Quote from: Srelok on May 27, 2016, 10:14:15 AM
We're not gone yet, you two.... *peers all dadlike*
*runs faster*
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#61
Game Related / Re: The Going Away / AFK Thread
May 27, 2016, 05:18:50 PM*runs faster*
#62
Game Related / Re: The Going Away / AFK Thread
May 27, 2016, 05:07:09 AMQuote from: Groshnok on May 27, 2016, 04:58:56 AMQuote from: Rhonya on May 27, 2016, 01:31:08 AM
LARP weekend this weekend! So no Sre and me for a few days. Behave without us.
Don't worry, well keep the place nice and tidy!
Okay they're gone. Right so lads house party I'll get the yokes I'll get the ketamine ye just bring the girls and beer.
*charges through in a grass skirt with 6-packs of beer*
#63
The Campfire / Restless Warrior
May 26, 2016, 05:53:43 PM
Sakinra lowered herself carefully into the hammock. Laying in the dark silence, listening. Her eyes open staring at the peak of the tent above. The crackle of the fire outside and the movement of the occupants of Marshal's stead. But no voices of the Tribe. They had all gone off to hunt or rest in their various camps.
All that remained here was her and the Corpse.
Another fallen warrior on her watch. How many had it been? She had once been told that all are greeted in the afterlife by every life they took. She wondered how many she'd recognise and have to face for her failures.
Closing her eyes she rested her hand on her face. Her numb, lip swollen. An eye she could barely see out of. Trailing her hand down to her waist she could feel the black squelch of bruised blood beneath the surface, aching deep within muscles where her gut had been struck again and again. She could still taste the blood and bile, her mind slow and dulled, still grappling with consciousness and concussion.
--------------------------------------
She awoke with a start. It was much later.
Sakinra lay in the dark. Her back ached from how she had slept.
Something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger on it. Stretching over the edge she reached for her axe, her hand closing around its neck, she breathed in relief. The wood felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers.
She opened her eyes. The darkness was complete at this hour. She could not even make out her hand in front of her face. Nor the axe beneath her on the floor. Nor even the edges of the tent itself.
Having reassured herself the axe was at hand, she groaned softly releasing the axe and laying back on her side.
She lay there, something nagging at her thoughts, not letting her rest.
Something was still not right.
The Jungle was Silent.
Her eyes flew open.
She could see nothing.
She reached for her axe.
It was not there.
Then it began.
Soft, low. Barely audible.
She willed herself to move but found herself frozen.
She could feel the kiss of the breath as it moved the hairs on the back of her neck, hear it's sickly rattle with each exhale.
The ache in her back was not that of exhaustion, but heavy weight laid behind her, its form cold enough to chill the muscles.
She turned her head slowly, not daring to look behind her.
The empty, lifeless eyes of Rak'mal's bloated corpse bored into her own. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. She twisted and scrambled to disentangle herself from the net of the hammock. Thrashing trapped in its grasp.
She fell out, hitting the ground hard, her hand finding the axe. Closing around it, she tried to wrench it upwards, but it was too light, moved too swiftly. She stared at it, holding in her hand the shattered splintered haft of her axe.
"No...No!"
She scrambled half under the hammock, arms spread wide to find the axe-head, her blade, anything.
A light flickered behind her casting her shadow against the inside of the tent. A terrible, ominous glow, growing brighter every moment. Sakinra scrambled to her feet, turning, seeing, as if in slow motion, as the sphere of flames struck the tent, the fabric consumed, seared away as it enveloped her. She raised her arms, only to see her skin and flesh bubble and melt away in the heat.
--------------------------------------
She awoke with a start. Staring up at the inside of the tent, her breathing ragged, skin drenched in sweat.
She stared wide-eyed up at the inside of her tent. Sitting up, she covered her face, gasping for air. She pushed herself to stand, picking up her axe, she pushed open the flap of the tent.
Outside there was carnage.
The camp was littered with corpses, mutilated and cleaved open. Faces she knew;
...Srelok, Rhonya, Calgron, Feraleye....
...and Too many she didn't. She walked, picking her way through them, horror etched onto her face.
"What have you done?"
The voice drifted from behind her. Cold and Ethereal. She snapped around. The Figure must have been an Orc, by proportion, but nothing could be seen but the dark robe engulfing it. Winds whipped around it, pulling at the fabric, making the figure appear as if it was coming apart at the seams.
"What have you done, Sakinra?"
