Kulgar: A Tattered, Old Tale

[Kulgar]

Just a little story for some insight about Kulgar's lunacy and the lovely spirits of his ancestors that he sees daily. I hope you enjoy it!

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Kulgar: A Tattered, Old Tale.
Chapter 1.

“I told you not to go to him.”
“But father, look. Look at what I can do. Look at this power. LOOK!”
“I warned you.”
“You are a weak and pathetic man, father! You are old and frail, your life is spent! Leave me be to find my own glory and honor!”
“Think of your ancestors, young one. Think of what they would say if they saw you in your sorry state now.”
“My ancestors are dead and rotting in their graves!”



The flaming, red disk that was the sun blazed relentlessly in the virgin, blue sky. Beating down on the vast wasteland below, the golden sun’s rays baked the ground to a crisp, the layers of clay cracking and flaking beneath the sun’s persistent assault. Harsh and bitter winds roared across the barren land, tearing through animal and tree alike as the windblown sand blasted into the orange crags like pointed daggers.

In the shelter of a valley was Kulgar, huddled in his small hut and garbed in his dirty and ragged robes. He rocked backwards and forwards on the spot, his lips moving soundlessly as his eyes flickered behind his closed eyelids. With every silent word he uttered, the folds of skin lining his face rose and fell like the tides as his features soon became indistinguishable amidst his sea of wrinkles. He continued to murmur under his breath as the wind howled outside his rickety hut.



“They are all gone. My wife, my son, my father. All of them!

Dead! Lost! Buried!
Gone.
Gone!
GONE!

O my poor wife, my poor son! O what have I done! What have I done?! How could I have known? I was young. I was foolish! I was blinded by my own greed! Will you ever look upon me with mercy, Mokh’ra? O will you ever forgive me, my little Roktar?”



Kulgar slowly peeled open his eyes, wrapping himself more tightly in his tattered robes as the ruthless winds continued to wail outside. “Mokh’ra. Mokh’ra. Mokh’ra, what would you have me do now?” said Kulgar softly, his voice coarse and raspy with age. He looked up hopefully, the pupils of his eyes quivering.

Leave.

Kulgar inhaled sharply, “Leave! Where? Where would you have me go, Mokh’ra?”

Orgrimmar.

Kulgar: A Tattered, Old Tale.
Chapter 2.

Kulgar buried his face in his grimy hands and wept. Tears streamed down his dirty face, the tracks like muddy trails across his aged and wrinkled countenance. He looked up, his eyes welling with salty tears as he stammered hopefully, “O Mokh’ra, my sweet, sweet Mokh’ra. Why do you hurt me so? Why? Do I truly deserve this punishment? Have I truly done wrong as you say, Mokh’ra? Mokh’ra! Mokh’ra! Why will you not answer me! Mokh’ra! Mokh’ra!”

Be silent.

Kulgar clasped his mouth shut. He wailed pathetically and said, “Is that you, my dear Roktar? Is that you I hear, my poor, little Roktar? O please, Roktar, have mercy! Have mercy upon my old and dying soul, Roktar!”

You are a weak and pathetic man, father! You are old and frail, your life is spent! Leave me be to find my own glory and honor!

The old orc let out a pained and agonized howl as he clutched his chest in agony, the words piercing his heart like spears. He collapsed to the floor, sobbing into his grubby and ragged robes. “O you are cruel, Roktar! Cruel! I have done all that your mother asked of me. I have traveled for weeks and weeks with no food, no water, no solace! What would you have me do now, Roktar? I beg of you, forgive me! Forgive me, please!”

Stand up.

Kulgar obeyed. He clawed up the sides of his detached hut and shivered in the corner, his eyes darting side to side.

I have power. Do you wish to see?

The shrunken orc continued to sob, closing his eyes as he rocked backwards and forwards on the heels of his bare feet. “O how I love you, Roktar! O how I love you, my sweet Mokh’ra! My heart aches with each passing minute that I do not see your sweet faces. Please, my little Roktar, please, my dove Mokh’ra! O great ancestors, take my life. Let me see their sweet faces!”

No.

“PLEASE!”

But father, look. Look at this power. Look at what I can do. LOOK!

Kulgar screamed as he felt a hand strike him across the face. His knees buckled under him and he tumbled to the floor. He grasped his face, the flaming streaks burning green across his cheek. He opened his eyes, his hands shaking as he saw a tall figure stand before him.

The figure sneered at him, her face contorting into a grimacing scowl as she swept her long and spiked tail across the floor. She ruffled her black wings and shook her mane of raven hair, her grooved horns glistening in the gloomy hut and in her gnarled and taloned hands was a jagged whip. She breathed deeply, her exposed chest expanding and contracting like the tides.

“Mokh’ra! O my sweet, Mokh’ra!”