[Story] - Uncle

[Okiba]

Uncle

”Friends tell you what you want to hear. Family tells you the truth.”

The jade forest, the thicket beyond Honeydew village

 

”And so you left?”

”I didn’t leave—not really, I just came here to clear my head. To think.”

Jihaan furrowed his brow. It was a troubling, and truly problematic set of problems but that was not why he frowned. He frowned because he was expected to think about the problem, to consider its angles and come up with a solution. He was by no means the Orcs uncle, ancestors no, but he called him it and so he acted like it. And like any good uncle, he listened, he considered, he guided.

”You know they were right to punish you—to take away your position, yes?” He spoke, judging his tone fairly. It was firm but without rebuke. He did not look to see the expression on Okiba’s face, it would of confused his feelings. Instead he stoked the fire with a stick, and breathed in the night air deeply. The jade forest was calm, a cool breeze washing over them from between the Bamboo shoots. Summer was at its end, but the serenity of the place was not.

”I... know. Yes. But I had not expected it. I was blind even to my own mistakes.”

Jihaan raised his head to set his gaze on the Orc. He sat across from him beyond the humble campfire, his legs crossed in the fashion typical of a monk deep in thought. Only the fire was between them, and the growing dusk gloom sat in the forest all around. His expression was of remorse, his green brows creased in a heap of skin that hinted to disappointment in himself.

And there is the problem...

Jihaan ran an armoured around his bearded chin. The gruff feel of it reminded him of his age, a deceptive number made greater when you considered many of the other races of Azeroth only lived half as long as a Pandaren could or would. He needed to think, and think carefully. Giving out advice was easy, like pouring water into a cup. But good advice? That was like aiming a waterfall into the eye of a needle and not wanting your hands wet. The mistake here, wasn’t the mistake, it was a choice.

A choice you had a hand in...

”You remember, the words you told me, Fhu’s last words to you?” he spoke gently, setting his green eyes on the Orc.

”I remember... I remember” Spoke the Orc, lifting his red eyes to the fire. The memory still painful to him. Jihaan knew the Orc had survived much, far too much for one so young, all of it leaving deep scars. He detected the uncomfortable movements of a hand without control, as Okiba quickly shifted his weight to fold his arms. A nervous twitch of the left, a trauma festering in his mind.

He barely even thinks to hide it anymore...

”He said failure is our greatest teacher. You need to have a cause worth failing for.” Jihaan answered for him, nodding sagely. With a shift of his own weight the great armour that adorned him rustled with a metallic clank. He could of taken it off, but the effort and time made it a wasteful exercise in comfort.

”Well, I’ve failed. I’ve failed because I clung to an idea from before them, from before here.” The orc grunted, as was his peoples fashion before making a point, then gesturing to his surroundings, to Pandaria. It was true, the continent had brought him alive, and seen a great change in him. But some things you learn are ingrained in your soul, and army life has a way of having that effect.

”The Kor’kron bullied you, cowed you when you questioned. So now you kick back against any insult or attack on you, real, perceived or otherwise. Because you’re afraid that if you don’t act, it will bring about worse.” He answered immediately, letting the words settle in the air. The truth, or even the crux of a problem often had to be stated plainly. But more importantly it had to be left to settle in.

”Yes.. They murdered Norsk right in front of me, and I did nothing.” Okiba spoke, exhaling right after. The statement utterly defeated him, a sentence bringing him low.

Jihaan nodded slowly, sympathetically, understanding. He had lost too many friends, brothers, to war and conflict. Now he feared it so much the worry of it made him panic, lash out. This had to be curtailed, from within and without.

He has two choices to make...

”My Orc friend. You have two decisions to make, each with two choices... cling to this warped, poisonous untruth that threats must be answered with threats. Or choose the ideals of your family. For that is what they are now, no, family? That is the first decision to dwell on.”

”And the second, what is the second?” The Orc razed his gaze, clutching his wayward left hand with his left as he fixed his ‘Uncle’ eye to eye. Almost pleading for his words.

”The second... you must decide if it was worth failing, so you may succeed next time.”

”And if I already know exactly what I must choose?” The Orc asked, sitting up as he raised a brow inquisitively.

”Then you need to ask why you are wasting time camping in the Bamboo woods with me. Ha!”

Okiba smirked at that, his green lips flashing a smile. A stark contrast to his previously dour mood. His hand had even stopped shaking. But one more thing needed to be questioned.

”--Why did you become a soldier again?”

Okiba froze, blinkin with confusion. He squinted, moved his mouth as if to speak and then said nothing. Stunned. The question was to the point, and worthy of the truth. The Orc had been a soldier, found it not to his liking and become a Monk. Only to revert the choice without knowing it. His clan had made him a soldier, when he should have stayed himself.

”Hm. You may want to consider that, my friend. You too easily slipped back into a way of life and thinking that you once knew, out of habit. When you could have stayed the course, the celestials teach-… or perhaps in your own words, as Lo’gosh showed, and been content. Soldiers rise and fall with the times, Monks simply seek a balance in all things.”

Okiba turned the corner of his mouth. Not in revulsion, or anger. But the softest of understanding smiles. He’d gotten through to him. Shown him how he had strayed from his own path. He’d threaded a waterfall through the eye of a needle. Advice was tricky, but any good Uncle gives it freely, albeit carefully.