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Restless Warrior

Started by Sakinra/Akanra, May 26, 2016, 05:53:43 PM

Previous topic - Next topic


Sakinra lowered herself carefully into the hammock. Laying in the dark silence, listening. Her eyes open staring at the peak of the tent above. The crackle of the fire outside and the movement of the occupants of Marshal's stead. But no voices of the Tribe. They had all gone off to hunt or rest in their various camps.

All that remained here was her and the Corpse.

Another fallen warrior on her watch. How many had it been? She had once been told that all are greeted in the afterlife by every life they took. She wondered how many she'd recognise and have to face for her failures.

Closing her eyes she rested her hand on her face. Her numb, lip swollen. An eye she could barely see out of. Trailing her hand down to her waist she could feel the black squelch of bruised blood beneath the surface, aching deep within muscles where her gut had been struck again and again. She could still taste the blood and bile, her mind slow and dulled, still grappling with consciousness and concussion.


She awoke with a start. It was much later.

Sakinra lay in the dark. Her back ached from how she had slept.

Something felt wrong, although she could not put her finger on it. Stretching over the edge she reached for her axe, her hand closing around its neck, she breathed in relief. The wood felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers.

She opened her eyes. The darkness was complete at this hour. She could not even make out her hand in front of her face. Nor the axe beneath her on the floor. Nor even the edges of the tent itself.

Having reassured herself the axe was at hand, she groaned softly releasing the axe and laying back on her side.

She lay there, something nagging at her thoughts, not letting her rest.

Something was still not right.

The Jungle was Silent.

Her eyes flew open.

She could see nothing.

She reached for her axe.

It was not there.

Then it began.

Soft, low. Barely audible.

She willed herself to move but found herself frozen.

She could feel the kiss of the breath as it moved the hairs on the back of her neck, hear it's sickly rattle with each exhale.

The ache in her back was not that of exhaustion, but heavy weight laid behind her, its form cold enough to chill the muscles.

She turned her head slowly, not daring to look behind her.

The empty, lifeless eyes of Rak'mal's bloated corpse bored into her own. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. She twisted and scrambled to disentangle herself from the net of the hammock. Thrashing trapped in its grasp.

She fell out, hitting the ground hard, her hand finding the axe. Closing around it, she tried to wrench it upwards, but it was too light, moved too swiftly. She stared at it, holding in her hand the shattered splintered haft of her axe.


She scrambled half under the hammock, arms spread wide to find the axe-head, her blade, anything.

A light flickered behind her casting her shadow against the inside of the tent. A terrible, ominous glow, growing brighter every moment. Sakinra scrambled to her feet, turning, seeing, as if in slow motion, as the sphere of flames struck the tent, the fabric consumed, seared away as it enveloped her. She raised her arms, only to see her skin and flesh bubble and melt away in the heat.


She awoke with a start. Staring up at the inside of the tent, her breathing ragged, skin drenched in sweat.

She stared wide-eyed up at the inside of her tent. Sitting up, she covered her face, gasping for air. She pushed herself to stand, picking up her axe, she pushed open the flap of the tent.

Outside there was carnage.

The camp was littered with corpses, mutilated and cleaved open. Faces she knew;

...Srelok, Rhonya, Calgron, Feraleye....

...and Too many she didn't. She walked, picking her way through them, horror etched onto her face.

"What have you done?"

The voice drifted from behind her. Cold and Ethereal. She snapped around. The Figure must have been an Orc, by proportion, but nothing could be seen but the dark robe engulfing it. Winds whipped around it, pulling at the fabric, making the figure appear as if it was coming apart at the seams.

"What have you done, Sakinra?"

The voice echoes strangely. She raises her axe. Backing away.

"Done? I haven't done anything?"

The figure glides towards her, turning the corpses as it passes. Their glassy eyes reflecting the empty sky above.


The figures voice hisses, edged with echoes of every voice silenced in the camp. Falling backwards she twists slamming into the ground.

Slowly, one of the bodies lifts its head, turning towards her, reaching its hand out.

"No, no, No! Please no!"

