FicWad

They were welcomed by the clan who eagerly relieved the burden of meat from the hunting parties backs. Joft was glad to have the extra weight lifted from his shoulders, he returned his things to the inn. He stood in the doorway over looking the lake he tenderly stroked the left tusk that bore the golden band around it. The band was an embellishment he saved up when he first started on the path of a Shaman. It took him many seasons to finally obtain enough gold to purchase it, he chuckled to himself. He ate very lean after that but it had been worth it.

Later that night, Joft was leaning against a long near the bonfire listening tales of the great warriors and hunters of clans long since passed as he fumbled to work on a few of his braids. He took notice of Athrum who approached the group, she was wearing a simple hide skirt and shirt. The males gave her room to sit on the log, he tried not to notice how the firelight reflected in those brown eyes. The speaker finished his tale about before the demons had torn the clans apart and sat down to eat.

“Shaman tell us a tale from your clan,” someone shouted and everyone peered at Joft he dropped a braid and glanced around at the expecting faces. The troll rose to his feet his mind shuffling through many stories he could tell. The soft tang of warning whipped up his spine, Joft rose to his full height his amber eyes staring intensely toward the mountain, the ground vibrated unnaturally under his feet. No elemental power echoed the shaking. “Someting’s coming. Big and fast.”

The group quickly grabbed their weapons and hurried toward the western gates, Joft quick on their heels. Energizing his weapons with two chosen elements, he glanced over to Athrum who was clutching a shield and axe. The other, Karga, was no where to be found. “Here they come,” one warned.

“Where do these things keep coming from?” Athrum demanded. “It is like they spawn out of nowhere.”

Joft glanced at her and snorted, he had always wondered that himself about the countless of enemies he had slain for the cause of the Horde. He touched tenderly his beloved tusk thoughtfully as a parade of memories whisked through his mind.

A pack of five orges were heading straight for the them, with a wild hungry look set in their eyes. The advancing party was caught off guard to have their raid met, but it didn’t slow them down much. Many voices were raised with a battle cry as the orc’s rushed toward their enemies. Joft ran to his pack to grab his totems and had to hurry to catch up, he danced and dodged around one of the clubs as he focused on finishing the rune on his earth totem. He threw it and the strong totem dug into the earth naturally, energy and strength crackled through the ground giving the defenders a boost.

Joft was able to get close enough to actually sink his blades into the thick hide of the orge. The enhancement of the blades sent a extra shock through the torn flesh, the infected orge screamed and dropped his club. The orges’ fleshy hand batted the troll away which tore the unwanted weapons out of his gut.

Joft dropped his weapons to be able to land without slicing his own hide with his blades. His left knee slammed hard on the ground before the other outstretched limbs connected. He felt the thunder of each step of the orge chasing him, his fingers wrapped around the nearest hilt as he turned toward the advancing creature. The swing of the orge’s club arched toward his face, he threw his head back. His tuck shattered against the blow, the pain soared to his toes. He landed hard on his back gasping in shock, his hand swept over his face picking up blood and white fragments of the tusks.

The pain slipped away quickly as he wiped the blood on his tabard, he felt the wind whispering against an object heading straight toward him. Joft rolled and a club slammed on the ground where he had just been occupying. Dust and rocks pelted him as he tried to see around the grime that stung his eyes as he once again to gain his weapons and some ground against the orge who had him pinned in such a dangerous spot. He was halfway to his feet, planning to jump and roll to gain some distance between him and the orge.

“Troll,” Athrum shouted. “Get down.”

He flattened finding one of his lost blades under him, the air of a near miss rolled inches from his back. Athrum slammed her axe in the back of the orge’s head, the creature turned to her yanking the handle from her grip. She used her shield to block the blows from the orge as she lead the half dead creature away from the shaman. Soon, her back pressed against the thick wall of the village unable to go one way or the other as the orge’s large hands were beating the stuffing out of her. She fought back the best she could, really wanting to rip her axe out of the creature’s skull so she could break his head wide open.

