To Be Warsong

[Mozrogg]

"No one can escape death boy, you will do well to remember that. If we are to join our ancestors our memory shall echo across history. Choose how you die. Master your own fate." - Skar'gul Steelfury

Cry of the Warsong

When the pup was born, like all Warsong he was to be inspected, a father's eye would prove the best tool. The clan thrived on strength, their numbers had suffered greatly over the years and there would be no time wasted on nursing a pup who prove too sick or feeble to be of use. The cold depths of the river was a cruel way to go. A trying time for any new mother.

The bundle of wrinkled skin was scooped up by cumbersome hands, hands that had seen years of work. Worn and rugged as they were they caressed, pawing at the boy like a mother wolf would to her pup.

"A little on the small side.. Ghrm, but he be strong.." A smile crept across the lips of the orc, thick and broad his furrowed brow and deep-set eyes casting their gaze over the new born as he cradle the fragile bundle of green flesh.

He had passed his first test..

His piercing cry danced with the wind, wailing merely brought an even greater smile to the orcs' lips, he gently slid the pup back into his eagerly waiting mates' arms, she breathed a sigh of relief - an exhausted sigh. Although small he proved a nuisance during labour, stubborn they called it.

"You see my wolf? Even now his cry of war is to be heard, he has earned his name already years before any Om'riggor." The old orc chuckled, stroking the hair upon his mate's head, his gruff voice sounding like two rocks crashing together.

The old orcs' cracked lips pursed, he lay a reassuring kiss upon his exhausted mate's forehead and smiled, turning on his heels he would return to his duty, the bellows of the forge would not stoke themselves.

The corner of her cheeks were pinched together in joyous glee, her warming smile washed over the young pup as she peer down at the newborn, his wailing had stopped for now, only long enough for him to suckle the tip of her finger with minuscule lips as she gaze down at him with pools of crystalline blue. Clutching him close she gently cradled him and whispered.

"Great things you will do my sweet boy, my Mozrogg."

[Mozrogg]

Cutting Teeth

His face resembled a sun-scorched clefthoof, like old leather wrinkled and scrunched up. etched with concentration. His cheecks blew up and filled with air as his face strained and went purple, veins popping in his neck.

"Breathe Mozrogg, Breathe."

The orc deflated, panting and gasping for breath his face regained it's pup-like appearance as the concentration washed from him, giving way to his petulant child-like nature. He sulked, like only he could. Thunderface his mother called him and for good reason, once the boy was in a strop only the elements thunderous roar was as gloomy.

By comparison, Mozrogg's mother was a picture of serenity, her face round and full, considered beautiful by orc standards and still youthful, her eyes were two great pools of blue, all knowing and filled with wisdom and warmth, but above all loving. - Shak'ra Wolfmother they called her, for her nature was that of a loving carer, but deep down lurked a wild spirit. Her aura was that of a gently flowing river but even the most calm of waters can grow violent.

Despite her youth she was considered by many a visionary amongst the clan, both respected by most and feared by others, for it was rumoured that she communed and walked with the dead.

She peered down at the boy and ran her fingers through his shaggy mane of black hair.

"Why won't they listen to me mother? I tell them to do what I ask and it falls upon deaf ears!" He scowled, clearly frustrated as he sat there cross-legged in a huff.

She looked upon her son and spoke softly.

"You do not tell them Mozrogg, you ask. The elements are not tools to be used at a whim, picked up and discarded as you please. You ask and if your cause is just they will answer, benevolent as they are they always require something from you as well."

Ever the wise, her words rang in his ears as he struggled to comprehend. What good are they if I cannot use them when I want. The pup gulped. fearful and worried, what if the elements could read his thoughts and learn of his displeasure!

"Go.. Help your father, lesson finished"

She sighed as the orcling scampered to his feet, dusting off his knees he scurried off. Perhaps this isn't his path.. She shook the thought from her mind and returned to her meditation.

The heat from the flames sucked the oxygen from the air, great plumes of smoke arose as the bellows stoked the heat even more, he watched as the flames danced and flickered and grinned. This is where he liked to learn. THWACK

"Quit yer day dreaming and get back to work! These axe-heads won't forge 'emselves!"

His father yapped, guttural and resembling a snarling wolf as his cumbersome hand left a welt on his ear. He did not mind, father's teachings by comparison were always hands on, and in his mind a lot more worthwhile.

In contrast to his mother, father was enormous, monstrous even. Shoulders thick and broad, packed with slabs of muscle resembling an ogre more than an orc, his hair along with his beard were thick and unkempt, the slight signs of age crept in as his beard was flecked with shades of grey and his hair was receding, pulled up into a rough knot atop his head. Mrug'esh Bloodforge they called him, believed to use the blood of his foes to temper his crafts, which by orc standards were considered a work of art.

Mozrogg yearned, no he aspired to be like his father, tall and proud. Strong. Respected by his clan-mates and a master of the forge.