The voice echoes strangely. She raises her axe. Backing away.
"Done? I haven't done anything?"
The figure glides towards her, turning the corpses as it passes. Their glassy eyes reflecting the empty sky above.
"Precisely."
The figures voice hisses, edged with echoes of every voice silenced in the camp. Falling backwards she twists slamming into the ground.
Slowly, one of the bodies lifts its head, turning towards her, reaching its hand out.
"No, no, No! Please no!"
Okram Graywolf gasps, blood rattling in his throat as he stretches his arm out to her, her axe embedded in his chest where she had fallen.
"You -failed- them Rageheart."
She picks up her axe, hauling it free blood splatters across the field. Swinging it in a vicious arc towards the figure, it's halted in mid air. She tried to pull it free to swing again but it won't move.
"Sssaaakinraaaaa." Okrams voice echoed strangely, drawn out.
The figure threw its head back and laughed, the hood falling. A shadowed Orcs face turned to her, made of shaped mist, no skull, no body behind it. Just the mockery of a countenance.
"Perhaps you haven't yet. But you will. You will know every one of these faces in time Rageheart. And you will fail them all. All but the one who betrays you."
"RAGEHEART!"
As her name is roared the figure vanished, everything burning away in the brilliant light.
Sakinra blinked in the gloom of her tent, trying to focus after the blinding light. Her axe still in her hands.
Okram stared into her face, worried and exhausted. Her axe immovable because it's being held in his fierce grip.
"Sakinra? Can you hear me? It's alright, it's alright."
She let go of the axe, stepping back away from him. He carefully places it down, leaning it against a crate.
"What happened? I heard you yell..."
He trails off.
"I'm fine."
"You're not-"
"No. Okram. I'm fine. It was just a dream."
She tried to be reassuring before burying her face in her hands. He frowned at her, speaking softly;
"You don't end up brandishing an axe for a dream-"
She snaps her head up harshly, glaring at him.
"Enough! I'm not some child to be chastised and comforted. You're not my bloody keeper"
He bites his tongue, clearly bitterly wanted to snap back.
"I'm going for a walk."
Sakinra stands up, picking up her axes and breastplate, she stalks out. Leaving him without another word.
--------------------------------------
Sat by the edge of the pools she yanked off the armour that had been so hastily crammed on after she'd stormed out of the camp like some petulant child.
Sakinra Rageheart. There never was a bigger idiot than you, do you know that? A more stubborn, stupid, pig-headed-
Insult by insult pile up, scolding herself as piece by piece the armour was put aside. Peeling off the rancid bandages binding her chest she slipped into the hot springs, taking the tattered cloth with her. Letting the water ease away the pains and aches from the tired and bruised flesh she begins to clean the strips of fabric.
Images flicker from her nightmares, mangled with the words of the Soothsayer the night before.
"Three of Wands, Six of Swords."
"You Prepare to go forth, yet this is no walk to valour or glory."
"A Journey of regretful transition."
"Here at the end of your journey, you find a master of skill and tact, of Action and Resourcefulness."
"The Seven of Swords. A figure, whom you respect and trust, both mentor and friend, shall betray you, stealing away into the night."
"The Hanged Man... and leaves you to sacrifice yourself, a fate you accept in your final moments..."
His voice echoed in her memory as she clambered out of the water, stretching out the now vaguely clean bandages over a rock to dry. Slipping back into the pools, she submerged herself to clean her hair.
As her eyes close she sees the shadowy figure, his hand stretched out to reach her. She cries out, drawing in lungfuls of water. Snapping her eyes open she struggled and scrambled towards the surface, floundering onto the shore.
Sprawled on her back, she lay very still, listening to her heartbeat until the sun has risen high into the sky.
Sakinra pulled on her armour and began the walk back to the camp. It would not be long to the pyre.
All that remained here was her and the Corpse.
Another fallen warrior on her watch. How many had it been? She had once been told that all are greeted in the afterlife by every life they took. She wondered how many she'd recognise and have to face for her failures.
Closing her eyes she rested her hand on her face. Her numb, lip swollen. An eye she could barely see out of. Trailing her hand down to her waist she could feel the black squelch of bruised blood beneath the surface, aching deep within muscles where her gut had been struck again and again. She could still taste the blood and bile, her mind slow and dulled, still grappling with consciousness and concussion.
--------------------------------------
She awoke with a start. It was much later.
Sakinra lay in the dark. Her back ached from how she had slept.
