A Collection Of Experiences: Azolg's Travels

[Azolg]

New Beginnings

Malaka’jin was utterly unimpressive as a holdout in of itself, yet it’s quiet seclusion bought Azolg some much needed time to consider the future. The dust swept across the camp at the behest of a smooth wind that gave the view a somewhat red tinge to things. Inhabitants went about their daily business of gathering food, skinning and some leatherworking here and there. It almost seemed reminiscent of Garadar; albeit on a much smaller, confined and inherently red coloured scale. It had become the temporary stopping point of the Red Blade Tribe, and while many Orcs did small day to day tasks to keep busy; others found themselves wandering the lands to hunt, scout or even just get away from it all. Azolg was one of the latter this day and leaning upon his staff he swept his gaze across the camp once more from his own peak of serenity.

He’d certainly changed quite a substantial amount since he first joined the Tribe, a couple of months before the split. Back then he’d been somewhat of a Garadar Orc still; both in appearance and his mannerisms, and even his tradecraft as a Pyremaster. He’d worn simple garb not suited for fighting back then, adorned with a sacred skull mask when meeting strangers outside the Clan - a tradition that had been reinforced by his father, and but a simple sword to offer the most basic of protection. Those times he still identified as a Garadar Orc and had taken a somewhat outsider's view on the Tribe - never really getting to involved with proceedings and taking far too long to earn his Oath. All that however had changed in recent months.

Breathing in slowly his gaze cast briefly to the hand that gripped the staff. He still wasn’t used to it, some ten months after he’d decided to fight on the Broken Isles. The green skin was a sickly colour to his eyes, yet it was no different now to nearly every Orc that resided on Azeroth. But for Azolg, this skin had been a deep, pure brown when he’d come to Azeroth. Uncorrupted, he’d taken great, if foolish, pride in being what was considered a “True” Orc. And for many years he retained that pride, wore it like armor against those who would speak out against him.

Now however his pride as a Mag’har had all but gone. It certainly had not been an easy decision to make for Azolg; the choice really boiled down to a pair of options. He could have headed back to Garadar, abandoned Azeroth and to it’s fate and waited out the oncoming storm. Or he could use the gifts and powers he’d been entrusted with; stand and fight with the world of Azeroth and perhaps maybe influence the outcome in even the smallest way possible; knowing that fighting on the Broken Isles, in such a fel-steeped area, for a prolonged period of time would eventually turn his skin green. It had happened to the Frostwolves whom had never drank the blood, there was no reason to believe he would be exempt from it either.

And thus with a heavy heart he’d done the right thing and taken the fight to the Demons on the shores of hellfire. Casting aside his skull mask and dull blade, he turned his back upon being a Mag’har to truly join the Horde of Azeroth, garbed in his impressive new gear and finally taking up the mantle of his father's staff - A relic that had been passed down his family for generations. The staff had been in his possession for some months now after his father's death; though he did not feel ready to use such an artifact until he’d earned it. However the time had long passed for that luxury; and with a heavy heart he’d resigned himself to “Earn it on the go”, so to speak.

Drawing his memories back to a more recent time, Azolg paused briefly as his gaze flickered back to the camp. A familiar face was up and about; Rhonya Steelheart, and he offered himself a somewhat sad smile at the sight of her. Just over a year ago, he’d performed the funeral rites for her mate; Sadok. A desperately sad time it was and even though Azolg had barely known Sadok; he knew that the orc was held in high esteem by the Tribe at large. It had been an honor to send his spirit soaring.

It was at this thought that his hand strayed to his satchel, feeling the contents clinking around. No Orc knew, but Azolg held several jars on his person at all times; each jar filled with a handful of the ashes of a Tribes-orc. Since his time during the Tribe he’d performed funeral rites for two Orcs; Grogona and Sadok. When the pyre had finished he’d taken a handful of the ashes; as is a Pyremasters duty to do so. The final jar he held was of one named Makaroth, an Orc whom had lost his mind to fel and been murdered by the Tribe for it. While he had not travelled with the Tribe at that point - he was in the vicinity of the fight and eventual pyre. Long after the others had left he’d snuck by and stolen some of the ashes. A smile crossed his lips briefly - the orcs most certainly would not understand why a Pyremaster would need a portion of the ashes, but it wasn’t for them to know; somethings would always stay secret.

His gaze now swirled around the camp once more - And he found himself thinking of the future this time. Where did he stand with the Tribe now he no longer was a Mag’har? While the Clan had never officially rejected him; he knew he could not be welcomed back in with his green skin; Mag’har in the common tongue meant “Uncorrupted.” and those who were corrupted no longer held a place within the Clan. Despite his best interests or desires - he was an Orc without a Clan, as he had no clue of his former Clan before the red pox. Whether this meant for a future as a true Red Blade Orc was up for debate; his first port of call was to head to the meeting this evening, and see just what lay in store.

A final gaze skyward to the sun in the sky; it’s rays warm on his skin. A smile crossed his lips gently as he closed his eyes, straightening his back and stretching once more. A whisper escaped his lips like a thief in the night, but it’s words carried a weight with them.

“For the blood of the Tribe.”

[Wornag (Kronnor)]

Nice story You do love to include the name Makaroth in every story you write.

[Kozgugore]

Great to get some insights into an orc, even if it's one I'm yet to properly get to know! Love your writing style too. Very clear, intricate yet easy to read. ^^

[Azolg]

(( 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.

[Rashka]

Lovely stories! Looking forward to more!

