoying me as it normally would have, this made me smile; something, somewhere, had changed and now this was not a mistake but a game.
I took care of a meal on the way. Raptor meat was tough to obtain and to eat, but Earth healed my injuries and my Orcish teeth were sharp. They always had been. It was as if my creator had given them to me by way of apology for the rest of my physique.
I moved on. I wondered whether my joints had begun protesting their plight with more vigour or if I was merely getting worse at ignoring their whines. I did not know how Harg and Cerk coped with such problems daily. Walking was beginning to get difficult; each stride was soon accompanied by a wince.
Thankfully, a pool presented itself. To say nothing of its clarity – at least, I mused, it was more water than mud – it was not brackish and it was large enough to suffice. I took time to thank for the information on the salinity of the pond before kneeling beside it with a grunt.
I undid the encrusted buckles around my sides and removed the leather chest piece, resting it on my knee. The cloth shirt I wore underneath clung damply to me like an upset pup as I lifted water with my hands and gently rinsed the caked mud from the worn, cracked leather.
Something cold touched the back of my neck. I jumped – something cold, and sharp. I froze still, sitting bolt upright.
Whatever was holding the sword spoke a few words in a soft, unpleasant language that (to my ears, at least) resembled something akin to a vowel soup. I'd heard that language before somewhere, I was sure; but the words didn't matter. The meaning was portrayed with its sword, and violence is spoken universally. Surrender or fight.
Slowly, I reached for my totem-relic.
==Night Twelve and Day Thirteen: Sharp Two==
Including a sneaky cameo from a faceless member of The Lightsworn. I did try to ask permission, Gaeb, I really did - but I couldn't contact any of your guys!
It all happened very quickly. The first thing was that Earth's totem came to call and as it happened, that grabbed the sword-bearer's attention. The second thing that happened was that Fire's totem burst into its place, and spat at the sword arm. I could have sworn its trajectory bent around my face. The third thing that happened was that I took one gloved hand and struck it against the offending weapon, knocking it back but splitting the glove on the sharp of it. The fourth thing that happened was that Earth lost the attention of whatever it was. The fifth thing was that I stood, and turned, coming face-to-face with my attacker.
Human faces were always so exotic. Their eyes set so close together, and so large – their noses so far down their faces that they almost touched the top lip of the tuskless mouth. This one had the jawline of a male and brown hair down to his chin; no mud on his face, I noted, though there was some on his tabard. Bright red, with gold adorned around it and the image of an elaborate drinking cup, the likes of which I had only ever seen in Silvermoon, emblazoned in the centre. A shaman can take this in in the time it takes to swing a sword, and that's what the human did now. There was no time to dodge.
It struck my arm. I cried out through gritted teeth, but did not let the deep wound across my left bicep hinder my calling of Water. The drizzle promptly turned to rain as I placed the totem, soothing the pain way. The sword swung back in the human's hands for another dreadful blow.
His aim with it was mediocre this time. It struck my right leg, rending the leather armour there open and cutting the flesh (if not by far). There was a look in his eye which, in an instance, conveyed why: I was an intruder, blight, the enemy.
Yes, well. That was all very well and good for him, but he was sadly mistaken. Azeroth was my home. I had been born here, raised here, and I would, if I had any say in matters, die here (although hopefully not today). I had as much right to life here as he did – more, if the Elements' opinions had any weight.
He drew the sword back again. If he landed that blow, then I would not be well. An Earthshock interrupted his concentration, shattering his resolve for long enough that I could move. I began to run, soon with four legs rather than two – a front and back paw limped, but barely. Adrenaline helped, as did the nature of the form I had taken. The man ran after me, but his heavy plate armour slowed him down.
"For the Light!" he shouted, but the strange syllables drummed no meaning onto my ethereal ears. It was unfortunate that I did not understand his words because, had I done so, they may have warned me of what he would do next.
It... felt like someone had hit me squarely on the top of the head with a hammer, but more prominent was the blinding light which overtook my senses. I yelped, the sound echoing through unseen planes, and was brought to a stop. When I fell, it was as an orc. My head was ringing with a sense of... a sense of having done wrong, and of wishing to atone for these wrongs. I wasn't sure what they were, but I knew that they existed. I was terrible, an awful monster, an infidel: and justice would be brought.
By the time I came to my senses, the justice-bringer had closed the gap. I opened my eyes and looked up to see a maddened glint in his. He raised his sword way above his head and brought it down – I rolled out of the way of his showy finish. I never did have a taste for showmanship. It was always so impractical.
My thoughts were panicked and awkward. I saw only one option. Frostweave bags are amazing things. Sergeant Nelai had made me these ones. They can hold as much as a backpack can in almost a quarter of the space, and are light enough to lash onto a belt. And, most importantly, they always have what you need right at the top. I delved into one of them now, grabbing a potion in a desperate hand and uncorking it with my teeth before downing it in one go. Silently, I prayed that I was worth the sideways praise that one Apothecary Darsolonew Duskmantle had reluctantly laid upon my orcish shoulders...
...and...
...the world changed.
I had to stand. I had to run. I had to move from here. I was half-way between, and in a bad way. I was on a knife's edge here, not quite in the real world – but not quite in the spirit world, either. The recipe for invisibility potions shared certain traits with recipes for saptas. But it was unsafe. Things didn't belong here. Unstable equilibrium.
My wounds, and my joints, screamed – I kept running, trying to cover my ears to block out the noise. I had to run. There was a tree, ten feet away. Five feet. With the last few moments I had here, I began climbing. It was difficult, with a rent arm and a lame leg. I had a choice now – I could finish climbing, or I could ensure I fell to the correct side of the sharp blade of worlds that I was precariously balanced on.
