When the meteor hit, the ceiling exploded in pale green flame. The force and fire strained frame and charred wooden beams; the clay walls were crumbling, riven with cracks and fractures. The simple hut surely would have collapsed within moments if not for the Scepter of the Shaman King, hidden there for years until this moment of reckoning. When the walls held firm in defiance of logic, when the choking ashen smog turned to clear and breathable air, I was astonished until I saw the ancient weapon in my hands, my unbidden fingers tightening around it as if commanded by some greater power.
The Scepter was consecrated in another age by Mruthgor the Shaman-King, a feared Spirit-Walker of old who wrenched the Chiefdom of Clan Redblade by intrigue and menace. In life Mruthgor sought to traverse the bounds between the mortal realm and the Eternal Plains of the afterlife, and in death this ambition endured. Mruthgor had proven a meddler in the affairs of the tribe, with vainglorious demands for tribute or merely recognition -- that among the pantheon of ancestors he had not been forgotten.
His voice first called to me all those years ago to reclaim his Scepter, to wrest it from the hands of those who would pervert and corrupt its power. I saw his cult first hand in an arduous Vision Quest, from the terracotta votives burnt in his honor to the lengthy boasts etched proudly in alabaster -- "THE SHAMAN-KING WHO RULES WITH THE SUPPORT OF THE MIGHTY SPIRIT-GODS; THE GREAT FLOOD THAT NONE CAN OPPOSE; HE WHO TREADS ON THE NECK OF HIS ENEMIES, TRAMPLES DOWN ALL FOES, AND SHATTERS THEIR ARMIES."
Was it now he whose will trampled on my own? A powerful hunger was growing within me as the Scepter's bright blue energies surged through my veins and held back the hut from collapse. Everything was happening very quickly now and as my pulse raced I became dimly aware of someone shouting at me. I gnashed my teeth and strained muscles, my breath hitching as I tried to let go of the weapon. I did not want this ancient power, nor to stand among the embers of this doomed place until oblivion took me. I wanted to run far away, headlong into the arms of those I love.
I felt very weak and tired now, and realised almost too late that the Scepter had almost completely drained me as though I were simply a battery. Sweat was rolling down my face and soaking my clothes. My limbs were tense and as still as a statue. There was a loud buzzing and growing numbness in my head, and I knew this was it. With my last thought I tried to reach out to Rhonya through the mental link we shared, with the only words I could think of, the only three that had ever mattered to me. I chanted them like a desperate prayer for salvation, with every last fiber of my being.
I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you I love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouILOVEYOUILOVEYOUI--
As unconsciousness took me, the Scepter's power ceased. Thatch aflame, ripped leather and crumbling stone came tumbling down atop me. A heavy wooden beam landed atop me, crushing my body and snuffing out what lifeforce remained. Sadok Sharptongue would live, laugh and love no more.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I paused a moment at the mouth of the cave, catching my breath. Whether any of this was truly real in either a metaphysical or epistemological sense, it should be noted that I was no fitter in the afterlife -- a long sprint over uneven terrain left me gasping and sucking wind. The cool shady stone was soothing against my skin, and I took a few moments to spread aching limbs and simply relax in this safe haven. The Eternal Plains were an orcish afterlife, so it made sense that it would be a fair-tempered yet hardy land of wild beasts where the thrill of the hunt might be forever indulged.
This was no paradise for me, but then neither was the mortal realm, where in a desert of despair I drank deeply from the oases of those I loved to slake my thirst. I smacked my dry lips as my eyes wandered the shadowy depths of the cave. Here I felt ever thirsty. But where were the loved ones that had gone on before me to the spirit realms? Where were the hallowed ancestors of the Horde, toasting their honor in mighty greathalls and sharing tales of valor? Why hadn't I encountered orcish hunters on the field, or warbands riding the roads? Where -was- everyone?
Maybe none of this was real. Maybe it was a dream or vision and I'd just wake up in my hut again, like none of this had happened. My eyes focused harder on the cave wall, honing in on the specks and grooves of the rock. These felt real at least, their patterns stable rather than the gradual formless change of a dream. My hand moved to my side, unsheathing the trusty serrated spellblade that had made the journey from life to death with me. Shuffling closer to the cave wall, I brought the blade to bear upon the stone, scraping it downwards. One line for each sunrise in this place would make sure time didn't lose all meaning, and from there perhaps I might ascertain what was truly real here.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII There were now some sixty marks on the wall of the cave, where I had now taken up permanent residence. I slept in the fur of a sabrecat I had slain on day three, lit the cave with torches from wood I had gathered on day eight, and drank from a leather skin I had fashioned on day fourteen. On days sixteen, seventeen, nineteen and twenty, I gazed into a nearby pool and tried to commune with the material world. I wanted to talk to someone, anyone... but especially Rhonya. I may have died but I was still here, still breathing and eating and drinking and sleeping. I wasn't gone, not completely -- and I was lonely, very lonely. I hadn't seen any other orcs, and hunting alone was very tiring. Perhaps next time I ought to track something furrier. The nights were growing colder now, and my bed still felt empty.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIIIIt was on day seventy-six that my constant meditation finally yielded results. Surveying my reflection in the pool, I saw the water begin to ripple and form familiar shapes. Floating islands, mighty waterfalls, a great mountain of white -- yes, Nagrand! The Land of the Winds had long been favoured for communing with the deceased, and with the formation of Outland the bounds between mortal and spirit realms had further weakened. I focused on the one face I wanted to see, imagined her gentle features, soft hair and brilliant blue eyes... and she appeared before me, an image in the waters!
