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Struggles Of a New World- Skint stories

Started by Rhonya, May 11, 2019, 04:18:12 PM

Previous topic - Next topic


Another day, another struggle. What had they told her again? Oh, yes.

It’d be an easy job! All she had to do was take care of the beasts and make sure the right provisions were delivered at the right place. Even a simple thing like her should be able to do that, right?

Skint had let the insult slide, just responding with a soft sigh. She rather have them think her simple than getting their hate directed at herself. So she had just bowed her head and muttered a reply that could’ve meant basically anything. One of the large male orcs clapped her on the shoulder with a laugh, which almost made her topple over, before he put his hands around her slender waist. She wasn’t that much smaller than him in length, but she was a twig compared to him in bulk. Without another word the orc lifted her up on the supply cart, on top of a few sacks of grain.
“There you go, White. Do the Horde proud, eh?” another laugh sounded from the orcs around them at those words.

Skint send them a small smile and seconds later the cart started to move and slowly they left the grand city of the Zandalari, crossing a bridge decorated in gold. Even after having been here a few weeks now, Skint couldn’t get used to the sheer size of the city and all the glittering whenever the sun came out from the clouds. It actually hurt her eyes to look at it for too long.

“Don’t mind dem too much. Ya won’t see dem for a while now. Wat was ya name again?” The voice shook Skint from her thoughts. It was one of the two Trolls that were up front on the cart, directing the direhorns that pulled it on where to go. She turned her head, pushing the mass of white hair out of the way before she could see him, looking back at her. He himself had pale grey skin as well, but his hair was blue, golden rings decorating his tusks and ears. There was a smile on his face though, genuine and not mocking.
She found herself smiling back at him tentatively.
“Skint. My name is Skint.”

One of his eyebrows went up slightly, but he nodded to her before turning back to look at the dirt road ahead. “Odd name for an Orc, no? But never mind dat. Skint it be den. I’m Juza and dis be Perro.” He clapped his buddy on the shoulder, but the somewhat smaller male Troll only grunted in response.
“Perro aint too happy with dis trip, but dat’s wat ya get when ya get caught drunk during guard duty, Perro! Da boring jobs.” A hearty laugh sounded from Juza. At least someone was cheery.

“And dun ya worry about da job, Skint. We know wat we be doing. Ya just do wat dem told ya a do and we’ll get along fine!”

Later that evening, Skint had to confess, it wasn’t that bad. The beasts were resting, having had their food from her after being loosened from the cart. They were somewhere in Zuldazar still, the jungle having come alive around them when night fell. Nightly creatures skittering around, little fireflies visible near their campfire. Juza had given her a bowl of still mainly fresh fruits and nuts, sharing from the supplies they’d gotten for the trip.
She looked over at him, his form illuminated by the firelight. He was playing a simple wooden flute, while Perro was singing a Trollish song in a low tone. The two clearly often worked together. Skint somewhat felt the odd one out. But when was that something new?

She smiled though as she quietly ate from her food. Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea, coming here. The Trolls accepted her better than her own kind, so far. They mainly thought her interesting. An oddity, sure, but not in a negative way. They also didn’t treat her as a child, nor tried to constantly pat her on the head or hair, like so many orcs tended to do.
Even so, she’d been lucky no one of the Mag’har recognized her so far. Even if she’d been at the back in most of the battles, she stood out. Or perhaps they had simply taken one look at her frail form and decided she wasn’t a threat. Not that she thought she was one, but with her past…

For now, she was good. Safe, with these two. Perhaps she could build a new future here, on Azeroth.
"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack."


A wall of dark green trees loomed up ahead in front of the cart. Skint was sitting on top of the sacks again, but now facing the front, the road ahead. She was leaning with her hands on the edge of the cart, wide eyed peering between the two forms of her companions, Perro and Juza. Even they looked a little worried.

“Welcome ta Nazmir, Skint. We won’t be staying long here, dis land be cursed. But dere be some outposts we need ta resupply. Hopefully we’ll be back out in a day or two again. Keep ya eyes open, little Orc. For things ya see, and things ya dun see.” Juza said in a low tone, not looking at her, but keeping his eyes on the road ahead. The beasts of burden pulling the cart were somewhat nervous as well, snorting and moving their majestic horned heads from side to side. Perro only grunted in disapproval. Skint learned he wasn’t one for many words, but she didn’t mind that much.

