Matron Knows Best

[Razaron]

Matron Knows Best

Heartblood was a shell of it’s former self, the Bleeding Hollow Clan had gone to war under the banner of the Horde and all that were left in this once thriving village were the young and old. Razaron would spend most of his time a top a nearby monument overlooking the Tanaan Jungle wishing he would be out there in the world bringing honor to his clan, “Why do I have to be so young and weak?” he scolded to himself “Don’t wish away your youth young one, the flowers may bloom again but a orc will only be young once!” Razaron turned around to see a old orc female with a walking stick. “What would you know you old crow-crow?” scolded Razaron in a childish manner before turning his back on the orc. “No matter how far you look the horizon will always separate you from your father, Razaron.” Razaron froze for a moment at the mention of his name, how did this old hag know my name he thought? He clenched his fists and prepared to get face to face with the old orc but to his surprise she was already behind him. “I know your father so I know you. Now!” her voice demanding respect, “You will learn from this old crow.. and perhaps you’ll survive the next fall.” Razaron was puzzled, “Who are you?” Razaron asked. “Me? I’m your new trainer, they call me the Matron.”

“So-So my father told you to watch over me?” Razaron asked cautiously. “Yes, yes he did but enough with stupid questions boy!” snarled the Matron as she suddenly hurled a long training stick at him which he clumsily let slip through his fingers and fall to the floor. Razaron looked at the stick and retorted, “Why do I need stick? I have my fathers axe!” Which he took from his back, struggling to grasp it even with both hands. “That is why boy! You will grow in to that axe but for now it is worthless!” Worthless? Thought Razaron, worthless? The anger built up inside Razaron and he charged straight at the Matron floundering forwards with the axe ready to reclaim the honor of his ancestral axe. The Matron raised her stick and at the last moment changed stance and let Razaron stumble straight past her falling over with the axe sliding out of the way and off the monument. “Aka’magosh to the axe boy, thankyou.” Razaron felt humiliated, he was beaten with ease by a old woman. “Get up!” grunted the Matron. “Like most orcs” tutted the Matron, “All brute strength, no finesse. Those that are trained by me have the best of both worlds.” Razaron got to his feet brushing the dirt off himself. “Now catch.” The Matron had reclaimed Razaron’s stick and it was launched towards his face, this time however he snatched the stick and grasped it with both hands. “Better! Now we will begin the dance!” proclaimed the Matron.

“This is the Bleeding Hollow dance, embrace the spirits of air, be swift and strike suddenly.” The Matron starts to swirl the stick around elegantly and to Razaron’s eyes it looks like she’s gliding. “But-but I’m not a shaman Matron..” Gasped Razaron. “No, not yet anyway.” The Matron eyes piercing at Razaron searchingly. “But they will answer your call eventually, you will do it over and over again until it becomes who.. you.. are!” Razaron nodded in agreement and for the first time in his life he felt like he had direction. “Now come boy, lets continue!” the Matron had spoken.