The Four Tenets, a Blacksmiths journey

[Therak]

There'll be more then one story posted here, I'm planning one for each task, and perhaps some others for the "new blood" period of Gruthikk

Honor
Gruthikk leaned down over the elf, frowning with disgust as he cut off the nose. The grisly work made him queesy, it was one thing to kill someone. A wholly different thing to mutilate the corpse. Gnash had talked about honor, but there was no honor in this. Not the slightest shred. It was disgusting, grisly and wrong. With a growl Gruthikk grabbed the needle and thread, holding 9 other noses. Shoving the needle through the nose, completing the necklace. Spitting on the ground he got up. Looking about him, the smell of the forest wet and heavy around him. Seeing nothing but trees and vegetation he quickly made a small pyre for the elf. Pouring oil over her and setting it ablaze. Standing, watching the fire slowly consume her. She had fought well, her sword had almost gotten him at one point. But in the end he was the one alive, and she was dead. He smiled faintly and scratched his neck. He knew nothing about how the night elves treated their dead. But he had heard somewhere that one should honor ones enemies. It felt wrong to mutilate their corpses, and he could not just leave them there afterwards. Not when he had stolen their flesh. As the flames danced in front of his eyes, the memories of the other 9 pyres he had made flooded him. Dwarves, Humans and Elves, even a Gnome had fallen to his hammer. All of them enemies worthy of respect, all of them worth honoring. All of them mutilated and desecrated. All of them burnt on the pyre in the end. He hoped their spirits understood, that they would hold no grudge for what he had done.
A crash of thunder stirred Gruthikk from his thoughts, he had completely missed the lightning before it. But it was hard to miss the downpour that came after. The pyre had burnt out, leaving naught but ashes and memories. Gruthikk looked back one more time before walking into the forest, back to his smithy. Gnash would get his damned trophy amulet, the sooner it was out of Gruthikks hands the better...

[Therak]

Courage
Every step was agony, every shifting of weight was painful. Gruthikk was walking through the Crossroads, trying to find his tutor, Gnash had said to meet him here, armed. Gruthikk carried his shield slung over his back, his hammer at his belt and his bandages tied tightly to his chest. He was a bit dizzy, the pain mudding his thoughts, he had trouble breathing, but he guessed that was just the effect in an injured lung.

Gnash was standing in the inn, drinking, Gruthikks attempts at explaining that he was injured and should be resting to avoid permanent damage fell on deaf ears. As soon as the other newblood arrived, Gruthikk was ordered along. The trip was a blur of pain and agony, it was all he could do to avoid slipping from the saddle.

Their destination was a hut in the middle of nowhere, a tauren and a few cages with wild animals. Through the fog that was his mind, Gruthikk managed to understand he was meant to fight some of them, to "proove himself". Things did not look to be in his favor. The other newblood, some berserking lump of scars fought off his opponent with ease. Gruthikk however, didn't last long as the wolf pounced him, landing on his chest. The pain was so intense he couldn't even scream. Blood immediately soaking the bandages as his wounds were ripped open again. Gruthikk was leaning against the tree, Saurok, the other new blood applying a bandage. Before going at another beast while Gruthikk got a few moments of rest before it was his turn again. This time an eagle was his opponent. And not a small one either. Barely able to stand, Gruthikk flailed and waved his hammer around. Somewhere along the middle, things turned foggy again, and then, as he came to. The eagle was dead at his feet, and his bandages once again soaked through...

Travel again, riding hard through the barrens, Gruthikk had tied himself to the saddle, clenching his teeth as the movement tore at his wound. Blood soaked bandages barely doing anything to stop the bleeding, blood running down over his stomach and down to his thighs, soaking the fur of his wolf. Somewhere he climbed off, and climbed on to a wyvern, fumbling to tie himself to it, hoping to avoid a fatal drop along the way.

Thousand needles, a damned place. Confusing, dry, and filled with long dangerous drops down. Gruthikk slid off the wyvern, landing hard on his ass, struggling to his feet. He felt oddly fine. Things had gotten a bit funny colors, and the shapes seemed to be drifting. Everything was, greyer then he remembered. The winds ripped at him as he stumbled through Freewind Post after Gnash and Saurok. He felt oddly lightheaded. They reached a small campfire, with a troll by it. There was alot of words being said, but they weren't important. Was the clouds always like this? They felt both close and far away at the same time. Gruthikk wobbled a bit on his feet as he thought about it. And didn't Gnash use to be green? When did he turn gray? It didn't matter. Gruthikk surpressed the urge to laugh at it. Gnash was talking again, looking straight at him. saying something about tenet of courage. The troll gave him something to drink, it made him cough and his throat burned. Gnash was talking again, but he was beginning to sound far away. And like he was wearing a helmet. Saurok took a few steps forwards and dissapeared off the edge. Strange, wasn't that... Really far down? Gruthikk took a stumbling step forwards, woah, dizzy... Another step, and suddently everything was black, he felt himself hit the ground, slide a bit. And then he wasn't touching anything.

Next thing he remembered was being helped into his smithy. And left in a chair. Somewhere along the line the priest had rubbed something in his wound, and done something. But it was still bleeding. Gruthikk took a wobbly step up, and got to work lighting the forge. placing a rod of metal in the fire. Waiting for it to turn white. The bleeding had to be stopped, otherwise he'd not live the night. He stumbled around, looking for something to bite in, he settled for one of his thick leather gloves he used while working.
The metal rod sizzled, and glowed white as he removed it from the furnace. Biting hard against the glove, tears stinging in his eyes as he looked down on his wound, and pressed the rod into it. Everything turned white, at first. The pain felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. Then, it hit him like a speeding kodo. For several seconds he held the rod there, unable to move, muscles clenched up in pain. Screaming through the glove in his mouth. Roaring like a mad bear. Then the impulse finally got through the pain to his hands, and he dropped the rod, taking a few slumping steps towards the bed, faceplanting down into it, before rolling over on his back, long enough to get a fresh set of bandages on...