The past days had taken them through Zuldazar, a beautiful trip past a few Troll and Horde outposts. Juza and Perro were good company, not minding Skints own reluctance to speak. They shared stories with her, food and blankets and when Skint once tripped and fell down into a muddy pool, Perro had even helped her wash her hair and braided part of it again after having cleaned it properly. He was surprisingly gentle.

Nazmir, though… Juza had warned her about Nazmir. She could still hear his words as he crouched in front of her while she was eating something. “Dere will be dangers, Skint. Ya shouldn’t leave da cart out of ya sight. Don’t go far away from it. Don’t step into da water if ya can’t see da bottom. And watever ya do, don’t follow any lights or noises. Blood Trolls still be here.”

And so here they were. The air was humid, heavy and warm, the cart making its way somewhat deeper into the swamps now, the night sky completely blocked from view here by the trees around them. It was too dark to see anything either way.
“We’ll make camp soon, dere be an outpost nearby already here.”Juza spoke softly, keeping his voice low. Skint squinted as she looked around, not able to see much at all.
“I’ll take your word for it…” She said softly, not even sure if Juza heard her, seeing he didn’t respond.

He’d spoken true though, the first outpost was nearby. Skint focused on getting the two direhorns their proper food and rest while the two Trolls unloaded part of the supplies for the settlement.
Juza had told her she’d be free to do whatever she wanted the remainder of the evening, as long as she didn’t leave the outpost. So Skint pulled her hood over her head to save herself the odd looks from the others stationed here, grabbed herself some food and made her way to the edge of the outpost, seating herself behind a low and crumbling little wall.

She couldn’t see anything out ahead. Nothing. With a small smile on her face she lifted her hands and closed her eyes.

Imagine the wings, the delicate lines, the tiny antennas and legs. Imagine them and believe they are real… Make them real, so their inner Light will illuminate where you are and help keep you safe.

When she opened her eyes, multiple beautiful, tiny delicate butterflies fluttered around her head. All were made of pure Light, emitting a soft glow above her head and in a small circle around herself, so she could at least see something.
The way how the Draenei had taught her to will the Light into existence, into a physical power. Believe. The butterflies always calmed her down, made her feel at least a little bit safer and gave her memories from back home, when it all hadn’t been so bad yet, when she hadn’t figured out yet how blind she’d been… Just memories of her lessons.

So she sat there, eating a late dinner, squinting into the dangerous swamps of Nazmir, the butterflies lazily fluttering around her. This place couldn’t be â€"that- bad, right?
"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack."


One day had passed. Only one day since she was freed, but for Skint it felt longer. There was this sudden freedom, no obligations, no more pain, no more hoping that the end would be quick.
She was sitting just outside the tent she and Irkha were allowed to use. It was dark around her, somewhere deep in the night. The only light she could see were the few torches in the camp, some campfires here and there from the clan-orcs and the odd glow that forever seemed to come from the temple in the distance.
Skint was tired, but she couldn’t seem to get more sleep than just a few hours every time she tried. She’d scare herself awake constantly, every little noise, Irkha accidentally turning in her sleep and bumping into her.
Irkha… A name even Skint hadn’t known until they were freed. She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping orc she shared the tent with. They’d never gotten the chance to speak, before. She felt such a kinship with this she-orc, though she didn’t know anything about her.
With a soft sigh Skint ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts dragging her back to that one day. Many orcs had asked about it already, but she had never given them the long answer. Only said enough words to make them stop asking.

The caravan made it deeper into the jungle, Skint once more sitting on the back. Perro was his normal silent self, peering with squinted eyes into the swamp around him, ever cautious. Juza on the other hand was entertaining himself by singing soft songs in Trollish, but even he had his weapon on his lap. The road was muddy, dangerous, he’d said.
All of a sudden the cart stopped, lurching to one side with a loud groaning noise of protesting wood. Skint instantly fell off, rolling into the mud with a surprised outcry. The two smaller direhorns that pulled the huge cart also cried out, they’d gotten stuck in their harness and were being pulled close to the ground on one side, with one side of the carts wheels sinking away in the mud.