Joft found his senses and weapons, he ran after the orge that had shattered his beautiful tusk. He vaulted swinging both of his weapons and coming down hard on the creatures back and shoulders. He kept digging the blades in repeatedly unable to satisfy the outrage, Athrum had to physically removed him. “Save it for the others,” she stated before tearing her axe free of the thick skull.

The two rushed into the fray of the remaining four orges who were holding their own pretty well, one fell with a large crash. The spike at the end of the club sliced through a guards chest, the orc stumbled back as rivers of blood cascaded down him. He fell to his knees watching his life force draining quickly from him. Joft ran toward him warming up a healing spell, they were not powerful but at least it would stabilize the guard until the clan shamans could tend to him. Just as he released the healing energies a club slammed against his left side nearly breaking his arm. He staggered to keep himself standing, giving the orge another perfect hit to his face breaking several teeth on his left side tearing his cheek and nose with the spikes that followed the head of the club. Blindly, he balled up his fury and lashed out in with a bolt of lightening which arched toward the monster.

Athrum held ran toward the troll when the ogre fell on the ground twitching. The powerful energy surrounding the now dead body caused her hair stand on end. Her gaze shifted to the shaman who was building another spell whispering to himself as he did. The picture of him with blood trickling large gaping wounds and from the broken tusks, still finding the strength to cast spells, caused her pause.

”Element strike true towards those that would hurt these people,” he called in his native language. The ball of lightening crackled as it sprang from his palms arching perfectly toward the nearest live ogre, the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air as another of the raiding party fell victim to the shaman’s power. Joft stepped forward to catch his balance long enough to see the orge hit the ground. His eyes rolled to his where Athrum stood with such a look upon her face one he could not unravel, his body roaring with such pain. His face and arm were attempting to fix the wounds, his brain was numb. His body rebelled and his knees gave out.

“Troll,” Athrum whispered her heart sank with his fall, whatever he yelled sounded like a last words she had heard others shout before they died upon the battlefield. She gritted her teeth and ran back into the fray. He was a clear reminder of all she had lost, but there was something more she didn’t want to admit. Another chance was lost to her, she felt the fall of the troll with her whole soul, and she turned from the still body. Raising her weapon up she let out a bestial battle cry tore from her throat with underline hint of emotional torment. She ran into the fray with murderous intensions in her heart.

Her rage lasted longer than the ogres, she watched the last one fleeing before them and part of her wanted to chase after it and kill it repeatedly. The ogres never even set a toe past the first line. Thanks to the early warning, Joft had given. Behind her she sensed the others of the villages rushing toward the still bodies of the clansmen. The air was thick with healing energy as she turned slowly. The clan’s shaman was dropping next to the troll, her fingers touching his neck. Athrum held her breath, the older woman’s gaze met hers and she beckoned her over. “Athrum,” the female shaman. “Quickly.”

The warrior dropped her axe and shield as she hurried toward the troll’s side, her gaze latched on his still face. The troll moaned so full of pain it caused her heart to shutter, hope exploded inside her heart causing her stomach to turn. Life started to return to his form, she swallowed hard as tears stung her eyes. She covered up the strange release and knelt beside the blue figure taking in the full damage. Both tusks had been shattered, part of his face and nose were torn so badly he was barely recognizable.

“Help me get him inside so I can heal him properly,” the shaman ordered, freeing the totem from the ground she whispered to it and the power slowly ebbed out of it. “He is going to need a lot of needle work to get him to rights before I can use any spells on him.”

The troll wasn’t working well with Athrum, he was limp and unresponsive. She had to put the troll over her shoulders holding on an arm and a leg as she made her way into the clans land. He was surprisingly heavy, for one who seemed so thin.

“Look,” Karga yelled pointing to Athrum. “She is finally carrying the mantle of a shaman!” The laughter rolled from the others and Athrum gritted her teeth. In the mist of her murderous thoughts, she accidentally slammed the trolls head on the frame of the doorway, she muttered an apology as she eased them carefully through. She eased the male off her shoulders with a grunt and knelt beside him as he whimpered.

The shaman touched the one tusk that was still protruding from the trolls mouth it flaked and broke under her fingertips. “I think we are going to have to just cut them off or they will cause him much pain.”