[Azolg]

(Artwork was found here.https://mrnepa.deviantart.com/art/Cave-sketch-396499507)

Filth

I feel dirty.

A grunt escaped Azolgs lips as he emerged from his cave once more. Hidden high deep in the mountains near Garadar, it once had become his hideaway back when he’d been Mag’har. It was good to revisit old havens once more. The cave itself was unimpressive; a few furs scattered across the floor, a jug of water and some scraps of food. Perhaps the most impressive feature of said cave was the carving on the wall - Identical to the brand across his own chest.

I’ve been used.

Daylight crept into the cave as he lifted the enchantment to hide it away. To all other unsuspecting eyes, the entrance was simply part of the cliff-face, no more no less. But place a hand on the rock and you’d soon find it fall into the cave. Stepping outside the illusion he breathed deeply, standing naked in early morning light. It was freeing, to live like a beast once more; all the time in the world to meditate and spend time with his favorite companion - the warmth of fire.

Taken advantage of.

He was sure the Skywises would handle a week or two without him around. They were a capable duo, bull-headed and with a good set of common sense between them both. They’d easily pass the trials ahead and be offered the oath. But he wasn’t entirely sure they’d take it if he was honest with himself. They were old heads on young bodies; tried and tested in their methods and inspired by the old ways of doing things. Truly a pair to look up to in all honesty.

Wasted. Left behind like cheap meat.

Azolg sighed and looked back at his things. Perhaps it was time to return afterall, even if it meant finally dealing with the consequences of what happened. Besides, he hadn’t really been in the wrong per-se - The other party had been the one to avoid all contact. He strode back into the cave, casting one last look to the Pyremaster staff leant against the wall.

“I have a duty to fufill.”

[Okiba]

Always glad to read your posts Azolg!

Do keep them coming, it keeps absent mooks like me in the loop!   

[Azolg]

Gaisha

It was quiet later in the evening and Azolg had a chance to reflect on himself after the Clan meeting. Quite a good one to return to in all honesty, he mused to himself as he settled down on one of the nearby hillocks in the Crossroads. All in all, his return to the Clan had been a successful one after such a long time away, well over a year infact; and he’d been accepted back into the fold almost instantly. Having recounted why he left in the first place and explaining what had happened, no Orc had a single word to say against his reasoning. It was a higher calling he had to fufill - His most important work as a Pyremaster.

The bone before him was laid out next to a whittling tool ready to be carved. A simple gift for a not so simple recipient though, it would be quite the talisman to keep said Orc safe. Azolg hummed softly as he began the slow and arduous work of whittling the bone into the shape of a rough talisman. As he worked, his mind wandered back to the previous year. Of her. Gaisha.

~

“You know, you really shouldn’t wind me up so. I’ll rip your ears off if you're not careful.” The female Orc cackled softly as she leant up next to Azolg, the pair of them as naked as beasts in the night.

“Pah. You’d be bored if I didn’t. Thats what makes me so entertaining, surely?” Azolg growled in return and pulled the female into his embrace, kissing her deeply and powerfully.

Gaisha cackled as he kissed her, pushing the lean, but small male onto his back and crawling on top of him, pressing herself against his naked rough skin. She pulled back briefly, staring into his grey eyes “I think I love you.” She murmured softly.

~

Azolg lifted himself from the memory briefly, thinking back to the feeling of her skin on his. He paused his whittling briefly, wiping a tear from his eye as the memory continued on while he worked on the gift.

~

“Remember .. You have to show no fear at all. Even the slightest bit of fear the Fire will know you aren’t ready!”

“I know! I’m not afraid!” Gaisha snapped, growling as she focused and prepared herself. Even now she showed small signs of fear; the twitch of her fingers, the shudder in her thighs and even the slightest quiver of terror in her voice. All these things would not be ignored by Fire. But Azolg remained silent. This was a fear she had to overcome herself.

Gaisha stepped a foot into the fire, and screamed as the flames burned her flesh. Falling back into his arms she both growled and whimpered “I don’t understand .. I’m trying to force myself to not be afraid. I want to be like you, unafraid .. In tune with Fire .. Strong!” She held onto him, her own yellow eyes staring into his desperately.

“You think im not afraid? I’m afraid of many, many things Gaisha. Afraid of losing you for starters.”

~

He returned to reality once more to study his work. The talisman was coming along nicely, a circle outline with the mark of the Clan starting to engrave into it. It would be a fine gift, and once fully blessed and enchanted will serve as a great protective enchantment. As he smiles at the piece, his thoughts wander once more back to that which he found most painful. Her.

~

The pyre burned strong and brightly in the light of the moon. Azolg tried his hardest to fight back tears, but watching her body turn to ash on the pyre was too much to bear. He stood back, finishing the final words of the Pyre speech and allowing his tears to flow freely now. Too short their time had been together, not but a few scant weeks; two months at most, but their love had been a whirlwind of intensity. Fate however, was a cruel mistress.

“I won’t ever forget you, Gaisha Ironwind. Not as long as I shall live.”

Azolg looked down at the small pendant. A simple, small bloodied Ogrehorn. He closed his fingers around it, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could.

~

Azolg signed softly, and paused once more from his whittling. He untucked the Ogrehorn pendant from underneath his robe and held it in the palm of his hand, looking at it sadly. She’d been a special Orc, and had changed his entire view on whom and what he found himself attracted to. Had she lived, they’d have been mated by now.

“In another life, my heart.” He whispered softly to the pendant, raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. Then, tucking it under his robe once more, he returned to the whittling of said talisman.