Juza was on his feet, instantly. Perro was already trying to loosen the harness. “Damnit. Dis a trap! Be aware!” Juza called out, the large Troll squinting into the darkness.

It had indeed been a trap. Out of nowhere, odd looking trolls swarmed them. This was the first time Skint saw any. Pale skinned, like her, but these were painted. In blood. Red, black stripes, white skull faces, barely wearing anything but scraps of cloth and piercings and golden jewels.
She didn’t get to take a good look at them for long, within moments they’d surrounded the cart, whooping and cheering in high pitched noises, some slamming the butts of their spears on the ground, some slapping their hands on their thighs.
The direhorns went down first. Stuck to the cart, they were no match for the blood troll spears. Their screams of pain and panic were some of the worst Skint had heard, almost getting crushed herself under the cart as the beasts tried to get away, only getting themselves stuck even more. It didn’t take long.
Juza charged. Skint saw him actually take down one of the Blood trolls with his own spear, but there were way too many. She didn’t see his fate, as half a dozen Blood Trolls swarmed him. Perro was actually standing next to her now, almost protectively so, his spear in both his hands.
And they came. Skint barely had time to draw her own dagger. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a dark flash, a glimmer. One of the Trolls fell. And another. Perro roared a challenge, taking down one, two as well. Skint pressed herself to the back of the cart, not knowing what to do. She should fight!
As one of the Bloodtrolls came close to her, grinning, teeth dripping with blood. Skint closed her eyes. She envisioned a rat, in her mind. Multiple, a dozen, two dozen.. And believed. Willing them into existence. It didn’t take long for the screams to start, and as Skint opened her eyes, there was an entire blanket of shining, bright rats covering the Blood troll, ripping her apart piece by piece, gnawing and biting.
Maybe they did have a chance!
She noticed the same flashes as before and saw it were weapons. Two weapons from another orc, dark skinned, helping them. Who was that? And where had she come from?
Skint didn’t get long to ponder on it. There was a sudden exploding pain on the back of her head and everything went dark.

She woke with a groan, barely able to open her eyes. They were caked with dried blood. She tried to raise her hand to rub at them, but the only thing that happened is that she became aware of another sharp pain around her wrists. Ropes. Too tight, cutting into her skin. Her tongue felt swollen, dry, and she realised there was what felt like a piece of cloth in there, bound to prevent her from crying out.
Something warm was beside her. She heard it breathing.
Panic gripped her. Finally she managed to get one eye open, trying to stand up, back off, get away.. but her feet were stuck and she fell against something firm, unable to push herself any further away.
Flashes of light were visible in front of her eyes. Pain… But Skint willed herself to focus. It was the dark female from before. Also bound, but she wasn’t awake.

Skint tried to calm herself, taking in her surroundings with one eye. They were in a blood troll camp, that was for sure. Cages all around. A sort of altar in front, covered in blood and.. meat.
She didn’t focus long on that part, especially after she saw a very familiar spear on the ground next to the altar, the only thing still attached to it was a hand… Perro’s hand.
Skint squeezed her eyes shut, starting to shake. She just pressed herself closer to the only living thing nearby, the other female. At least she wasn’t alone…

With a deep sigh, Skint pushed her thoughts somewhere else. She didn’t want to think about this right now. Not now. She was free. Irkha was free… And these Orcs, this clan… They were odd. So nice, friendly, willing to help. She wasn’t used to being treated that way.
The one that had given them their tent to use. A motherly figure. Zi’tani. She’d fed Skint with a spoon, patiently and even cleaned and brushed and braided her hair. The touch had felt so weird. Only Skints own mother had ever braided her hair for her, long ago.
Then there was Nakobu. He was like her. But so calm, so wise. She was a little intimidated by him, but also weirdly drawn towards him. He had such a positive outlook, reacted so calmly to everything, was willing to listen to her and reassure her. He’d understood her anxiety. He had so openly spoken about his past. So positive about the clan, even though one of the males had simply walked up to him and rudely asked him why he was still there, that he didn’t like him.
That was one she'd avoid, for sure. But Nakobu felt... safe.
There had been others, but names were all a blur to her, faces… unclear. She was constantly nervous, skittish. Unknowingly had clawed her own arm open, her stutter worse than ever. She was ashamed of herself. Embarrassed. But she also knew she couldn’t do this without some help.
The road to recovery had only just begun.
"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack."