“No,” Joft whimpered, half aware of what was going on around him. His hand swept through the air in random directions. Athrum snagged his hand from the air and held it against her chest smearing more orge blood on to him.

“Hold him before he comes to his senses completely,” she said finding the small saw that she kept for such purposes. More than once she had to take a tusk from her clansmen to keep them from a sickness she had witnessed.

“Are you sure?” Athrum asked as the other knelt near the trolls face. She tried several different ways to keep the troll still, only finding her straddling his chest pinning his arms against his sides.

“Long before you were born, an orc had shattered a tusk while he was out hunting, he didn’t do anything with it thinking it would heal on its own. When he returned many days later his whole jaw was tender with infection, he was asked many times if he wanted healing but he refused.”

The two women adjusted the mumbling troll opening his mouth and stilling his head. “What happened to him?”

“His jaw kept ballooning and swelling until he wasn’t able to eat, he died a few mornings later in his hut.”

Athrum felt Joft tensing under her strong hold as the saw bit into the right tusk, he started fighting but she held him fast. The bone was flanking and splintering under the blade, she kept going deeper to the root of the tusk until she was able to find a solid part. It was very close to the gum line, she knew it had to be done. Joft screamed and fought against the mistreatment, Athrum was having a hard time holding him. She kept praying that he would pass out as tears streamed down her cheeks. He fell limp under her, she lifted her body off his as the shaman paused the treatment. “Hurry, he is out,” she pleaded.

The two tusks were sawed evenly and the bleeding stopped before the shaman could cauterize the wounds. She worked on the ripped flesh of the nose and cheek not fully aware of the trolls quick regeneration. She ordered Athrum to bring clean water to wash the blood and grime off Joft’s face, Athrum ran to the water barrow behind the hut and filled the pail with the water. She paused when her eyes landed upon the flickering light from the Throne across the lake. “Be with him,” she whispered. “Carry him in his moment of distress. Don’t, please, don’t forsake him.” She returned inside watching the older woman clean the gashes on his cheek and nose in some attempt to set the flesh right.

Athrum helped roll the troll this way and that so the healer could check for broken bones. “He seems at rights in his bones, we will have to keep an eye for internal bleeding,” she whispered closing her eyes and performed the quick ritual of the healing spell. “Stay with him,” she whispered as she rose to find a blanket in the back.

Athrum drew closer studying the massive change in the troll, without the tusks he looked a little less savage. She brushed off bits of bone from his cheek that had been missed in the hurried cleaning. She moved her fingers over his lips with a frown, wondering if they would grow back in a few days. She took a moment to feel the velvet softness of his skin and the strong pulse under his neck. She recalled the moment her eyes landed on his stranger, the warm smile he had given and she had not returned.

The voice of Karag outside the hut brought the rest of reality back to Athrum. “You will carry a mantle of a powerful shaman,” she whispered the prophecy that she had memorized from the day of her naming. Karga’s words rambled through her brain, she wanted to find and punch the female. Her gaze fell upon the peaceful troll face that was nestled against her hand. “I will carry,” she whispered. “I had,” She jumped to her feet. “No. Nonononono.” Athrum ran out of the hut straight to her room, she flung the trunk open and tossed things out until she found the small wooden case that held all her important scrolls. Hastily, she unrolled the oldest one of the bunch. She didn’t need to read the words printed there, she memorized what it had said long ago.

“I give you a name and a blessing, from this day forth you shall be called Athrum. You will be a powerful instrument of good for your clansmen. You will heed the call set forth before you, and become a force most powerful.

When all seems lost you will carry a mantle of a powerful shaman. You will cling to that strength, this is the only way you shall find peace and the strength to protect your clan. Lies,” she growled. “I have not been able to find peace nor can I carry a shaman’s mantle.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head torn between crying her thanks to saving his life and her own twisted anger toward the lies that she had tried to a line herself to.

“Athrum? Where did that girl go?” The clan shaman demanded, she shook her head and unfolded the blanket easing it around the sleeping shaman on the mat.