I concentrated, and, using the ankh bound to my sash as a guide (but not expending it, thankfully), made sure I fell back to the mortal realm.
I was only half-way up by the time the human could see me again. I pulled myself up the tree another agonising three feet by the time he had charged to the base of the trunk. Out of his reach.
I sat on a branch. We stared at each other. Both of us were out of breath. I was bleeding. His golden armour glinted in the grey light. He glared. I bled. Bitter, angry words spilled from his mouth. I didn't know many of them. Some of them I knew from internment, but a lot of them were long.
"Coward!"
I nodded, slowly. He continued to shout. It sounded like he was giving a speech. The only one there to hear was one who did not understand, and who was beginning to tremble with the adrenaline wearing off. Or was it... oh, no. It was definitely the adrenaline.
He stopped speaking, and peered through the rain at me. It was just the rain. And the thrill stopping. Yes, that was what it was. Those were raindrops, and my shoulders were shaking because I was cold. I was coughing because I was wounded, not to hide sobs. I expected him to sneer, but he just glared. There was true, acrid hatred – nothing personal, nothing condescending.
I couldn't afford to heal right now. I was too tired. The paladin wavered in my view, and I slowly leant my weight against the trunk, propping myself upright. Nausea was coming in waves. I tried to ignore what my body was doing. I tried to ignore the tears of a pup – it was just the rain. The damned, damned rain.
I looked down at my arm, because it felt warm. The mud on it was red, in places. I was bleeding a lot.
The realisation was sluggish. My head rolled backwards against the gnarled trunk of the old tree as my body gave up. I couldn't let my mind do the same – I had to heal, or I would die here. It would be possibly the least honourable death that I could conceive for myself. No, I would ask for help.
I woke to the weak morning sun. The man was gone. Where the wounds had been, Earth had left two great scars across my green skin. I didn't deserve that. I'd fled up a tree. I looked at the marks and considered myself lucky to have the wounds stain me regardless. They would remind me of my weaknesses.
I sat up, and was promptly accosted by a coughing fit. I maintained the coughs for longer than they might have done themselves to hide any sobs that might dare to show their faces. Coward. The word burned into my thoughts. It was true. My actions had not been those of an orc, or those of a shaman. They had been those of a frightened pup, and it was the tears of a frightened pup which were audacious enough to attempt to show themselves now. Pah.
No. No, that would not do. That would not do at all. I had to think about important things and not let the petty opinions of an Alliance lightwielder weigh heavy on me. I had to find replacement armour for my chest from somewhere. Find, or fashion. Eventually, for my leg and hand as well, because Earth's blessings only worked for living flesh – but the chest was a priority. I shivered as I half-climbed, half-slid down the tree. My joints were still quietly whining, but I ignored them studiously.
Food. Yes, food. Food first. I would go and find food.
A lo'gosh darted away from the tree. It would not admit, would not submit, to its childish wishes for a limp.
==Day Nineteen: Blight One==
A few days had passed. It was mid-afternoon. After several attempts over the last few mealtimes, I had decided that perhaps cooking was not such an easy thing here. It rained too much. No, instead it was my stomach which had to adapt. It had begun to properly tolerate the raw meat I was feeding it, taking it without complaint and giving me the due amount of energy in return.
With my body fed, I stood on still-aching knees and began on my way to the next job. Since my trial of balance had been completed, it had been easier for all four of the elements to ask of me; now, Water was asking for my presence somewhere. It would likely not be an outwardly spiritual task, but nonetheless important. Little things, like planting seeds and burning deadwood. Little – but not trivial.
Today, it was a dead tree which had fallen in the path of a stream. Little rivulets of water flowed over the mud all over this land. But this one was larger than most, and the log was blocking its path almost entirely, forming a muddy pond on the far side.
I examined the way it laid. I removed my gloves, tucking them into a pouch, and began digging at mud with both hands on one side of the log. My work was interrupted by the odd cough – even this little was strenuous for me, built as I was. My muscles were fatiguing quickly, but I couldn't let the mud sink back and block the trunk back in.
And then I climbed over the log and began to push. The cold water was on the back of my calves. I was putting my full body's weight against it, and yet it would not move – not only that, but the fatigue in my muscles was beginning to creep to my mind as well. I shouldn't be this tired, and yet, I was.
"Why do I tire so?" I asked, aloud. No answer was forthcoming.
I thought some more on the task at hand. If I was Gulgrim, or Harg, then I could call an Earth elemental to do this. No – this was to be done myself, by my hands. But I could ask for help without transferring the task...
The totem thudded into the sodden Earth beside me. Its heavy metal head was a partial memory. Together with the glowing carving on the wooden shaft, it symbolised Earth. It was less a representation something to remember the element by; as a word is to its meaning. The second symbol – just a glow on the head, barely there – stated which aspect it was here to stand for: the Strength of Earth.
With such magic coursing through me, everything was easier. With one great heave, my feet ankle-deep and steady in the mud, the log was finally shifted; the torrent cheered and surged before subsiding, calming to a babble after long enough. Still with Earth's help, I pulled my feet free and drove the fallen trunk out of the stream's way, propping it well with a stone. Fire did not ask for it, so it would be left to rot here naturally.
I coughed heavily again, recalling the totem. Exhaustion nagged at me, although I knew that it ought not to from something which would be named as trivial to orcs of greater muscle. I sat on the log to rest and catch my breath. My knees and elbows were still twinging badly, and now my shoulders were in on the act, too. I still wasn't adjusted to these temperatures, either, coming from the desert as I did – as the coughs subsided, they gave way to shivers. I asked Fire if it might warm me. For once, I was met with an affirmative.
