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Orcs of the Red Blade

Tribe Annals => The Campfire => Topic started by: Mokhtar on November 12, 2014, 01:57:38 AM

Title: What tears at you
Post by: Mokhtar on November 12, 2014, 01:57:38 AM
(This happened in mid-October, so it's a bit delayed :) - First part "Stumbling for Azeroth" can be found here) http://orcsoftheredblade.com/forum/index.php?topic=3614.0

(http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e33/Sabious/WaterMokh_zps13a66160.jpg) (http://s36.photobucket.com/user/Sabious/media/WaterMokh_zps13a66160.jpg.html)

What tears at you

Which way was it again?
Rock. Little rocks. So much ash. Dust. More rocks. Crawling along the ground was safer than stumbling around edges on the jagged mountainside and his mind crawled with him. He had hit his head and thinking straight was still difficult â€" even what had happened over the last few days was a complete blur, but he tried to trace his steps backwards in his mind. Often merely provoking a surging headache. Unwittingly, other thoughts streamed in as well. He had to reunite with the tribe before <I’m hungry> they moved on from the Burning Steppes, which meant finding the right way down again.
    Find Shrika. Find her now, and find her fast. Sure she has some skills, but she wasn’t supposed to be away from the tribe, so every house had to be turned, until his throat would be sore from shouting. He found her soon enough, and Sarrif too, in his house under the Silverpine trees.

Strange sights
Standing at the top of the conquered waterfall he had just climbed, his feet in shallow water, he thought to himself the river was in recession, or he would have failed his daring climb of the falls from the body of water falling on him, and he hoped he would never have to do climb such again, exhausted as he was. Before he went on to stumble around in the ashen mountains of the Burning Steppes he stared at the lake before him,  squinting his eyes as if the sun blinded him, but there was no light too bright; Only something was off, something he couldn’t quite place or remember. If only someorc answered through the spirit link.
    There was something about Sarrif too. Foul and very cold. It was as if you could see him somewhere out of your eye, but if you tried to look at him he vanished. Not to mention the eyes of the paintings and the chill you felt when he moved close.
    Then there was the deal. He had asked Shrika for some strange accord, repeating “Yes or no?” and “What will it be?”. Mokh’tar sensed there was more going on than she let on, but for now she had softly avoided answering, and so he would save it for later. He never brought it up again.
    Shrika had clung to him and it had comforted him as much as it probably had her. But furthermore she had given him purpose, and he would give her the safety she sought; now the danger of Sarrif was right before them and he savored the touch of the young she-wolf’s grip.
    Lo’gush came and darted into the house after Mokh’tar and Shrika had only just escaped it. The smith was disappointed to see his brother had followed him from Nagrand when told to stay and fix the felhand, but he was not surprised. Sarrif had taken over Lo’gush’s mind and used him to strike out against Mokh’tar, but was it purely the fel-user at play here?

On the edge
Still trying to reach the top of the waterfall, he found the rockface wasn’t completely vertical and at places sloped in enough to lean against it, although it was all the more slicker. More than once he lost his footing and slid down to a spot he had been before, his joints burning with ache to stay from sliding to an edge where he’d fall all the way down (again). His palms were scraped and sore from the toil of the wet dirt and rock he constantly gripped at. Blighted mountains.
    Mokh’tar had struggled in the illusion of the caverns of time he and Lo’gush was swept into along with other members of the horde. Lo’gush called him weak afterwards and said the smith barely did anything but lie on the floor.
    Mokh’tar did not expect Lo’gush to watch over him, although they were the only two Red Blades there. Fortunately the troll Jahna had been there to help Mokh’tar up off the floor, but hearing Lo’gush’s demeaning words later in Gadgetzan suggested he knew Mokh’tar had been in trouble. Though the smith had been the one falling, it was Mokh’tar who was losing his brother in battle.

The matter at hand
He had to be more than halfway up the waterfall, when suddenly was a hand. There was a hand. In the waterfall..
    A hand stuck out the water, as if the water veil disturbed the rockface and hid a crevice from which the hand could reach out. It grasped his ankle and shook him with the intention of throwing him off balance. He kicked his foot around as much as he dared and saw the hand fly out the air without a body attached to it. It was dark like the felhand of Lo’gush.
    In the tavern of Gadgetzan he wanted Lo’gush punished for his spite and constant bitterness. So when they were at each other’s throats again, he goated Lo’gush into striking out against him in front of the elders present there. It did not teach his brother a lesson; He turned the humiliation into angered submission resulting in the loss of his felhand. His pride would be hurt, but his body would be saved.
    Shrika had sat on the roof of the tavern at some point, and as their eyes met she smiled. Mokh’tar thought things were going back to normal.