Something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger on it. Stretching over the edge she reached for her axe, her hand closing around its neck, she breathed in relief. The wood felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers.
She opened her eyes. The darkness was complete at this hour. She could not even make out her hand in front of her face. Nor the axe beneath her on the floor. Nor even the edges of the tent itself.
Having reassured herself the axe was at hand, she groaned softly releasing the axe and laying back on her side.
She lay there, something nagging at her thoughts, not letting her rest.
Something was still not right.
The Jungle was Silent.
Her eyes flew open.
She could see nothing.
She reached for her axe.
It was not there.
Then it began.
Soft, low. Barely audible.
She willed herself to move but found herself frozen.
She could feel the kiss of the breath as it moved the hairs on the back of her neck, hear it's sickly rattle with each exhale.
The ache in her back was not that of exhaustion, but heavy weight laid behind her, its form cold enough to chill the muscles.
She turned her head slowly, not daring to look behind her.
The empty, lifeless eyes of Rak'mal's bloated corpse bored into her own. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. She twisted and scrambled to disentangle herself from the net of the hammock. Thrashing trapped in its grasp.
She fell out, hitting the ground hard, her hand finding the axe. Closing around it, she tried to wrench it upwards, but it was too light, moved too swiftly. She stared at it, holding in her hand the shattered splintered haft of her axe.
"No...No!"
She scrambled half under the hammock, arms spread wide to find the axe-head, her blade, anything.
A light flickered behind her casting her shadow against the inside of the tent. A terrible, ominous glow, growing brighter every moment. Sakinra scrambled to her feet, turning, seeing, as if in slow motion, as the sphere of flames struck the tent, the fabric consumed, seared away as it enveloped her. She raised her arms, only to see her skin and flesh bubble and melt away in the heat.
--------------------------------------
She awoke with a start. Staring up at the inside of the tent, her breathing ragged, skin drenched in sweat.
She stared wide-eyed up at the inside of her tent. Sitting up, she covered her face, gasping for air. She pushed herself to stand, picking up her axe, she pushed open the flap of the tent.
Outside there was carnage.
The camp was littered with corpses, mutilated and cleaved open. Faces she knew;
...Srelok, Rhonya, Calgron, Feraleye....
...and Too many she didn't. She walked, picking her way through them, horror etched onto her face.
"What have you done?"
The voice drifted from behind her. Cold and Ethereal. She snapped around. The Figure must have been an Orc, by proportion, but nothing could be seen but the dark robe engulfing it. Winds whipped around it, pulling at the fabric, making the figure appear as if it was coming apart at the seams.
"What have you done, Sakinra?"
The voice echoes strangely. She raises her axe. Backing away.
"Done? I haven't done anything?"
The figure glides towards her, turning the corpses as it passes. Their glassy eyes reflecting the empty sky above.
"Precisely."
The figures voice hisses, edged with echoes of every voice silenced in the camp. Falling backwards she twists slamming into the ground.
Slowly, one of the bodies lifts its head, turning towards her, reaching its hand out.
"No, no, No! Please no!"
Okram Graywolf gasps, blood rattling in his throat as he stretches his arm out to her, her axe embedded in his chest where she had fallen.
"You -failed- them Rageheart."
She picks up her axe, hauling it free blood splatters across the field. Swinging it in a vicious arc towards the figure, it's halted in mid air. She tried to pull it free to swing again but it won't move.
"Sssaaakinraaaaa." Okrams voice echoed strangely, drawn out.
The figure threw its head back and laughed, the hood falling. A shadowed Orcs face turned to her, made of shaped mist, no skull, no body behind it. Just the mockery of a countenance.
"Perhaps you haven't yet. But you will. You will know every one of these faces in time Rageheart. And you will fail them all. All but the one who betrays you."
"RAGEHEART!"
As her name is roared the figure vanished, everything burning away in the brilliant light.
Sakinra blinked in the gloom of her tent, trying to focus after the blinding light. Her axe still in her hands.
Okram stared into her face, worried and exhausted. Her axe immovable because it's being held in his fierce grip.
"Sakinra? Can you hear me? It's alright, it's alright."
She let go of the axe, stepping back away from him. He carefully places it down, leaning it against a crate.
"What happened? I heard you yell..."
He trails off.
"I'm fine."
"You're not-"
"No. Okram. I'm fine. It was just a dream."