I thanked, out loud, then asked of them if there was more to be done. It was said that there was a blight in the mountains to the south.
"I will travel to there and see to it that balance is restored." Again, aloud. I had caught my breath by now, so there was little reason to idle; I took my wolf body, and began on my way.
Air guided me to the place, staying at my back. It was evening by the time I arrived, the light fading – for a moment, I thought I saw wrong, from the distance I was at. A banner and, stood by it, an orc. No sane orc of the New Horde would perform actions as to anger the very Elements they lived on and in, surely? But, no – look closer, and smell. Realise.
The stench of fel on the wind; that was not Thrall's symbol. A remnant of the Old Horde.
That made me angry (an emotion which three welcomed, given the circumstances, and Fire encouraged). We had come so far as orcs, and these would not only prefer the old way, but enact it in a way almost entirely subversive to our own ideals? Demons' blood. They would drink demons' blood, would they? Still?
We would see about that.
==Night Nineteen: Blight Two==
I bit on my anger to concentrate. Two hands held out in front of me, the air between them crackling and swirling until it was ready: throw it towards the offender, and do not wait for a reaction.
Another strong Lightning Bolt followed the first. The man had noticed my presence, of course. He began to charge as I locked my mind into another spell. This time, I was interrupted; his shield slammed into the side of my head, sending stars sprawling across my sight. I was snapped from the daze by a sharp pain. His axe had caught a glancing blow across my chest, drawing blood – although only just. His aim with it had been panicked.
right|thumb|I dodged his incredibly slow cleave.My dagger came out of its sheath, the well-worn handle fitting comfortably into my hand, as I opened the distance enough for me to get my arm up. He was raising his axe with both arms' strength; I took the opportunity, on my way to dodging his incredibly slow downwards cleave, to try and stab him. In retrospect, that was very silly, and my clumsy gesture was ultimately useless. The blade was deflected harmlessly by his chainmail shirt. His axe thudded into the ground beside me.
It was stuck. As he struggled with it, I scrambled backwards, growing the gap between us again until I was comfortable with it. A Frostshock slowed him even after his axe was free, and I charged another lightning bolt between my hands before sending it hurtling his way. It twisted the flesh on his strong cheek where it struck and, for a moment, I almost pitied him – we were both orcs. We both had tusks, green skin, a mother and father; he was merely misled. However, what he said next rather bluntly dispelled this overly romantic notion and replaced it instead a realisation that the similarities ended with the physical:
"Coward runt! Thrall's dog, no doubt!"
I snarled. Renewed ire burnt in my heart and Fire presented a solution, which I promptly took. A furious flame hurtled towards him from my hands. It struck his leg. He staggered, glaring darkly. Poisonous words were intoned, before his enraged roar and an angered charge:
"You should have been drowned at birth!"
It was true, but I had heard it far too many times for it to have the effect he had intended. My hasty Earthbind totemspell slowed his charge to a jog; translucent whips of roots grappled with his feet and grabbed onto his thighs, snapping under his strong strides but keeping him far enough for long enough that I could do more.
Dagger firmly in my right hand, I made a more calculated manoeuvre. His neck was entirely unguarded by armour. Earth's power stopped him turning to face me as I ran behind him and seized his armoured shoulder, reached over the other, and drew my blade sharply across his throat.
He gurgled. I told him that I was sorry, and lowered him to the ground as he died.
I healed the glancing graze on my chest. I examined his armour, and emptied his single belt-pouch. My actions were not those of a sorry person because I almost was not. He was a Dragonmaw, told his belongings. That clan were one which had resisted the rule of the New Horde: traitors, in a way. But there was meat in his bag, too. Someone had cared enough to cut it well, wrap it in paper and tie it with a string. Perhaps that someone had only been him, but maybe...
No. No. I shook my head violently before returning my eyes to the cadaver. His spirit had left it now. So quick... usually they hung around. I consoled myself with this. Perhaps he had been an unhappy spirit, trapped by demons' blood, and I had set him free. Perhaps.
The Elements offered no counsel on the pure concern of orcs, so I cast the thoughts from my mind entirely. He had a chainmail shirt. It was quite big, but it was better than nothing – so, after quite some effort and a lot of help from Earth, I looted it. It wasn't so difficult to wear, although I did have to tie it in close to me with bindings to stop it from swallowing my small figure entirely. I put my sash back on before relieving the corpse of its weaponry, too. A buckler and a small double-edged axe. All very well, Den Mother, but not against chainmail in my hands – I cleaned and sheathed the dagger before lifting the axe and strapping the shield onto my arm. The axe was small enough for me to lift, and weighted so that it would carry its own blade towards the target; the buckler was large enough to be of use.
Thanking Stone Guard Kergo under my breath, I set off further into the small valley.
There were two more Dragonmaw, also male orcs with sick green skin and fierce red eyes. They fell to their comrade's axe and the rage of the Elements. With Earth's strength, I gathered the three scouts together; with Fire's fury, I burnt them. Only when they were gone did my smouldering anger subside. It rained after that. Quite heavily – Water was washing their blood from me before it sealed my wounds. There was a very practical reason for this. If that blood remained in my system, there was a chance that it would affect my behaviour, no matter how diluted its demonic content was. It was of upmost importance that those problems did not arise here.
I had never been under the influence of demons' blood... I was born into a camp during the lethargy. I didn't know what it was like. I looked at my hands. Where the blood had touched, it was a noticeably deeper green than the surrounding olive (although colours were difficult in the fading light). That scared me. It took so little. I hoped those marks would fade with time.
