Categories > Games > World of Warcraft > Joft-troll shaman
Joft groaned as he sat up and was acutely aware of his missing pieces, a hand swept over his mouth. It felt strange to have no tusks taking up his jaw, his head felt lighter and the pull not so hard on his neck and shoulders. His mouth wasn’t so full, he slid his tongue over the voids in his mouth tasting blood and finding bits of his once glorious tusks. His gaze rose to the clan shaman as she entered the room, his fingers still lingering on his lips. “What happened?” His words slurred slightly from the extra room in his mouth.
”You’re awake, I thought you would be sleeping for another couple hours.” The shaman said sitting near the troll, she inspected her work. “You heal faster than I had expected,” she sat aside the mug she had been carrying and prodded the healing flesh. The deep scars were set permanently into his features of his face. “It seems you come here to get yourself healed only to become more damaged.”
“Dis be physical,” he answered shifting his weight a bit to ease the discomfort in his hip. “I can cure dat wif no problem, I be having problems wif my spirit. I wasn’t able ta fix dat. I came here ta speak ta da elements.”
“You are a shaman, Joft,” she whispered cupping his chin in her hand her eyes capturing his. “You can speak to them anywhere. They want to help you.” She released him as the troll turned his face away, she let out a sigh and patting his shoulder. “It is sometimes hard for us to let down those barriers to hear their whisperings. They do now always come in visions and thunderous roars.”
“I be unable heal myself where I be,” he whispered after a long while. “I asked for it, I be working wif all my powers to fix da damage. Still, I be unable to shake it.” Joft’s frown deepened, he knew she spoke the truth about being able to contact his elements from where ever he was. There was other things in his way, distractions he had placed in the path. All the battles for one, he had barely time to commune with the elements or heal his spirit. He could see that now, he let out a breath. He had poisoned his own heart with his lack of tending to the spiritual side. His hand dropped to his lap, the cost of this lesson was great.
“Than you did the right thing to come, sometimes we have to make a journey to clear our minds from our troubles, so that we can hear those whisperings. Do you regret coming here?”
Joft rose his gaze to meet hers. “No,” he touched his tusk-less mouth once again. “No, I not be sorry I came.”
“Good, I think you should rest and recuperate from the fight. You are welcome to stay here I have room. But I have others I need to tend to as well.”
Joft’s heart felt heavy and guilt bubbled in his gut. He had always thought of himself a powerful source of strength for others to lean on. It was a known fact that one could not help if their own spiritual well was dry. “Is dere anything I can do? My healing be a little weak, but it be yours if ya need it.”
She smiled and straightened. “I will keep that in mind, Joft. Get some rest.”
Joft rose from the floor mat, a soft knock on the door caused the two shaman to pause. The owner of the house stepped closer and pushed back the hide door. “Yes?”
“Is the troll alright?” a male asked. “I picked up his weapons from the battlefield.”
“He healing nicely, are you busy? You could escort him to the inn and find him some food?” The clan shaman asked waving for Joft to come to her. Joft saw the concern on her face, he peered, he peered at the orc in the doorway.
The surprised male half grinned as he stepped back to allow the troll to stoop through the entryway. His own chest wound still healing from the array of spells that had been cast on him, even though the male appeared that he might keel over at any second he was still up and about. “Good,” he said handing the weapons over. “It is always a sign of a good solider who can walk after such a beating.”
The troll took his weapons with a soft word of thanks before glancing at the female shaman. The unspoken plea was almost shouting at him, he wasn’t up for entertaining some head strong warrior who didn’t have the sense to rest. Clearly, this was would help and he did offer his services. Joft turned to the male and let an easy grin slip over his lips. “Food dan, it will make tings better,” he announced.
“Yes,” the orc said wiping a hand over his brow. “I think you are right.”
The two males wander off in the hunt for nourishment, which was found in ready supply at the hut of the cook. The two loaded their plates and sat near the bonfire in the middle of the village. They didn’t talk much as they plowed through the food, words were not really necessary. The companionship of the other was enough to suit their needs.
Joft ended up escorting the orc warrior home and helped his wife ease the stubborn fool into bed. “He ate wif me.”
“You were able to do more than I, this night. I hope he sleeps and gives time for the spells to work.”
Joft nodded and left the couple to their privacy, he strolled up the hill toward the inn and waved at the keeper who pointed to the bed he had been using. Her offer of food was declined and he stretched out on the hammock his long limbs spilling to the floor. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before boredom gripped him fully. He knew he should be sleeping or something, but he was restless. He untangled himself from the hammock and slipped out of the back and leaned against the building watching the gentle waves wash up on the small shore around the lake.