She tried to be reassuring before burying her face in her hands. He frowned at her, speaking softly;
"You don't end up brandishing an axe for a dream-"
She snaps her head up harshly, glaring at him.
"Enough! I'm not some child to be chastised and comforted. You're not my bloody keeper"
He bites his tongue, clearly bitterly wanted to snap back.
"I'm going for a walk."
Sakinra stands up, picking up her axes and breastplate, she stalks out. Leaving him without another word.
--------------------------------------
Sat by the edge of the pools she yanked off the armour that had been so hastily crammed on after she'd stormed out of the camp like some petulant child.
Sakinra Rageheart. There never was a bigger idiot than you, do you know that? A more stubborn, stupid, pig-headed-
Insult by insult pile up, scolding herself as piece by piece the armour was put aside. Peeling off the rancid bandages binding her chest she slipped into the hot springs, taking the tattered cloth with her. Letting the water ease away the pains and aches from the tired and bruised flesh she begins to clean the strips of fabric.
Images flicker from her nightmares, mangled with the words of the Soothsayer the night before.
"Three of Wands, Six of Swords."
"You Prepare to go forth, yet this is no walk to valour or glory."
"A Journey of regretful transition."
"Here at the end of your journey, you find a master of skill and tact, of Action and Resourcefulness."
"The Seven of Swords. A figure, whom you respect and trust, both mentor and friend, shall betray you, stealing away into the night."
"The Hanged Man... and leaves you to sacrifice yourself, a fate you accept in your final moments..."
His voice echoed in her memory as she clambered out of the water, stretching out the now vaguely clean bandages over a rock to dry. Slipping back into the pools, she submerged herself to clean her hair.
As her eyes close she sees the shadowy figure, his hand stretched out to reach her. She cries out, drawing in lungfuls of water. Snapping her eyes open she struggled and scrambled towards the surface, floundering onto the shore.
Sprawled on her back, she lay very still, listening to her heartbeat until the sun has risen high into the sky.
Sakinra pulled on her armour and began the walk back to the camp. It would not be long to the pyre.
#65
Game Related / Re: Suggestions and Feedback
May 26, 2016, 03:53:02 PM
THANKS! *crawls off into her "SMAT" box
#66
Game Related / Re: Suggestions and Feedback
May 26, 2016, 03:34:32 PMQuote from: Kozgugore on May 26, 2016, 03:25:35 PM
Having said that, do please keep on voting if you haven't already! (and of course, refrain from double-voting) As it stands now, the score is running very equal, so it's increasingly difficult to come to a sound conclusion just yet.
There's a vote?
./horribly confused
#67
Game Related / Re: Argent Archives
May 26, 2016, 01:15:59 PM
Sakinra's exists on there. Albeit mostly unloved. Gotta make some more for her.
#68
Event Planning / Re: Om'riggor and Pyre
May 25, 2016, 04:05:55 PM
Sad newblood cant Om'riggor and a funeral. Epic sads.
#70
Game Related / Re: Rak'mal's Death
May 25, 2016, 01:37:44 AM
Such sads, although can understand your reasons.
Was a brief honour to know you and RP with you, and tonight was a beautiful if emotional traumatic event. I'm sat here all meh having known you three days. i'm sure anyone who knew you longer is in bits.
Take care, enjoy the Paladin side of things. Go easy, mourn Rakmal, we shall give him the pyre to end all pyres.
Was a brief honour to know you and RP with you, and tonight was a beautiful if emotional traumatic event. I'm sat here all meh having known you three days. i'm sure anyone who knew you longer is in bits.
Take care, enjoy the Paladin side of things. Go easy, mourn Rakmal, we shall give him the pyre to end all pyres.
#71
Off Topic / Re: Art Section and creations!
May 24, 2016, 11:55:44 PM
There was a point I did commisions and then the stress of expectation made me panic freak out and not do any for ages. So it's a when the mood takes me friend request thing.
Also I'm quite limited in what I can do for poses sometimes. So demanding ./Yes Left hand at 15 degrees up, doesnt work, as it's what I can do with wowmv and photoshop. No 3D modelling.
Also I'm quite limited in what I can do for poses sometimes. So demanding ./Yes Left hand at 15 degrees up, doesnt work, as it's what I can do with wowmv and photoshop. No 3D modelling.
#72
Off Topic / Re: Art Section and creations!
May 24, 2016, 09:27:30 PM
MOAR!