Bridging gaps
The smith soon came to a halt. He had passed the first easy parts, then come to a gap. He would have to decide to go on or not. Leaning one foot forward he saw he could reach the next rock, but he would be stuck in the gap, not able to vault himself over. He would have to leap. The rock had more of a point, than a flat surface; jump low and grip at it, or try to land on the point and skip on to the next part? Grhm, this was risky. Once he jumped he would be in the air and unable change it. Because of the elevation he would not be able to go back either. He’d have to go on or jump into the pool below. And he realized this was only the first of several gaps.
    He stood there long, as fear gripped him and his sight seemed to change and enlarge the point to such degree he saw little else. At long last he leapt. He managed to step on the point and press his foot against it to jump further, but slipping on the wet rock he hit his knee hard landing and the shock had him curl up to himself. Unable to move on, he sat there on the brink; his knee hurt, shivering cold and soaked from the constant flow of water - Afraid to slip into sleep, slip over the edge.
    He could attempt the link again, and as he did he quickly dropped the thought, as rushing pain in his head struck delayed and punishing, as if he had touched the blazing embers of the forge and the skin on his hand burned before he felt it.
    He found his patience tested in Bloodgulch in the highlands. The recklessness of many orcs burdened him still, and it only grew worse in his mind with all that happened. Furthermore, it was then he and Lo’gush began talking again, trying to mend the bond between them. In the end they made peace, but shortly after when his brother revealed he had taken a liking to Shrika, Mokh’tar had felt angry and betrayed once more; Shrika was his to look after, not the unreliable Lo’gush’s. -He- had made the timid female smile again and again, calming her when she panicked. Not Lo’gush. The smith soon fell into jealousy and suppressing it had his stomach churn every time he saw them together.
    The elders and the chieftain had somehow managed to mess it up and put them together in regards to Sarrif, whom had suddenly spoken through Lo’gush in his dark ways. Now Shrika was Lo’gush’s guardian. Fel’s sake, too convenient. The smith was losing his brother to her and her to him, and so Mokh’tar used every excuse he thought of to keep them apart, but he could not and he suffered.

Attention drop
The climbing quickly became a thing of intense detail. Choices. How much weight to trust the slippery wall with, how much to lean and where to go next. Everything mattered. The water which fell on him was tiring. It wasn’t heavy, but cold and it made him feel rigid when least he needed to be. He wondered if he could have done something, if he had had a better connection with the elemental spirits, like the shamans in the tribe. Maybe better offerings.
    Lately Kogra had been busy. She spent more time with strangers than with him now. It was not difficult to see she favoured one over the rest; a female known as Sinami. Though it had only been few weeks since they met, Kogra seemed to feel it had been longer and she distanced herself further from the smith. She even began sleeping outside camp and strayed on far journeys from it. The envy of Shrika and Lo’gush easily formed to include Kogra and Sinami.
    It was not only that his friends no longer came to him or needed him, but also put themselves in danger and were blind to it.  He was being replaced and his part in their lives faded. And so Mokh’tar grew disappointed in them.

Then there was Vanara. She had understood he was not interested in her as his mate, and Mokh’tar learned that in her sadness she had turned to Nyruk, Kogra’s weird and troublesome new blood, and cast her love on him, only to see him swayed by her own sister Karasha.
    Here in the steppes he had told her of his worries and jealousy. He was usually careful around Vanara to not give her false hope of her previous infatuation, but that day he had thrown sense and logic to the wind and they embraced longingly on the ashen mountainside.
    As pleasant as it had been to have her in his arms, he regretted it had been her.

Seething falls
Mokh’tar studied the waterfall curiously after having looked through the grassy ravine and found no way out but down more waterfalls into stranger lands. He noticed this fall had many protruding rocks and cliff edges breaking the falling water or hiding behind it.
    If he was careful, he might get some way up. It shouldn’t be too hard really. Of course climbing disoriented eventually taught him what careful meant, as he more than once slipped on the soaked rock wall to fall and break the water’s mirror in the pool below.
    Mokh’tar hated seeing his friends as pairs; walking close, sitting together, sleeping next to each other, showing extra care, and the soft whispers that flowed between them. Lo’gush followed Shrika like a puppy, Kogra clung to Sinami. He was reminded of Vanara and sighed to himself.

Where to place your foot
The smith was alone. The tribe didn’t answer the spirit link and his head ached terribly. Still he walked around, he had to do something. Food would be nice. A way out maybe. The area was surprisingly green and lush, very mild compared to the dust and ash he had come from. He was in a pocket though; steep walls with little to place ones foot on surrounded him and the chasm-like landscape was carved into the mountain by the river, leading to another waterfall. A dead end obviously. Going in circles back and forth he searched for something, some way out. He went back to the pool he woke up by again and again, giving it yet more chances to show him a way.
    Lo’gush had listened to Mokh’tar’s many words in Flamestar Post. The second time they really talked, although strangely Shrika and him had just arrived from some secret journey on a drake. Lo’gush was determined to leave the tribe, thinking himself an outcast, but Mokh’tar suspected it was because of Shrika mostly; since she would have to leave the tribe if she didn’t have -her- strange arm removed soon. Torn, Lo’gush came to the conclusion he would stay with the tribe, which the smith had mentioned needed him, for who would the New Bloods look to first? The regular oathbounds.
    Instead of going to Shrika that night, Lo’gush buried his axe in the ashes and sat down against it to rest. The smith showed his approval and accept by sitting down on the other side. The brothers were back to back again.
    Lo’gush didn’t stay fast to his decision and Mokh’tar found his brother grew vague and pushed his conflicts ahead instead of facing them. If the smith let him do this, he would surely fall to some easy temptation if he had not already. This was certain, and Mokh’tar kept demanding a decision.