Wind picked up the rain, turning it into cold lances. I shivered. I had been stood here for a long time. It was now time to find shelter.
The wind drove the squall and I to a small cave further into the foothills. The ground was rockier here, less sodden, especially inside – I could even light a campfire. I was a little drowsy, but mostly cold. I took the heavy chain shirt off and replaced it with a blanket before setting about caring for the axe. It was a single-handed weapon, double-bladed; traditional, Orcish. I was glad to see that it was not marred by the symbol of the Dragonmaw. That would be an awful waste of a good axe. It was well weighted and lighter than the ones Kergo had trained me with, although not without power behind it.
I cleaned its blades with a rag. Naudiz, once, had shown me how to use a sharpening stone. I had two in my backpack, so I used one now, letting my mind wander as I did so. What had driven those Dragonmaw scouts to do as they did? How could anybody be so stupid?
Orcish questions, I knew. Soft ones, too – questions of a pup. "Why?" Hah! They were evil. Did the reasons for the fall matter? Perhaps they had done, but they no longer did. The perpetrators were dead and their bodies had been given as payment to the elements they had enraged.
Something interrupted my flow of thought. I had been ignoring my aching elbows and shoulders, but now there was a violent cough followed by a wave of nausea. I put the stone and axe on the ground beside me and bowed my head between my knees, breathing deeply. It subsided after a while, although a vague sense of dizziness remained. Drowsiness, too – back in what might ironically be called renewed vigour.
I knew the way. All that had to be done was to ask Earth to relieve me of the illness. I had done it so many times before. The last time I had been properly ill had been at the onset of winter, before I had really begun to learn what shamanism was – what it was about, what it was for, what it represented. I had always been ill often, but not so much after I'd begun learning that. My newfound ability to purge the sickness that so regularly assailed my fragile body was the greatest gift that the Elements had granted me, personally, thus far.
I knew how so well. I did it so often. And so, it came as a great surprise when Earth's reply to my request came not as a slow wave of relief. Instead, it came as crumbling words like the growth of mountains:
We cannot.
I was sure that my face well conveyed my perplexity. "No?"
No. We cannot.
"Taboo?" The fire crackled and began to fade. Time passed oddly when speaking with Earth. The conversations were short, but they took a very long time. Fire had no patience for that. Neither did Water. It had stopped raining.
No. Outside our domain.
I raised an eyebrow. "Foreign?"
Foreign. Strange.
"And strong?"
No. Strange.
There was a long pause. The fire went out. My hands, resting on the ground, caressed it gently of their own accord. Eventually, I spoke again.
"I hear. I will continue to work as well as I can."
Very well, came the last of the rumbling sentiments. The words fell away, leaving the granite presence of the mountain above me. The wind whistled on the cave mouth. The last drips of the squall spattered by the rocks. The fire smouldered, tired.
Something was wrong...
==Night Twenty-Six: Rites One==
The Valley of Trials. It was hot that day, I remembered, the arid wind whipping at the faces of five young orcs stood by the unlit bonfire. One of them had been me. We were twenty winters each. In front of us, a man had stood – and I saw him in front of me now, too.
I was dreaming again. I had this particular dream often. It was always the same, but the emotions came as though they were new each time.
The elder spoke. His voice was deep and rolling. "Lok'tar."
"Lok'tar!" came the unified response. Five young fists thudded against five young chests. One was smaller than the others: mine. The old man watched us. In older times, his position would have been filled by a chieftain. Now it was filled by whichever elder had drawn the short straw. His face was unreadable, but he gave each of us his attention in turn for a while; he lingered on me for longer. I had no way of knowing, but my insecurities were convinced that he doubted me. There was one other female in the group. Even she dwarfed me.
"Today," he continued, "you will attempt to complete the last of your trials here." He looked at us expectantly.
"Swobu, Sir!" responded all five. Conviction here was everything.
"This is the most traditional of the trials," he resumed, "the most well-known, and also amongst the easiest. It is simply named Om'riggor, for it represents the sum of all of the trials you have passed so far."
There was a silence. We knew the stakes; he didn't need to tell them to us. Fail now and there was a very good chance that you would become a peon. This was the last hurdle. To fall at it was to fall at the crucial point, and that was not acceptable for a soldier of the Horde.
"All you must do is slay one of the beasts in the Valley or just outside it." He sniffed the air. "Without weapons, or armour. Cloth alone will do by way of covering. When you are done, you are to paint yourself with the creature's blood and return here to me."
There was more he had to say. He had an arresting demeanour – perhaps it came with age? – that meant that we would be able to tell when he wished us gone. For now, we watched him stroke his bearded chin in contemplation.
"Gramskrog," he spoke, beginning at one end of the line. A bulky male with a bald head, strong jaw with large tusks jutting out of it at odd angles, and fierce brown eyes stepped forwards and saluted.
"Raptors are crafty and sly. You shall slay one."
Gramskrog hesitated, before nodding. Crafty and sly were two words which could not be applied to Gramskrog, not even creatively. The old man was setting challenges, then. Gramskrog stepped back into the line.
"Skalta," and she stepped forwards with an almost violent salute. She was built robustly, strong muscles roped firmly to her bones and stocky legs connecting her firmly to the earth. I was jealous of her for that. She had hair, too – a long, wild ponytail, barely contained by its bindings.
"You shall travel to the caves and slay a grellkin. Be most sure not to consume any of their blood, or I shall have you killed upon your return."