The sun began to hide behind the mountains, soon night would be upon them as the only light was that of the dying embers flickering in the forge. Another day gone and another duty upheld. This only meant one thing, time for Mozrogg to ask his question just as he would every day after work, he wiped his brow free of sweat and grime and cleared his throat.

"Father.." He paused, already knowing the old brutes' answer but carried on regardless. "When can I come on the summer raids?" When you have passed your Om'riggor, when you are of age, bla bla bla.. He'd heard it all before.

Sure enough his father snorted and spat upon the earth, he ruffled the boys hair and smiled.

"Soon enough my boy, once the sun has set and risen seven more times you will take the Om'riggor, you will honour the clan and this family, but most importantly you will honour yourself. For an orc without honour is no orc at all."

Mozrogg met his father's gaze with a burning passion, a heat which rivaled the burning forge and nodded.

His mind was focused, fixated even. He was ready to be an orc.

[Mozrogg]

"Why Warsong you ask? Tell me, have you ever heard the thunder of our drums, the sounds of our snarling wolves as our axes sing through the air, the deafening roar of our war-cry? Yes? Well know it is more than a name, a Warsong is to be strong, possess the heart of a giant, a will of iron. Grommash Hellscream is our chieftain, though he may be young he will do great things, remember this and follow by example, who knows perhaps one day, you too will be Chieftain.." - Mrug'esh Bloodforge

I am Warsong

The sun was relentless, it's heat bore down upon the orc's back. His skin cracked and blistered like old leather, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his piercing gaze scanned the horizon from the grassy knot he knelt upon.

As tradition, the Om'riggor was a right of passage that all fledgling orcs must take to be considered an adult, the ritual hunt itself varied from clan to clan but the principles remained unchanged for generations.

No weapons were allowed, nor armour above the waist, Mozrogg had to take this one step further and strip down completely with a broad grin as he stood there, hands on hips. An act his mother scowled and one his father cheered at and yelled with glee.

"That's the spirit, M'boy! Lok-tar!"

A swift smack around the head soon shut the old orc up and earned him a scowl as well, a look which merely broadened his grin as they both watched the naked cheeks of their boy scamper offer in search of honour.

The boy had eyed his quarry, a Talbuk stag, standing tall and proud over his harem. His brow furrowed as he licked his tusk, meticulously planning his route of attack, he didn't have the numbers, nor the weaponry on his side, only surprise.

The ground trembled as his gaze of concentration was broken, his eyes lit up as a clefthoof came storming past, his head pounding with every quake of it's massive hooves. Luckily he was down wind of the great beast for his position would surely have been revealed if not.

His father's words echoed in his ears as he sprung into action..

"WRRAURGH!"

The veins in his neck were visible as they popped as he summoned all of his strength, the guttural war-cry from the pit of his lungs sent the clefthoof into a panic, rampaging into the Talbuk herd which sent them scattering. The startled beasts began to run, the sound of their thunderous hooves masked the boys approach, he slid down from the grass mound upon he was perched as he leapt at his quarry.

Narrowly avoiding the Talbuk's antlers he lunged, snarling and frothing like a beast himself he wrapped his legs around the beasts' neck and brought it down to the floor, the dust kicked up as the animal kicked and struggled as it whimpered and tried to break free, the muscled in his thighs bulged as he tightened his grasp. Wasting no time the orc lunged at his prey, fangs and mouth agape he tore into the beasts' throat, fangs tearing out flesh and windpipe alike as crimson spurted over his face and dribbled down his chin.

A feral snarl was heard soon after as he threw back his head and howled.

"I, AM, WARSONG!"

He covered himself in the blood of his kill, a face painted that of a grim visage as he returned to the village.. A boy no longer.

[Okiba]

Short, but sweet.

I'm quite enjoying these chapters. Do keep them coming!

[Mozrogg]

Fire And Blood

Who am I to judge what brings an orc comfort in the burning nights to come? When foul legions come to devour us all, rabid and ravenous they gnaw and bite away, forever hungry and never sated, they will not care what idols we worship, what spirits we take comfort in. No by the end of it all there will be but blood and fire and perhaps the sweet release of death.

A long dormant flame flickers once more, burning hot and white in the darkness, I have awoken, a vessel of destruction ready to be unleashed, A purpose renewed.

The scent of battle clouds my mind they say, the ringing of steel in my ears, the screams.. By Grom the glorious screams, the enticing smell of charred flesh, the spray of blood and the metallic tang that comes with it finally the burning itch that claws at the surface of my every being, the vile taint of fel that hangs heavy in the air.

No, this does not cloud my mind, if anything I take serene comfort in it, a clarity of sorts, everything is so straight forward in times of beast and orc, when it's kill or be killed, when we work down at our bare bones running on pure instinct alone. A sense of purpose, optimism even, the hope that somewhere out there stands a foe worthy of feeding the earth with my blood, alas not today. I go on existing for another moon, there's always tomorrow, the hope of tomorrow.

One day soon I shall meet my end, and I shall greet death like an old friend as I depart bloody and thrashing in the fire and blood of the end of days.