On your own
Mokh’tar had found himself by the water’s edge beneath a waterfall. He had felt a dull pain on the side of his head and he stumbled disoriented and wet to his feet. He didn’t remember how he had gotten here, and looking around did him no better. He had tried using the link for the first time after waking - maybe it wasn’t because no one replied, but because he couldn’t receive their will? Or didn’t his come through? Numbing pain rushed to his head when trying too much and he had fainted again.
    Mokh’tar was going to follow Lo’gush to face Sarrif â€" very interested in keeping Shrika safe, who was coming as well. Sure he hoped to see Lo’gush rise from the numbness of his indecisions, but she was his main worry. He had found a moment with Shrika, and he would tell her all he thought and felt.

It would not go as so.

Before Mokh’tar had even spoken three sentences, a strange stag appeared near him and Shrika. They were outside camp and she seemed to recognise the creature. Something was horribly wrong about the stag. Strolling around in the ashen steppes was one thing, but when it suddenly spoke Mokh’tar knew this was not natural. The fact it said “Waffles” didn’t help.
    Much ensued that night. After charging it’s antlers at Mokh’tar throwing him down a hill, Shrika stood before it and calmed it, saving the smith from certain death. The two orcs left the creature behind and moved away. The stag perched itself high in hills and that’s when it spotted Oguur.
    Seeing Mokh’tar and Shrika, the young giant had approached them and damn him for doing that. The stag charged him too, and everything went ill. Oguur nearly died to his wounds, Shrika summoned a demon to help get Oguur back to camp and in the midst of the chaos of saving his life without menders, the stag appeared, flashing eyes of green now and then. Shrika took the demon stag, as Mokh’tar named it, outside and then and there she was exiled. In sympathy she had asked the creature to run, as Nyruk and Lo’gush came to slay it. A dark drake came at her call and bore her away. Mokh’tar was left with Lo’gush outside.
    As the smith still felt angry at his brother for his affection and secrecy with Shrika, he tried to learn what Lo’gush whispered her before she left. Himself having asked her to write him every week. Lo’gush was silent -again-, and eventually went inside. Was this good? They were separated as Mokh’tar wanted, but would that only spur Lo’gush to run of more? It wasn’t easy to tell. Oguur lived, his breath raspy as he lay near the fire unconscious. Mokh’tar stared at him long. His face turned from worry to anger; If Oguur had not come; If he had not been wounded so bad..
    In the end Shrika had been lost, and he failed her. Grasping his smithing hammer he threw it across camp in a fit of desperation. It would take him days before he picked up the hammer again, letting it lie in the ashen dust all along.

Assault!
Had he drifted with the current? Maybe he was thrown out the falls. Mokh’tar remembered swimming in the lake above, looking in on the grassy green shore seeing Sinami hand out strange soaps, her wolf close, Kogra running around and Oguur getting ready to jump in the water. Where were they now?
    They slew the demon stag which disrupted his moment with Shrika and had her exiled, but Sinami’s wolf needed water to cleanse it of the demon blood it swallowed. They left for a mountain lake Sinami had mentioned to Mokh’tar days before and that’s when…

Assault! Attackers, orcs? Many. Mokh’tar remembered now.
    From where came they? Had they followed them through the mountains? As the ashen steppes had offered no streams or lakes for days, Mokh’tar stood deep in water when he met his first attacker. The smith was poorly armed and panicking from the sudden onslaught of brown orcs and he backed more into the lake until he was struck across the head.
    Kogra had smiled at him today, first time since he drove her to tears in Bloodgulch; she had opened up, but had not been open to words. They walked and fell on words of Mokh’tar’s worries and anger. He told her of his jealousy and she had agreed to come to him more often than she had done. Would it be enough?
    In the end Mokh’tar realised Lo’gush was only angry and proud. Not -bitter-. He had not the depth with a heart like his. His brother simply felt wronged, believing himself to be right. Mokh’tar had taken it one step further; The smith was wrong to feel envy. He -knew- it but he embraced it still. The bitterness stung him …it might even have been his request for Shrika’s help in the first place, which brought them together.

What tears me apart first, anger or worry?
Eh, so hungry.
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