That wasn't a joke, and Skalta didn't take it as such. She nodded stongly. She knew why she had been sent after grellkin. She had an empathy with the creatures of the Valley, even going as far to proclaim loudly (earlier, around a campfire, and after altogether too much cactus-apple cider) that she was going to be the 'greatest beastmaster in all of Azeroth'. We would see about that; she was still rather juvenile in places, but she knew when to act her age. She stepped back into line.
"Drotam," continued the elder. A wiry young orc stepped forwards and saluted. He was closest in stature to myself, but significant things set us apart: although his shoulders were not broad, his arms were sufficiently muscled, and he had coordination. He moved as if he knew exactly what every part of his body was doing at any given time, and was in full control of all of it. He had a glint to his eye.
"You will slay a crab by the coast near the entrance to the Valley." The old man didn't trust Drotam not to take his daggers, then. Crabs were harder to stab than other animals. Drotam visibly deflated at this prospect, but nodded nonetheless before stepping back.
"Koltor," growled the elder now. Koltor was stood next to me. I did not like him one little bit. There was something arrogant about him... he walked as though he owned the very Earth he stepped on, and that was most certainly not the case. And he had the taint of power on him already. Perhaps the elder did not see this, but Koltor was sure to become a warlock. The oathbreaker stood forward and saluted lazily. More pomposity.
"You shall report to Nartok for your task." Perhaps the old orc did see it, then. Nartok was a warlock specialist. Koltor nodded and stepped back into line beside me.
There was then a pause. There was a dreadful moment where the elder met my eyes and it seemed, just for a shining, awful second, that he would not ask a task of me. That I would be considered too small, too weak, too frail.
"Ursala," he sighed, finally. One foot forward, two feet forwards. Thud on chest as small sharp fist strikes it. Give him my full attention. I set my eyes on his wrinkled face and let it become the world, hanging on his next syllables with everything I had:
"You will slay a boar."
And that was it.
I would slay a boar.
==Night Twenty-Six: Rites Two==
I overheard them making wagers.
"Koltor is a strong one. I imagine he'll have little trouble resisting the pull."
"It makes me uncomfortable," commented a second elder, "but I think you're right. He's got a spirit and a half on him."
"I'll watch him closely," replied the first. "Don't worry."
"What of Gramskrog?"
"He's brash." A deep grunt. "Stronger than a raptor, but likely to underestimate."
"Ten silver he comes back with scars and tries to impress us with them."
"Hah! Twenty."
"I'll take that."
"And Drotam?" said another voice. Quieter.
"He will cheat," sniffed somebody else. "Shall we allow him that?"
"If he is successful in cheating." This was the elder who had set us our challenges. "Rwag, if you could send a novice Shattered Hand agent to trail him? If they are successful in doing so and can bring back evidence of his cheating, then he will fail."
"Dabu," responded an orc who evidently was named Rwag.
There was a pause. A female voice broke the silence.
"Skalta was sent to kill grellkin, I heard?"
"I heard that as well," said another new voice. Male, this time.
"She was," grunted the challenge man. "It would be unfair on the others to set her against a beast. She would likely pacify it and let blood from it without killing it, and this is not to be a test of wits for her as it is for Drotam."
"I'd wager she's the last to come back. Grellkin are viscious, even if they aren't true demons."
"Forty silver?"
"Fifty and you're on."
"What about Ursala, though? Seventy silver says she doesn't come back at all!"
There was a brutal round of laughter. I pulled my knees up to my chest and let it bruise my confidence. But then, a voice quelled my swelling shame.
"I'll take that bet," it said, "and raise it to a gold." Just the tone struck me. It didn't demand attention like the challenge man's did, but at the same time it didn't demand that attention be directed elsewhere like Rwag's did – it was entirely unremarkable. Scenery. But scenery in the way that most people considered rocks and mountains to be scenery.
"Are you mad, Shrikrik? She's less than a quarter of the weight of those things."
"Yeah, she don't stand a chance! Hah. Them boars can be vicious when agitated."
Shrikrik chuckled. "I'm just saying, I have my eye on her."
"There's still no way she can take out a boar," said the deep voice who had passed judgement on Gramskrog.
"We'll just see, Frang."
I rested my hand on the wall of the tunnel I was crouched in. As I did, a more familiar voice crumbled a single word onto my conscience, shortcutting my ears entirely. It referred, I knew, to the one the other orcs had called Shrikrik:
Shaman.
"Alright," I murmured under my breath by way of reply. "And what am I?"
No answer, but I heard footsteps. At the moment, I was leaning up against the wall of a tunnel in the Den, listening at a curtain between areas. I was meant to be asleep in another area. I tried to stand to leave, but I had noticed the approaching person too late.
Thankfully, it was only Skalta.
"You can't sleep either, huh," she said. Her voice was a mutter. She had a lop-sided grin on her face; it was a nervous one.
"N... no, no I cannot."
"Heh."
There was a long quiet. We heard the elders laugh again. For a while, nothing was said between us. She began to fidget with her belt. Skalta, I had noticed, got restless during silences.
She looked like she would burst if she didn't say anything. Finally, she blurted out: "Do you think I'll be alright?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The grellkin..."
"Oh." Another pause. It took a good few moments of her looking at me expectantly before I noticed that she was still expecting me to answer her question. "They are demonic, are they not?"
"Demonspawn, yeah..."
I considered. "I think you just need to be careful."
"Wh... how? What do I need to be careful about?" The volume in her voice was rising, and she was leaning forwards towards me. Skalta was very impatient sometimes.
"Skalta, the elder told you." Inattentive, too. I scratched my ear.
She hesitated, glancing to one side. "What?" Now, she sounded rather worried. "He did?"
"Yes, he did."