Okram Graywolf gasps, blood rattling in his throat as he stretches his arm out to her, her axe embedded in his chest where she had fallen.

"You -failed- them Rageheart."

She picks up her axe, hauling it free blood splatters across the field. Swinging it in a vicious arc towards the figure, it's halted in mid air. She tried to pull it free to swing again but it won't move.

"Sssaaakinraaaaa." Okrams voice echoed strangely, drawn out.

The figure threw its head back and laughed, the hood falling. A shadowed Orcs face turned to her, made of shaped mist, no skull, no body behind it. Just the mockery of a countenance.

"Perhaps you haven't yet. But you will. You will know every one of these faces in time Rageheart. And you will fail them all. All but the one who betrays you."


As her name is roared the figure vanished, everything burning away in the brilliant light.

Sakinra blinked in the gloom of her tent, trying to focus after the blinding light. Her axe still in her hands.

Okram stared into her face, worried and exhausted. Her axe immovable because it's being held in his fierce grip.

"Sakinra? Can you hear me? It's alright, it's alright."  

She let go of the axe, stepping back away from him. He carefully places it down, leaning it against a crate.

"What happened? I heard you yell..."

He trails off.

"I'm fine."

"You're not-"

"No. Okram. I'm fine. It was just a dream."

She tried to be reassuring before burying her face in her hands. He frowned at her, speaking softly;

"You don't end up brandishing an axe for a dream-"

She snaps her head up harshly, glaring at him.

"Enough! I'm not some child to be chastised and comforted. You're not my bloody keeper"

He bites his tongue, clearly bitterly wanted to snap back.

"I'm going for a walk."

Sakinra stands up, picking up her axes and breastplate, she stalks out. Leaving him without another word.


Sat by the edge of the pools she yanked off the armour that had been so hastily crammed on after she'd stormed out of the camp like some petulant child.

Sakinra Rageheart. There never was a bigger idiot than you, do you know that? A more stubborn, stupid, pig-headed-

Insult by insult pile up, scolding herself as piece by piece the armour was put aside. Peeling off the rancid bandages binding her chest she slipped into the hot springs, taking the tattered cloth with her. Letting the water ease away the pains and aches from the tired and bruised flesh she begins to clean the strips of fabric.

Images flicker from her nightmares, mangled with the words of the Soothsayer the night before.

"Three of Wands, Six of Swords."

"You Prepare to go forth, yet this is no walk to valour or glory."

"A Journey of regretful transition."

"Here at the end of your journey, you find a master of skill and tact, of Action and Resourcefulness."

"The Seven of Swords. A figure, whom you respect and trust, both mentor and friend, shall betray you, stealing away into the night."

"The Hanged Man... and leaves you to sacrifice yourself, a fate you accept in your final moments..."

His voice echoed in her memory as she clambered out of the water, stretching out the now vaguely clean bandages over a rock to dry. Slipping back into the pools, she submerged herself to clean her hair.

As her eyes close she sees the shadowy figure, his hand stretched out to reach her. She cries out, drawing in lungfuls of water. Snapping her eyes open she struggled and scrambled towards the surface, floundering onto the shore.

Sprawled on her back, she lay very still, listening to her heartbeat until the sun has risen high into the sky.

Sakinra pulled on her armour and began the walk back to the camp. It would not be long to the pyre.
We're going to have a Grown up Party! It's just like a kids party, but with more crying....


Ooohh. I like. Seems like I'm missing out on a lot!
Rashka Facebreaker - Battlesworn of the Nag'Ogar


Interesting! I wonder how this will turn out!

"If you could pour pain into a mold of an orc and then cut off its foot to piss it off, you’d get Srelok." Gulrok Ragehowl


Oooh. Mystery! Me likey very much. Enjoyed the read a whole lot!

Though personally, I for one blame Siyah. Always blame Siyah.
Kozgugore Feraleye - Chieftain of the Red Blade


"If you could pour pain into a mold of an orc and then cut off its foot to piss it off, you’d get Srelok." Gulrok Ragehowl


Siyah almost killed Rashka with nightmares. Always blame Siyah.
Rashka Facebreaker - Battlesworn of the Nag'Ogar