She was not happy to see me. I will not recount the specifics of what transpired, for even to think on that makes my heart heavy. She was trying her hardest to fulfil her last promise to me, to be strong -- and for that she had to conquer her grief, move on and leave me in the past. A pang of self-loathing formed in my stomach. What was I really hoping to achieve, reaching out to her? Didn't I care that I would hurt her by reopening freshly-sealed wounds, and force her to confront what she had lost? Was I truly so insecure, so egocentric, so desperate for things to be the way they were?
Well, yes.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIIIDay one hundred came as somewhat of a milestone. I had spent so much of the intervening time crouched over the pool, not reaching out directly to any one orc but instead scrying upon the tribe's coming and going throughout the world. I lived vicariously through them, rejoicing in their victories, agonising over their setbacks and mourning their losses. How great the menace of the Burning Legion seemed before them, how new and exciting the Broken Isles seemed, how eerie and yet beguiling the renegade Demon Hunters were. I wished with all my heart that I could be there beside them, not watching from far away but really -there-. That night as I curled up in my furs, I allowed myself some selfish tears imagining all the glory, honor and sheer fun I was missing out on.
On day one hundred and one I decided to stop looking into the pool. What had started as simple escapism had become an obsession, and was consuming my every thought. I didn't have to forget, but I had to move on and be strong. Like Rhonya.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII Day one hundred and twenty one. Four months. I haven't seen any orcs at all. It's just me and an infinite number of bloodthirsty beasts. I'm lonely. I'm very lonely. Is the Eternal Plains a paradise or everlasting damnation? If this is the Eternal Plains. I knew that the souls of the damned, warlocks and other unfortunates might simply cease to be after death, or be entrapped in the hellish depths of the Twisting Nether. Is that where I am now? I gaze at the blue cloudy sky, craggy brown soil and the pool I had sworn off staring into. It all looked pleasant enough. I don't understand.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII When you spend a long time alone (some one hundred and forty days now), a good memory is invaluable. You can never be bored when you think back on better days and let them play over and over in your mind. I reflect on all that has happened to me, and one memory edges into focus. Vashnarz is naked, piggybacking on top of him. Both are laughing and smiling. She exclaims that she's a bird. The others gathered around the campfire are laughing and smiling. I am not. I remember the last time I saw her naked, long ago. I remember the last time I made her laugh and smile, which seems just as long.
Later that night I find out that they're courting. He's taking two mates, for one would simply not do for an orc of his stature. He's taking the orc that once breathlessly exclaimed her love to me, that she would stand by my side for as long as her legs would carry her. I'm here. I'm still here. I haven't gone away. But I'm undead, my soul wrenched into another body as the result of some freakish experiment. When she looks at me she doesn't see the one she once loved. He died long ago, and she moved on. To him.
I once loved Vashnarz with all my heart and soul. She broke my heart. I once loved Kyrazha just as much, for taking a broken orc and teaching him to trust and love again. I broke her heart. I had loved Rhonya all along but accepted that we were not to be, until the dreams and visions of forbidden desire eroded my willpower. She grew to love me truly, not as a blood brother but as a lover. I believed... I believe she is my soulmate. But I died and it's been so long since I've saw her now, as a vision or in the flesh. Sometimes it's hard to remember what she even looked like.
It's hard to keep thinking on this subject but it's harder to let go. An orc can love many others in one life, but I had loved precious few in two lives, though with a great intensity. An intensity bordering on obsession that had seldom been healthy for me. And yet I needed it. I need it.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I spend a lot of my time wondering, now that I've stopped gazing into the waters. Sometimes I spend so long wondering that I forget to eat, and soon I'm too weak to hunt for my food. So I just wonder some more. I know it's bad for me and the pain sometimes gets too much to bear, but you surely can't die in the afterlife. Maybe if I die here, I'll be reincarnated in the land of the living. Maybe if I die here, I'd just stop existing. Would that really be so bad a thing?
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII Sometimes I wonder about Luk. A close friend once upon a time, whose dangerous research drove a wedge between us. Choosing exile over facing justice, he lost his sanity and was consumed by hate. He chose to exact revenge upon me, and eventually the entire tribe. His reward was to be entombed within the soulblade of Caruk Blackblade, where if his essence still endures at all, he must surely be in constant despair, left with nothing but memories and regret. Huh.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII Day one hundred and... or two hundred and... there are a lot of lines in the cave wall now. It's hard to count them all.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIIII decided to stop wondering and start wandering. I still feel weak and hungry though, so by the time I reached the pool (which I've decided to stop gazing into) I took a break to rest my weary limbs. It was starting to get dark and I didn't want to lose my cave and my markings, so I spent the evening crawling back. These plains may be eternal but my world has shrunk considerably. When nothing matters anymore, why even leave the cave? Here I can lay down in the cool and mark down the days that have passed.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I've decided to stop gazing into the pool.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I wish I could see her again. It wouldn't have to be a long conversation. It could be three words. Just three words.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIIIIf I could be brought back, would I? I'd just die again and end up here again.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII After much deliberation, I'm no longer gazing into the waters. I feel like it's for the best.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII I feel lonely.
IIII IIII IIII IIII IIII II feel very lonely.
Show Posts