Slowly, it dawned on me that she was still expecting me to say something. She seemed distressed.
"He told you to make sure you didn't ingest any of their blood, Skalta."
She sniffed. I peered at her. She was crying a little. "Okay..."
"I think that includes through your own cuts."
"Okay..." She was calming down.
"So take a bandage or two."
"Okay..."
I sat down, and pulled my knees up to my chest again, hugging them. Skalta peered at me.
"Ursal--"
"Yes, Skalta?"
She seemed jarred by the immediacy of my response. "Wh... what do you want to do if you pass?"
The 'if' stung. I grunted. "I do not know."
"Aw, c'mon, Urs." She sat down too, opposite me. "You must be good at something."
I stared at her, hard.
"What? What did I say?"
"Go away, Skalta."
"What?"
I grunted, and looked to one side, picking up a pebble. It helped me stay patient. She really couldn't tell, could she?
"Urs, you're ridiculous sometimes." She sounded irritated.
"I know, Skalta."
"You're so asocial."
"I know, Skalta." I let the pebble run between my hands.
"And annoying." She leaned over, and pushed against my shoulder.
I let her. I didn't have much choice. She didn't mean to, but she knocked me over onto my back – even from that little push. There was a great rift in strength between us.
"—oh. Oh! Ursala, are you alright?"
I grunted, picking myself up from the floor. "Yes, Skalta. I'm fine."
"Heh... you must get that a lot, huh."
"Yes, Skalta. I do."
Another awkward pause in the conversation. I saw her eyes wander over my figure. I could see in her face that it was alien to her. Perhaps she'd never seen a runt before.
"Do you think it would have been better?"
"What would have been better, Skalta?"
"I mean... it must be kind of annoying, right? Being so weak and everything."
"...where are you going with this, Skalta?"
"Would it have been better? If your parents had drow—"
"Would it have been better if my parents drowned me?"
"Yeah."
I stared at her. She didn't seem to understand the implications of what she had just asked me.
"What kind of question is that, Skalta?" I grabbed another pebble from the ground and clenched a tight fist over it. Earth let the anger grow away; my snarl subsided.
"I'm just curious," she muttered, taken aback. "I'd find it pretty annoying, is all. Not being able to do anything useful."
"Stop talking, Skalta."
"Bu—"
"I said stop talking, Skalta."
A long, long silence. I trembled slightly, concentrating on the harsh edges of the rock in my palm. The elders were quiet too. Perhaps they were asleep? Or perhaps they had heard...
"I think you should go, Skalta."
"Oh. Maybe you're right," she conceded. She still didn't realise. She stood up, though, and turned to go – giving me a bright, ignorant smile. "Good luck tomorrow, Ursala!"
"And to you, Skalta." Though I said it through gritted teeth, I meant it.
She muttered something as she walked off down the tunnel. I didn't hear it. Perhaps that was for the best. She'd been right about something, though: I wouldn't be able to slay a boar with my bare hands. I didn't think there was anybody here who didn't know that – but I had to pass. Somehow.
That night, I did not sleep. I planned.
==Night Twenty-Six and Day Twenty-Seven: Rites Three==
The sun was barely over the hills when I left the Den. The elders were snoring peacefully; the other pups were, too. It was a small wonder that the others had slept at all, if I was honest. I had always found it difficult to sleep when there was noise like that.
This was the last sunrise I would see as a pup. And, I reflected, it may be the sunrise that was looked upon with the most disdain by my conscience; perhaps for quite some time.
I was looking for herbs. A lot of herbs, as it happened. The priests and shamans had them, but I wasn't up for stealing. I stepped steadily across the desert, sand crunching underfoot – the dew had frosted overnight. It was evaporating as the sun rose, and as I went about collecting six peace blooms, two roots of earth and a single silver leaf.
Now, unfortunately, I needed Skalta's help. I made mind to jog back to the Den in order to be sure that I arrived back before the elders woke. It was a nice thought. Twenty strides into the run, reality caught up with me – and my breath ran away from me, leaving me on my knees and gasping for air.
Ugh. Today just seemed utterly determined to go wrong.
I did make it back eventually. I stuffed the herbs into my single belt-pouch before rounding the corner to the meeting place. An orc was sat there – a woman, with grey eyes and an unremarkable face. She was too old to be a pup.
"Throm'ka, Ursala."
"Oh. Throm'ka, Shikrik." I saluted smartly.
"You know my name?" She quirked an eyebrow.
"Oh. Uh." I blushed. "I overheard." I'd forgotten that we hadn't been introduced. At least I hadn't lied.
"I see. And what are you doing up so early, Ursala?"
"I could not sleep. I needed to go for a walk." Again, more an omission of the truth.
"I see."
There was a long silence. It was not the manner of silence that pervaded the conversations between Skalta and I so rudely; it was more of an ambience. It was a lack of words, but not a lack of communication. Shikrik was reading me. I could see that in her eyes. I prayed to any gods who happened to be listening that she could not read me correctly.
"I will see you this afternoon," she said, finally.
"What? The trials are this morni—"
"Yes?" She rose, but maintained eye contact.
"I might not pass."
Shikrik eyed me up and down.
"I might die," I elaborated, somewhat lamely.
"I will see you this afternoon," she reiterated.
"S... Swobu." I gave up, and saluted her again. She nodded, and began to walk – away from the Den. Her strides were as though she belonged with the Earth she stood on. The difference between her and Koltor was that there might have been an inkling of truth in Shikrik's conviction.
Of course, in retrospect, I knew exactly where she was going. She was heading to the mountains. She was going to brew a sapta, and it was not going to be for her. But, as I was then, I was oblivious. All I knew was that my ability to visit Shikrik this afternoon depended on my waking Skalta now.