A commision (+variant) I took on ooOoooo probably in February and then avoided doing for 4 months :/
A commision (+variant) I took on ooOoooo probably in February and then avoided doing for 4 months :/
#74
The Campfire / Honour Bound
May 21, 2016, 11:53:27 PM
Honour Bound
She stood fastening her legplates as those two words rose in her mind. Snorting a laugh, Sakinra earned a glance from a nearby guard at the noise. Slowly straightening up she caught the guards eye, arcing an eyebrow. After a moment she bent down and lifted her chestplate into place. The guard swiftly looked away once more, not wishing to risk a report for leering no doubt.
Her hands smarting, the sensitive new skin not broken in, threaded the straps and pulled them tighter from her chestplate, cutting them into her naked back until it was held firmly in place. The individual pieces hinged just enough to give her mobility she needed. Her gaze drifted towards the tavern. Okram rested within.
Something had changed. Half a lifetime of friendship. From mere whelps. But now something had settled between them. As he had put it, He had "Grown up." She hadn't. Something had changed the day she had pleaded with him to vouch for her, the way he had regarded her, carefully, calmly, his inner thoughts inscrutable as always. Something had shifted in their friendship that day. Although it was never spoken of.
Perhaps he'd never noticed.
She grabbed the backplate from the ground, hoisting it over her head, she looped the straps through the buckles on the chestplate, pulling them in, until they were almost tight at the edges. Her hand slipped on the strap, splitting the skin. She hissed in irritation as blood oozed from the flesh.
He had Scolded her. Scolded. Like some pup.
"You never learn from your mistakes."
She looked at the low embers of the fire, that she had thrust her hands into to retrieve the food.
She had learned wounds healed, starvation didn't. She had learned that flames no longer hurt. Nothing did, not on the surface at least. Anything that broke the skin however, stung like fel.
She picked up the dress she had been wearing earlier, tearing a strip from the skirt, she wound it around her hand, she would rather bleed to death than ask for help and prove him right. She studied her hands in the moonlights glow The scars still showed. Webbed, winding. Fading now,a few years old. They reached to the crook of both arms. Only a few inches on both wrists were spared the deformity. The edges of these sparse clear sections marked by the thick welt that encircled each wrist, typically hidden by her vambraces.
She picked up her gauntlets and pulled them on one by one.
No. Fire didn't hurt anymore.
------------------------------------------
Kaghurk returned just after dawn, his maw still bloodied from whatever kill he had made in the night. He flopped down beside his Mistress, a soft keening growl humming in the beasts throat, before he rolled over in the dirt. The crash of her posessions in the satchels making such noise it was a wonder he'd caught anything.
Sakinra reached down and absently scratched at the fur on his chest.
"You could have at least let me take the equipment from you before you hunted."
The snap of jaws answered as he rolled back over and went to stick his nose in the extinguished fire, retrieving the burned remains of the meat he pinned it with his paw and began tearing chunks from it.
"At least someone appreciates Okram's cooking."
Naratha, A pale frostwolf female walked over at the sound of ripping flesh and snarling. She nuzzled at the male worg before stealing the pieces of dropped flesh from beneath his jaws. Sakinra watched with a smile, slowly flexing her fingers.
Around them, the birds of Stonetalon began their morning chorus.
------------------------------------------
The crack of the mace as it shattered the First-Sergeant's jaw rang through the training ground, splattering blood across the stone.
His heavy plated form crashed to the ground, the jeering crowd silenced as all eyes settled on her. Then it began. The roaring baying for blood, screams and accusations.
The First-Sergeant's insult echoed, voice upon voice until a cacophany of noise reached its peak.
The rush came all at once, hands pushing her to the ground, taking her weapons, twisting her arms behind, bound and secured.
Dragged to her feet, her hair was wrenched, forced to look into the face of who had hold of her.
His jaw swelling, black and blue already, blood oozed from his maw.
"Truth hurts."
His words mangled, likely some teeth shattered, it was a credit to him he could speak at all without screaming.
"Not as much as your Jaw does."
Her sharp tongue earned her a back-handed crack across the face, The plated gauntlet splitting her lip. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowleging any pain. Sakinra focused on the blood bubbling at the corner of the male's mouth with each word. He leaned close to her ear, his voice low and filled with promise of horrors to come.
"You'll learn what pain is, you honourless, gutless, worthless whelp."
He straightened up looking to the Grunts and Scouts holding her.
"Get her out of here."
------------------------------------------
"So how did you come to be here in this tavern."