Screaming. Screaming everywhere. A continued song of agony, pain, the never ending torture. The cries for help, for death, mercy, anything. It went on and on and on in the camp, from all sides.
It was an orchestra of pain, backed up by the noises of cruel laughter coming from the females as they cut open their still living victims. Never any rest from the noise, it was never quiet.
Skint had tried to block it out at first. Sitting in the cage with her hands bound behind her back, she didn’t have much room to move, unless she wanted to squash her cagemate, which she didn’t.
But blocking out the voices was impossible. The camp they were in was huge, she had realized that much. Walkways above, swarming with male servants doing their tasks to please their cruel mistresses. They were beaten into submission, made to believe that all they were good for in life was to serve the blood troll females. Skint had seen them tied to poles, beaten, stripped of their flesh but all they did was beg for more, trying to prove they were worthy.
It was sick.
It made her literally sick. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the smell. Rot. Rot everywhere, meat abandoned, sacrifices rotting in the water. Corrupted crawgs fighting over the biggest pieces, scattering intestines everywhere.
She had figured out the large ones were in charge. Huge, hulking females, barely dressed. Their voices carried far and they were ruthless even to their own females serving them. One mistake and you were done. How could anyone live like this?

It had been a few days now in the cage. They’d taken most of her and her cagemate’s clothes, leaving them with nothing more but scraps that barely covered them. After a few days in the filth of the cage, they’d also gotten very dirty with things she didn’t even want to think about. Wouldn’t think about. She hadn’t had any chance to talk to the female yet due to being gagged the entire time. Yet, there was a comfort in her presence. Sharing warmth at night, it made a big difference.
No one had paid and attention to them yet though, just letting them sit there. Until that day.
Skint was only half awake, having dozed off. Sleeping was difficult due to the cramped position she was in permanently, but someone can only go so long without it. She was roughly woken though when a hand clapped against the cage.
“Pretties, pretties, which one ta choose! Mistress needs ta know, oh so pretty, so delicious.”
Now very much awake, Skint looked up at where the voice came from. A male, crooked back, covered in warpaint and several necklaces around his neck decorated with bones and teeth. He opened the cage and without hesitating grabbed Skint around the neck, lifting her out effortlessly. She tried to struggle, but his grip was iron. Her cagemate couldn’t even do anything but helplessly watch as the cage was closed again.
“Struggle, oh yes, pale one, struggle. She’ll love dat! Pretty, so pretty..” he crooned almost lovingly while he mercilessly dragged her along, hand still around her neck. She could barely breathe, her legs dragging over the ground.
She was taken to one of the smaller huts. Skint only had a moment to see a bit of her surroundings before she was thrown forwards like a ragdoll, her head hitting against something solid. Pain exploded in her head, white flashes in front of her eyes blinding her. The gag was removed but she only coughed endlessly, curling up on her side on the floor.
“My. Not very impressive specimen. Ya be lucky ya be a female. Set her on the altar.” A voice spoke from beside her, a sneering voice, uncaring. She was picked up and placed on a cold surface, before footsteps moved out of the hut. She felt a certain wetness under her, and when she finally opened her eyes, she saw the blood.
And stared right in the face of Juza.
Her eyes widened and she tried to back off, but a strong hand held her in place. She couldn’t scream, her throat too dry.
Juza, dear sweet protective Juza. His head was lying on the side of the altar, on another small table. His eyes dead, unseeing. His face a mask of agony.
“Oh, ya knew him, sweetie? Hah! He held out long. But not long enough. Mistress wasn’t pleased.”
Skint finally turned to locate the source of the voice. And to look away from the cruel fate her friend had undergone, not wanting to look into those dead eyes a moment longer.
There was a certain slender grace to the female troll. Long limbs, curves and a wild edge, her graceful movements full of purpose, none wasted. She was covered in warpaint and blood, trinkets and piercings, ritual items and cloths hanging from her shoulders and around her waist.
A very deadly beauty.
Skint didn’t see her that way though. For her, she was fear. Pain. Terror.
“P-please-…” she managed to croak out, which only made the Blood Troll cackle while she laid out a few items on the altar. A knife, a bowl and what seemed to be a sort of doll, made of scraps of cloth.
“Already? Disappointing. I should kill ya right now. But, order is an order. Mistress wants to know,” she said, while picking up the knife and moving to the other end of the altar, near Skint her feet. “Now be a good girl and lie still.”

