(( Thanks for the kind words! Makes it all the more worthwhile for me. ))
The Pyremaster At Work
It had been a hell of a few weeks.
Azolg was exhausted and it showed on his persons now. Both the physical of the constant fighting and the mental exertion of having to burn so many dead Orcs - The strain was taking a toll on Azolg’s very spirit. Sleep once again had evaded him this evening, despite the herbs that Rashka had loaned him, and in the early hours of the morning he found himself sat by the sea’s edge - Watching the sun come up as he reflected on the events of the past ten or so days.
The ambush at the camp was the first of such events; a multitude of faceless, skilled assassins sought to butcher the Orcs in their sleep. The attack had been thwarted with courage and martial skill, but it had left a great many questions unanswered - And opened up a horde of new ones. Who had the assassin's been and why were they after us? Was the Chieftain alive? Were they safe at all?
Azolg allowed himself a small smile at the memory; all those questions had been answered in the coming days, but the uncertainty at the time had caused great unrest among the Orcs.
His memory now swirled to the pyres at the camps; sixteen bodies in total they’d felled. He’d never held a mass pyre before, but was aware they had to be done when the body count was simply too high. They may have been their enemies, but it was his duty to ensure they reached the judgement of the Ancestors. He could feel the Orcs disapproving gazes, their sneers - But they knew little about the lifestyle of a Pyremaster. Azolg had to be above passing judgement, lest he be unable to do his task.
He looked down at his feet, the waves lapping at his ankles gently. With a wiggle of his toes he found himself sinking slowly into the wet, matted sand and the feeling was pleasant indeed. Some days he wished he could stand here and allow the waves to take him out to sea - Never to be seen again.
The memory of the mountain peak stuck out in his mind now - A truly horrible scene had awaited them at the top of the ritual site; and four more bodies for Azolg to burn. Such bodies had been drained of their very essence; hollow empty husks that had aged the bodies far beyond their years. Truly, it was dark and devious magic at work here, and he’d felt such sorrow at the terrible end the victims had found. The pyre that evening had been one of the most heartbreaking ones he’d held. At least, until they rescued the Chieftain a few days ago.
Kargush.
He’d barely even known the Orc. Aside from a small couple of conversations, and fighting with the Orc as travelled, he shouldn’t have been so cut up about the Orcs death. Perhaps it was the combination of an Orc dying for what they truly believed in, or just the simple fact he’d fallen fighting for a Tribe he wasn’t even part of yet. Whatever the reason - Azolg despaired. Perhaps if there hadn’t been so much death prior to this, he’d have handled it better. But the endless pyres seemed to be wearing him down now. Back in Garadar they’d consider a bad month to be five pyres, and yet here the contrast was completely stark. Rubbing his face with his free hand, he sighed softly.
“Ancestors, I hope he is thriving up there.” Azolg murmured softly to himself. He wiggled his toes once more in the sand, the wet gritty feeling was certainly a comfort.
And now the faces of the tortured spirits once more wouldn’t leave his mind. That cave had been foul, filled with the stench of decomposition and death. What had happened to those Orcs had flashed in his mind as they traversed through the cave knee-deep in gore; and the fate had been a grisly one. Torture, ritual sacrifice and runic branding. The fight that occurred in the cave had been a close call too - Had the Wolf Spirit not empowered them the Blades may well have fallen that day to the traitor Torash. Still, once it was all done and dusted, the task fell to Azolg to handle the dead - As he always did. It hadn’t been an idea send off, but with so many bodies in a various state of rot; moving them would have risked befouling the corpse which was even more disrespectful. It was with a heavy heart that Azolg held one more mass pyre, lighting the cave on fire.
He grasped the staff as his memories went full circle to the most recent one, letting loose a gentle sigh. The skulls attached to said piece clattered gently as they moved, all Orcish in origin. The grey living eyes fixated on the empty black sockets of one skull in particular; his fathers.
“I wonder if I made the right call, leaving Garadar father .. I am no longer Mag’har, my skin green with corruption. And I have burned more dead than I dare count. I fear what I will become.” Azolg seemed to muse, though the question clearly was directed at the skull - Even if no answer would come.
A few moments passed, and the silence did not lift. He smiled weakly to himself and shook his head. “As if you could answer.” His gaze shifted to the rising sun again.
“You have made me so proud.”
Azolg smiled.
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