Sakinra leant back against the barrels. arms rested over her knees she looked over the table at Okram.
"I find myself on leave, albeit perhaps permenantly, and thought I would seek you out."
The orc regarded her with slow patience. Despite there being only a few seasons between them, he exuded an air of age and calm she never did manage to cultivate herself.
"And here was I, thinking perhaps this was a chance meeting."
His blue eyes never leaving her. The pause in the air dragged out, before he simply picked up his ale and swirled it, peering in as if it may hold answers.
"Why are you on permenant leave then."
Sakinra forced the smile, the false reassurance coming more and more easily to her lips these days.
"Well. I might have punched the First-Sergeant."
"You might have punched him?"
"With a mace."
The long, tired sigh would have fit an Orc three times his age.
"Your temper never fails to astound me. So, what did he do to warrent this?"
She leaned her head back against the barrels. Setting her gaze on the underside of the tavern steps.
The lie she spun of the foolish Orc Commander sending troops into a trap was an easy one. Everyone had met at least one officer who should probably have been a Peon.
But not this one. No, this one had been far smarter than that.
------------------------------------------
Sakinra opened her eyes. Both worgs were sprawled at her feet, like overgrown puppies. Dawn had blossomed, but the light had not yet reached the valley hidden beteween the mountains. Sun Rock's chill clung to the stone.
Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.
From this moment until the end of days I live and die - for the Horde.
The Blood Oath of the Horde rang through her mind, she'd know the words since she was a whelp, lugging timber in the Gulch.
But you didn't die did you? For the Horde, For your Warchief. You turned tail and fled when the odds shifted against you.
The same argument rallied round her mind again. The First-Sergeant's voice echoed in her memory.
You Traitorous Kor'kron Bitch.
Weeks she'd put up with his shit. She didn't know, why she'd snapped, why she'd grabbed the mace from the crate beside her, seemingly some part of her self preservation was working, beheading a superior officer would have seen a far worse fate.
The sound his jaw made as it shattered.
The way his head snapped back.
The blood pounding in her ears so she didn't hear the roars until she'd been forced to the ground.
Sakinra shoved herself upright, forcing it from her mind. She threw one glance towards the Inn where Okram still slept. Fastening her faceplate she stalked out into the morning.
Scouting the route ahead whilst the Retreat still slept.
Yes.
Scouting.
She stood fastening her legplates as those two words rose in her mind. Snorting a laugh, Sakinra earned a glance from a nearby guard at the noise. Slowly straightening up she caught the guards eye, arcing an eyebrow. After a moment she bent down and lifted her chestplate into place. The guard swiftly looked away once more, not wishing to risk a report for leering no doubt.
Her hands smarting, the sensitive new skin not broken in, threaded the straps and pulled them tighter from her chestplate, cutting them into her naked back until it was held firmly in place. The individual pieces hinged just enough to give her mobility she needed. Her gaze drifted towards the tavern. Okram rested within.
Something had changed. Half a lifetime of friendship. From mere whelps. But now something had settled between them. As he had put it, He had "Grown up." She hadn't. Something had changed the day she had pleaded with him to vouch for her, the way he had regarded her, carefully, calmly, his inner thoughts inscrutable as always. Something had shifted in their friendship that day. Although it was never spoken of.
Perhaps he'd never noticed.
She grabbed the backplate from the ground, hoisting it over her head, she looped the straps through the buckles on the chestplate, pulling them in, until they were almost tight at the edges. Her hand slipped on the strap, splitting the skin. She hissed in irritation as blood oozed from the flesh.
He had Scolded her. Scolded. Like some pup.
"You never learn from your mistakes."
She looked at the low embers of the fire, that she had thrust her hands into to retrieve the food.
She had learned wounds healed, starvation didn't. She had learned that flames no longer hurt. Nothing did, not on the surface at least. Anything that broke the skin however, stung like fel.
She picked up the dress she had been wearing earlier, tearing a strip from the skirt, she wound it around her hand, she would rather bleed to death than ask for help and prove him right. She studied her hands in the moonlights glow The scars still showed. Webbed, winding. Fading now,a few years old. They reached to the crook of both arms. Only a few inches on both wrists were spared the deformity. The edges of these sparse clear sections marked by the thick welt that encircled each wrist, typically hidden by her vambraces.
She picked up her gauntlets and pulled them on one by one.
No. Fire didn't hurt anymore.