Not like she could do much else, still being bound. She couldn’t call on the Light like this. She couldn’t fight, she had no chance. None at all.
The knife was raised as the females three fingers gripped Skints ankle, positioning it over the bowl. One, two quick slices and blood was freely pouring into the bowl from two cuts in her calf. Skint tried to curl up even more, hissing in pain, trying to pull her leg out of the iron grip, but no it was no use.

“Lie still, I said.” A sharp tug and more pain, the female dug her nails into Skints ankle. “Just a bit more,” she whispered. When the bowl was nearly full, she finally let go, gathering her other items. Dipping her fingers in the blood, she drew something on the altar first. Icons.. runes?
The female started to chant, holding some sort of item above the runes, shaking it back and forth. Feathers were tied to it, little bones.
When this was done, she grabbed the doll and covered that in the blood too, placing it in the middle of the rune circle. More chanting.
Skint wasn’t really paying attention anymore now, merely focusing on shuffling more out of the way on the altar. She wasn’t stopped now, the Blood Troll too busy with her little ritual, or she just didn’t care. Not like there was anywhere Skint could go in her state, in the middle of the huge camp.
“My, my… Now â€"dis- be interesting. More den ya seem, aint ya?” the female laughed. Whatever she’d seen in Skints blood, it was apparently amusing.
“Ohh, she will love dis, oh yes she will. It be faint, but it be dere. Traces of dat dirty light. Ya will be da perfect sacrifice for G’huun at da next ritual. Be proud! Be happy! Ya get ta be part of him!”
She raised her hands, dripping with Skints blood still and laughed. “Perfect!”
Next thing Skint knew, she was in front of her again, gripping the knife in her hand. Almost carefully now, the Blood Troll moved some of the remaining cloth away from Skints chest before placing the tip of the knife against her skin, right under her collar bone, above her heart.
Slowly and carefully she cut a mark there in the pale skin, red blood welling out. Skint didn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t give the female that, at least.
“Dere. Marked for da ritual. Mistress permits, ya’ll be da special offer. Relish in da thought. Ya death has special purpose. Not many get ta say dat.” Her voice almost sounded nice, which only made her even more scary for Skint, who was trembling all over now. Exhaustion, hunger, thirst, pain, fear… it was all too much.

The female almost tenderly gave Skint a few sips of water to drink before putting the gag bag on. She turned and barked out an order.

“Slave! Bring her back to the cage!”

Skint awoke with a start. For a few disorienting moments she panicked, but as her eyes focused more she realized she was where she’d gone earlier today. The Bwonsamdi shrine nearby camp. Her back was resting against it, a soft breeze playing with her hair.
It had become a place for her to think things over, still almost in sight of the camp and in shouting distance, but not close enough that orcs would walk over and bother her.
“G-guess I fell asleep..” she muttered softly to herself, rubbing her eyes. Not a surprise really, if she looked back to the past few days and all that happened.
She was really happy Nakobu had liked her gift, but Kroat had interrupted them before she had the chance to actually tell him what she had wanted to say in the first place.
Next time. Next time she’d tell him. Be direct, Sa’vashi had said. Maybe it was time to at least listen to a part of the Trolls advice.

"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack."


Very interesting!

Keep them coming!   :o
Okiba Spearbreaker - Nag'Ogar and Warrior Monk of the Horde
"Strength, Discipline, Mastery."