"Whuh... whassayawa?"
"Good morning, Skalta." I was whispering.
" 'sat you, Sally?" She was not.
I grunted. Sally was a human name. "Please call me Ursala. And please keep your voice down."
Skalta snorted, and rubbed her head. "Wha' you wan'?"
"I need your help."
"What with? Y'look tired." She sat up blearily.
"I am. Skalta... you were right. I cannot kill a boar by myself. I need you to make me a tranquilliser."
"Y... oh, Sal, is this about last night? I'm so sorry..." She was beginning to wake up. "I was tired and I wasn't thinking, you know how it is..."
"Ursala." I paused. "It is... of no concern now. I just need you to help me with this."
At least she had the decency to lower her voice. "Y'gonna cheat?"
"Do you think I am peon material?" I didn't dare look at her face. "I do not think that I can pass any other way."
"Eh... no, I don't think you are peon material. You're too—clever. You're too clever."
She wasn't going to say that, originally. She was going to make a comment that even peons needed to be strong, I could tell; but at least she was making the effort today. "And I think you owe me a favour after last night," I added.
She considered. "I..."
"You told me I should have been drowned at birth, Skalta." I couldn't conceal all of the bitterness.
"Oh... maybe I do owe you, then..." She couldn't conceal all of her guilt, either.
There was a quiet. Something about Skalta and I in the same room together bred these awkward moments.
"I have the herbs already," I ventured.
"Oh, good. Y'wan' me to do it now?"
"Please, Skalta."
"Sorry."
"It is alright."
Her backpack was by her side. She opened it now and rooted around before producing a small, heavy box. She opened it. It was full of equipment which had been alien to me at the time – alchemy equipment.
"Pass us the herbs?"
I did so. She took a small pestle and mortar out of her kit and slowly ground the leaves and petals, one by one, before tipping them all into a medium-sized glass vial.
"D'you got some water?"
"Um." I looked at my belt. On it, there was a single pouch, something between a large knife and a small dagger, and a hipflask. I unhooked the latter and handed it over. Skalta filled the vial with water before corking it, then shook. It turned a vibrant green. She held it up before her eyes, scrutinising it, then sighed heavily.
"This recipe's designed to work on mammals, o'course, but you'll only get little ones with this."
"Uhh." For a moment, it occurred to me that perhaps I was peon material after all. "Skalta?"
"Ya?"
"I do not know what a mammal is."
"Oh. Oh!" She laughed. Rather a lot, in fact. It made me feel incredibly stupid. Slowly, she calmed down, and looked at me. "Oh. Sorry. Um, they're animals with fur."
"Including boars?" I wasn't going to let my injured pride get in the way of my making sure this was going to work.
"Ya, but only little'uns, like I said. Y'can probably get a medium-sized female with this, but nothing more." She passed me the vial. "Normally you'd put it on an arrow or something, but since you're not gonna have a weapon you'll have to find thorns or something. Oh, and don't let it get in your wounds, if you get any. You'll zonk out." She giggled. "That'd be the most spectacular failure of Om'riggor I've ever heard of."
I forced a smile, given how obvious it was that she was expecting one. Another awkward silence sat heavily on the conversation, stifling it to a stop. She was smiling inanely at me. Expecting me to speak, again.
"Thank-you, Skalta," I said.
"'s alright. I was repaying a debt, weren't I?"
"Alright. You can go back to sleep now."
"Ooh, goody." She wasn't being sarcastic. She put her alchemy kit away and, without further ado, lay back down and closed her eyes.
I stood and left.
After that, I went and sat with my back to the unlit fire to watch the sun rise further. The concoction Skalta had given me sat heavily in my bag. I'd need to be careful about using it. Not just in the way Skalta had warned me of, either. Upon my return to the Den, I knew that the elder who had set my challenge would taste the blood to test it for such substances. Last week, I had seen a stupid young man attempt to cheat in this way. The elder had tasted the tranquilliser in the creature's blood. The young peon had been made an example of, before being sent to Orgrimmar to work under somebody else's supervision. I couldn't afford that fate. I needed a way to ensure that the tranquilliser affected the boar whilst not being detectable in its blood.
This was what I had spent the night thinking on, though. Before the trials, before I had been sent to the Valley, I had lived around Razor Hill. I had seen that town’s founding. I hadn’t been anywhere near Mount Hyjal at the time of the legendary battle – I had been in the land that would become known as Durotar, making myself useful. At that time, the majority of jobs involved lifting and carrying and building things. I wasn’t any good at any of those, so they taught me first aid. They gave me bandages and anaesthetic and, most importantly for now, they taught me how blood flowed. That it was like a river around the body, and that pollution took time to spread. How a tourniquet worked. That anaesthetic knocked a man out if you put it in too close to his head. That it wouldn’t affect his leg for a few minutes if you put it in his arm. It took time.
Time I would need today.
Breakfast was ready now. I could smell it. I went to join the others.
Later, we were gathered together. I was liberated from my knife and of my shield, as well as my leather armour – leaving me in thin cloth alone. I had worried that they would search my pouch; to my relief, they did not. And then, one by one, we were sent out into the brave morning sun to seek our targets.
I was directed one way to find the boars. I took a detour as soon as I was out of sight of the Den, however, to find a thorn – something that could draw blood. It took me a while, but I eventually managed to find a tree with a knotted bush beneath it. I grappled with one of its vines. Its spines were sharp (I had to bandage my hands afterwards) but I’d retrieved a satisfactory length, or two. Keeping them grasped limply in one grazed hand, I set about finding my mark.
