To Be Horde..

[Argrona]

Stepping out into the light nightly breeze, Argrona lit her pipe quietly and began to make her way down the steps towards the gates of Hammerfall.
The tired grunts warding the gates swayed with the wind, barely even noticing her pass.  The Trolls are getting quite insufferable, she thought to herself.
Passing beneath a pair of trees huddled against the old walls, the Pyremaster trotted along the shingle path towards a lonesome rock peering out above the crunchy grass.
Perching upon the rock gave her time to reflect on recent events.  She was New Blood now, and that was something.  
To earn the trust..  Or at least the tolerance of the people this soon had surpassed her expectations.

Thoughts swept through her mind.  The Kor'Kron accept no apology, and take no quarter.  This decision would be one way.
A puff on her pipe.  The Gromsblood helped level her head.
Why had Thrall chosen Garrosh as Warchief?  Why had he not returned?  ...What of Vol'Jin?  Was he really dead?  What does this mean for th-..
Another puff on her pipe.

"These things are beyond me."  She croaked quietly, half to herself.  She drummed her fingertips lightly upon the urn at her belt in thought.
Something did not feel right.
Looking down towards the words inked into her left arm:

To protect the Warchief
Be it in this world or the next
And to serve his Horde

Those words she carried gladly just below her shoulder for years..  But now they made her sick.
She grimaced a little.  Reaching down to her side, Argrona drew her curved ritual blade slowly.  
Resting her pipe on the rock, she pressed the edge of the blade against her marked skin and began to bleed out the ink.
The process was long and painful, her pipe extinguished before she had finished.  Black cruor began to trickle down her arm.
Soon the words could not be made out for blood and ink.  She paused to wipe her arm clean.  Only three full words remained..

To Be Horde

She froze briefly, letting the knife down on the stone.   A gentle zephyr tussled her hair, and she felt a swelling around her.
Slipping the blade back into her robes, Argrona was very still.  She listened and waited, nodding ever-so-slightly.
Returning her pipe to her lips, she began to stride back towards her new home.

She whispered.  "I will not fail."




More to come

[Sadok]

((I definitely enjoyed this intriguing glimpse into the psyche of a relative newcomer to the tribe! More of the same, please. ))

[Garulfkar]

(( An excellent peek into the heart of Argrona. I look forward to reading more. ))

[Argrona]

Finding a seat upon the crooked steps, Argrona assembled her pipe with some difficulty.  The Blood magic had set off tremors in her mind.
Spilling some loose pipeweed across her lap, she cursed under her breath and muttered 'Reth' in a gutteral tongue.  Smoke plumed from the bowl of her pipe.
Taking a deep breath of the pale smoke, she leaned back and sighed..  'I have damned myself' she thought.  'To stumble now..  I will surely fall.'
She looked upon her bare hand in dismay.  The ritual knife had bitten deep, carved bone and cut muscle.  Even with her healing, it felt stiff and twisted.
The Mindmoil was setting in.  She felt her chest quaking and fingertips turn numb.  The shriek of an Owl or some other nightly bird startled the Pyremaster, choking a little
on pipe smoke.  She wheezed and hawked like a trapped fox, finding the air cold and sharp.

Blood magic had long been known to this Orc.  Her time in the Cult had taught her many things..  And the departed taught even more.
It was taboo, even to her.  She loathed and hated the very thought of such magics..  But Argrona was no fool.  She knew that this evil could be used for good.
After a bowl or two of mixed herbs the gyre had left her mind, and she came back to her senses.

The Pyremaster lifted her marked bone from her belt, turning it over in her free hand.  The trinket brought her some comfort.
'No..  It was not wrong.'  A ring of smoke fluttered off into the night sky.  'You did your duty.'
Holding a sprite of red fire in the palm of her hand, she watched the licking tendrils mend her rended skin.  The sound of wood crackling on an open fire filled her ears.
'He will not like you for it..  More fool him.  There will be others who understand.'
As the fire slipped from her fingers, she saw the High Blade shuffling back in through the gates.
'This will not be the last time you have to do this.'  A thin stream of smoke.  'Amog Har.'