------------------------------------------
Kaghurk returned just after dawn, his maw still bloodied from whatever kill he had made in the night. He flopped down beside his Mistress, a soft keening growl humming in the beasts throat, before he rolled over in the dirt. The crash of her posessions in the satchels making such noise it was a wonder he'd caught anything.
Sakinra reached down and absently scratched at the fur on his chest.
"You could have at least let me take the equipment from you before you hunted."
The snap of jaws answered as he rolled back over and went to stick his nose in the extinguished fire, retrieving the burned remains of the meat he pinned it with his paw and began tearing chunks from it.
"At least someone appreciates Okram's cooking."
Naratha, A pale frostwolf female walked over at the sound of ripping flesh and snarling. She nuzzled at the male worg before stealing the pieces of dropped flesh from beneath his jaws. Sakinra watched with a smile, slowly flexing her fingers.
Around them, the birds of Stonetalon began their morning chorus.
------------------------------------------
The crack of the mace as it shattered the First-Sergeant's jaw rang through the training ground, splattering blood across the stone.
His heavy plated form crashed to the ground, the jeering crowd silenced as all eyes settled on her. Then it began. The roaring baying for blood, screams and accusations.
The First-Sergeant's insult echoed, voice upon voice until a cacophany of noise reached its peak.
The rush came all at once, hands pushing her to the ground, taking her weapons, twisting her arms behind, bound and secured.
Dragged to her feet, her hair was wrenched, forced to look into the face of who had hold of her.
His jaw swelling, black and blue already, blood oozed from his maw.
"Truth hurts."
His words mangled, likely some teeth shattered, it was a credit to him he could speak at all without screaming.
"Not as much as your Jaw does."
Her sharp tongue earned her a back-handed crack across the face, The plated gauntlet splitting her lip. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowleging any pain. Sakinra focused on the blood bubbling at the corner of the male's mouth with each word. He leaned close to her ear, his voice low and filled with promise of horrors to come.
"You'll learn what pain is, you honourless, gutless, worthless whelp."
He straightened up looking to the Grunts and Scouts holding her.
"Get her out of here."
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"So how did you come to be here in this tavern."
Sakinra leant back against the barrels. arms rested over her knees she looked over the table at Okram.
"I find myself on leave, albeit perhaps permenantly, and thought I would seek you out."
The orc regarded her with slow patience. Despite there being only a few seasons between them, he exuded an air of age and calm she never did manage to cultivate herself.
"And here was I, thinking perhaps this was a chance meeting."
His blue eyes never leaving her. The pause in the air dragged out, before he simply picked up his ale and swirled it, peering in as if it may hold answers.
"Why are you on permenant leave then."
Sakinra forced the smile, the false reassurance coming more and more easily to her lips these days.
"Well. I might have punched the First-Sergeant."
"You might have punched him?"
"With a mace."
The long, tired sigh would have fit an Orc three times his age.
"Your temper never fails to astound me. So, what did he do to warrent this?"
She leaned her head back against the barrels. Setting her gaze on the underside of the tavern steps.
The lie she spun of the foolish Orc Commander sending troops into a trap was an easy one. Everyone had met at least one officer who should probably have been a Peon.
But not this one. No, this one had been far smarter than that.
------------------------------------------
Sakinra opened her eyes. Both worgs were sprawled at her feet, like overgrown puppies. Dawn had blossomed, but the light had not yet reached the valley hidden beteween the mountains. Sun Rock's chill clung to the stone.
Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.
From this moment until the end of days I live and die - for the Horde.
The Blood Oath of the Horde rang through her mind, she'd know the words since she was a whelp, lugging timber in the Gulch.
But you didn't die did you? For the Horde, For your Warchief. You turned tail and fled when the odds shifted against you.
The same argument rallied round her mind again. The First-Sergeant's voice echoed in her memory.
You Traitorous Kor'kron Bitch.
Weeks she'd put up with his shit. She didn't know, why she'd snapped, why she'd grabbed the mace from the crate beside her, seemingly some part of her self preservation was working, beheading a superior officer would have seen a far worse fate.
The sound his jaw made as it shattered.
The way his head snapped back.
The blood pounding in her ears so she didn't hear the roars until she'd been forced to the ground.
Sakinra shoved herself upright, forcing it from her mind. She threw one glance towards the Inn where Okram still slept. Fastening her faceplate she stalked out into the morning.
Scouting the route ahead whilst the Retreat still slept.
Yes.
Scouting.