In due course, I saw one. The boar was medium-sized, really, and dozing under a tree. It was well in the shade, so I would only have to worry about the sound my footsteps would make as I approached. I wasn’t Drotam: this would take consideration. I took the bottle that Skalta had gifted me and poured some of the contents carefully over one end of one bramble. It smelt rather odd indeed.
Very slowly, I slunk my way towards the sleeping swine. The soil and sand underfoot shifted, but didn’t crunch. This morning’s frost had fully thawed. Good – only a whisper with each footstep, then. The sun glared at my back until I was under the tree. Cooler, there; but closer, too.
Eventually it was within arm’s reach. Although it was small for its breed, it carried more than twice the raw muscle mass I did. So it was with trembling hands that I reached out and pressed the laced bramble firmly against its cheek.
It squealed. I squeaked. It didn’t get up, though – and I took that to mean I could enact the next part of my plan. Very quickly, I took the other bramble length and, pressing with the heel of my palm, scored it against the boar’s hind quarters. Several times, deeply and desperately, in order for it to be enough for draw sufficient blood. I discarded the used thorns and took two fingers from each hand to smear the blood onto my cheeks. That bit, at least, was in keeping with tradition.
Then, like the hero I was clearly due to become, I fled.
I managed to get clear of the scene, at least, before my body's incessant wheezing got the better of me. I had never been good at running. My hands were also bleeding through the bandages. I removed the strips of linen, but did not replace them... no, this time, and for the first time, there was a compulsion for something else.
I dropped my knees to the desert sandstone, letting my hurt hands follow suit. I'd never healed more than small grazes before; even then, it had always been slow. Here, there was a sort of willingness from the other side that I hadn't seen before: the Earth was helping me. Me. I was incurring a debt, I understood – but it was a small one. It would easily be repaid by planting a seed.
Now, at least, my hands were healed. Good. I began my slow way back to the Den, my heart heavy with guilt.
***
And that's always where the dream ends. I forget the details when I wake – the memory leaves behind that final emotion when it goes. I am just left knowing that I had cheated. Then, there's the inference attached to it. An inference I abhor, but one that nonetheless weighs heavy on me: I'm just a pup. I never passed. I never killed it. I probably could have done, as well, with it tranquillised like that – but I never did. I never earned adulthood. I'm just a pup. A weak, cheating pup.
It's one of those things. You just have to disregard it, and carry on.
The Wetlands rain, outside the cave I was in that night, was calling. I stood groggily and made my aching, nauseous way onwards.
==Day Thirty-Four: Accosted==
As before, I could not sleep. Now, this was not because of noise as it had been that night in the Valley. It was because I was constantly being woken by this most persistent illness.
I lay on my back on top of a small hill. Fire was by my side. It was not raining. There was a breeze, but it was not enough to threaten the campfire. It was trying to keep me cool, you see. I was running an awful temperature.
I groaned, and turned to my side. So far, my body had not actually been rejecting food (not that I had been able to give it much to reject), but nonetheless I felt as though I was constantly on the edge of throwing up.
The Elements could do nothing for me. Why could they not do anything for me? Had I done something to offend? Broken some taboo, attracted some unwanted karma, unwittingly dispatched my mana? No, I was told. This was different, I was told. Foreign and odd-tasting. It was down to me to find diagnosis, treatment and cure – although all four were obeying my quiet requests for comfort. Not fair, no. Of course it was not fair. Fairness was an Orcish concept. The Elements did not play by Orcish rules. The fact that it was not fair did not bother me.
What bothered me was the way my feverish mind refused to grasp what was in front of me. Every time I concentrated on a diagnosis, the symptoms escaped me; and if I moved my attention back to the symptoms, I could not remember the name of the disease they described.
It was perhaps just as well that Air could not comprehend my requests for contact, then. I was not sure if I would be able to aptly communicate, even if the spirits associated with what I was trying to do weren't being skittish. I had Cerk in mind at first because Air had helped the two of us communicate over long distances before – but no matter how much I tried, I could not make a connection. Air was acting as though I had worded the asking wrong. I tried Harg instead. I knew him well, and we were of the same blood. The result was nonetheless the same.
I think I slept for a while after that, but I honestly could not tell. I became conscious again at a coughing fit, which brought phlegm and all manners of other horrid-tasting things to my mouth. The name was there with them, just as ugly – and just as strong-tasting.
Aching joints, drowsiness, dizziness, coughing, fever and some odd bruises under the skin which probably amounted to some kind of haemorrhage.
Isiliosis. That was it. Isiliosis.
What were the other symptoms? Vomiting... some other things, too. I couldn't remember. Was it magic that sped the contraction, or did it accelerate the symptom development rate, too? What of death? Did it make that come faster? What was the life expectancy of somebody with Isiliosis? How long has I already had it for? How long had it been slinking through my veins without my noticing? How long did I have left?
I begged Air again, and was met with flat-out refusal. Not enough coherency was left in my mind to cast a spell.
I fumbled with a pouch. Everything was covered in mud. Not the contents. The contents weren't. A ring. It was small, and shiny. My unfocussed, feverish eyes couldn't resolve it – but I knew there was a diamond there. This ring, which had been a gift, stood for Gremkarc. Gremkarc of Orgrimmar. He who had inspired me to leave the comfort of Earth and train into Fire, and then Water and Air. He who had sent me here. He had known it as a possibility that I might die here, but I didn't think he wanted me to.
What would he have me do?
His voice rang out in my ears, as clear as if he was stood by me. Get some rest.
I'd try again tomorrow, then. After a rest. Yes. A rest. Rest was good.
Category:Story