He touched his the void of his tusks once again, those were the one part that would not regenerate quickly. He missed them, he didn’t feel like a troll without his tusks. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from all of this, he couldn’t see what it would be. He closed his eyes trying to sort it all out.
The ache in his hip forced him up and moving again, he strolled around the lake. Scooping up a few pebbles and toyed with them, he paused to see a figure standing on the shore. A scroll was half crumbled in her hand, Athrum turned tears glistening in the light from the torches in the village.
“It’s not fair,” she stated, than waved the abused scroll at him. “Why do they mock me? Why do they promise me power and not deliver when I do all I can?”
“Who?” He asked moving closer to her. “Who be mocking you?”
“The shamans. The elements. The spirits. They all lie to me.” She waved it at him again and threw it on the ground. “I lost everything because I followed them. I hate them! I hate you,” she ran away into the darkened plains.
Joft picked up the scroll and carefully smoothed it out and read what had been scribed on it. He frowned at the vagueness of the words and how easily a young mind could take it so many different ways. He took after her, she was in no frame of mind to be out alone. She was easy to track, her sobbing and yelling made it easy to pinpoint where she was. She turned when he approached, she shoved him back. “I said I hate you, go away.”
“I be going nowhere, Addrum.” He said firmly.
She grabbed a branch and ripped it off the tree and started swinging, Joft was forced duck and dodged her wild attempts a few landed hard against his tired boy. He had to do several back flips to keep out of the way of her makeshift weapon. She swung so hard it caused her to stumble and fall to her knees, sobbing she pounded the branch on the ground until it broke in several pieces.
Joft wrapped his long arms around her in effort to comfort her. Only to find out she was not done with her rage, she turned on him again and the pair wrestled on the muddy shore for a good while until he was able to pin her safely. “I hate you. I hate you, troll,” she hissed unable to break his hold on her.
“Why, Addrum?” He whispered easing the grip on her, she rolled onto her side her frame racked with sobs. Joft touched brushed her braid away from her face and helped her sit up. “Tell me.”
“You are the shaman I was suppose to be,” she moaned and buried her face in his chest, his hand gently rubbed her back. “I am supposed to be powerful and wise. To help my clan with my power.” She sat up and began to recite. “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.”
“You be a powerful instrument of good. You provide food and protection for dems that live in da clan. Da call didn’t say shaman.”
She pushed away from him and glared at him. “It says when all seems lost you will carry a mantle of a powerful shaman.”
He held up a finger. “Carry.”
“But…” she whispered confused for the first time. “How can I find peace without the mantle?”
“It be possible it be not yours,” he whispered and eased himself back into a comfortable sitting position watching her carefully.
Athrum closed her eyes, her muddy hands pressed against her face. “I want to find peace, Joft. I hate being so numb. I am so lost and confused.”
“Dan cling to my strength for a while, girl,” he whispered, she turned and peered at him still lost. “I be not an orc shaman, but I am one. Just ‘til ya find your own strength.”
“I,” she started unsure once again. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You be doing it for a long time now, Addrum. You be fulfilling dat prophecy and more.”
Her head lifted slightly and she peeked at him. “You think so?”
“I do,” he answered.
Athrum’s gaze swept over the troll for a long moment as the noises of the night rushed into the emptiness of the silence. She studied her hands unable to come up with an argument to that statement. “Can you sing that song about lost things for me?”
Joft gave her a nod and took a deep breath and let the haunting story unfold from his lips. Athrum scooted closer to him and put a hand on his knee as he was lost in the musical story telling.
”You’re awake, I thought you would be sleeping for another couple hours.” The shaman said sitting near the troll, she inspected her work. “You heal faster than I had expected,” she sat aside the mug she had been carrying and prodded the healing flesh. The deep scars were set permanently into his features of his face. “It seems you come here to get yourself healed only to become more damaged.”
“Dis be physical,” he answered shifting his weight a bit to ease the discomfort in his hip. “I can cure dat wif no problem, I be having problems wif my spirit. I wasn’t able ta fix dat. I came here ta speak ta da elements.”
“You are a shaman, Joft,” she whispered cupping his chin in her hand her eyes capturing his. “You can speak to them anywhere. They want to help you.” She released him as the troll turned his face away, she let out a sigh and patting his shoulder. “It is sometimes hard for us to let down those barriers to hear their whisperings. They do now always come in visions and thunderous roars.”
“I be unable heal myself where I be,” he whispered after a long while. “I asked for it, I be working wif all my powers to fix da damage. Still, I be unable to shake it.” Joft’s frown deepened, he knew she spoke the truth about being able to contact his elements from where ever he was. There was other things in his way, distractions he had placed in the path. All the battles for one, he had barely time to commune with the elements or heal his spirit. He could see that now, he let out a breath. He had poisoned his own heart with his lack of tending to the spiritual side. His hand dropped to his lap, the cost of this lesson was great.
“Than you did the right thing to come, sometimes we have to make a journey to clear our minds from our troubles, so that we can hear those whisperings. Do you regret coming here?”
Joft rose his gaze to meet hers. “No,” he touched his tusk-less mouth once again. “No, I not be sorry I came.”
“Good, I think you should rest and recuperate from the fight. You are welcome to stay here I have room. But I have others I need to tend to as well.”
Joft’s heart felt heavy and guilt bubbled in his gut. He had always thought of himself a powerful source of strength for others to lean on. It was a known fact that one could not help if their own spiritual well was dry. “Is dere anything I can do? My healing be a little weak, but it be yours if ya need it.”
She smiled and straightened. “I will keep that in mind, Joft. Get some rest.”
Joft rose from the floor mat, a soft knock on the door caused the two shaman to pause. The owner of the house stepped closer and pushed back the hide door. “Yes?”
“Is the troll alright?” a male asked. “I picked up his weapons from the battlefield.”
“He healing nicely, are you busy? You could escort him to the inn and find him some food?” The clan shaman asked waving for Joft to come to her. Joft saw the concern on her face, he peered, he peered at the orc in the doorway.
The surprised male half grinned as he stepped back to allow the troll to stoop through the entryway. His own chest wound still healing from the array of spells that had been cast on him, even though the male appeared that he might keel over at any second he was still up and about. “Good,” he said handing the weapons over. “It is always a sign of a good solider who can walk after such a beating.”
The troll took his weapons with a soft word of thanks before glancing at the female shaman. The unspoken plea was almost shouting at him, he wasn’t up for entertaining some head strong warrior who didn’t have the sense to rest. Clearly, this was would help and he did offer his services. Joft turned to the male and let an easy grin slip over his lips. “Food dan, it will make tings better,” he announced.
“Yes,” the orc said wiping a hand over his brow. “I think you are right.”
The two males wander off in the hunt for nourishment, which was found in ready supply at the hut of the cook. The two loaded their plates and sat near the bonfire in the middle of the village. They didn’t talk much as they plowed through the food, words were not really necessary. The companionship of the other was enough to suit their needs.
Joft ended up escorting the orc warrior home and helped his wife ease the stubborn fool into bed. “He ate wif me.”
“You were able to do more than I, this night. I hope he sleeps and gives time for the spells to work.”
Joft nodded and left the couple to their privacy, he strolled up the hill toward the inn and waved at the keeper who pointed to the bed he had been using. Her offer of food was declined and he stretched out on the hammock his long limbs spilling to the floor. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before boredom gripped him fully. He knew he should be sleeping or something, but he was restless. He untangled himself from the hammock and slipped out of the back and leaned against the building watching the gentle waves wash up on the small shore around the lake.
He touched his the void of his tusks once again, those were the one part that would not regenerate quickly. He missed them, he didn’t feel like a troll without his tusks. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from all of this, he couldn’t see what it would be. He closed his eyes trying to sort it all out.
The ache in his hip forced him up and moving again, he strolled around the lake. Scooping up a few pebbles and toyed with them, he paused to see a figure standing on the shore. A scroll was half crumbled in her hand, Athrum turned tears glistening in the light from the torches in the village.
“It’s not fair,” she stated, than waved the abused scroll at him. “Why do they mock me? Why do they promise me power and not deliver when I do all I can?”
“Who?” He asked moving closer to her. “Who be mocking you?”
“The shamans. The elements. The spirits. They all lie to me.” She waved it at him again and threw it on the ground. “I lost everything because I followed them. I hate them! I hate you,” she ran away into the darkened plains.
Joft picked up the scroll and carefully smoothed it out and read what had been scribed on it. He frowned at the vagueness of the words and how easily a young mind could take it so many different ways. He took after her, she was in no frame of mind to be out alone. She was easy to track, her sobbing and yelling made it easy to pinpoint where she was. She turned when he approached, she shoved him back. “I said I hate you, go away.”
“I be going nowhere, Addrum.” He said firmly.
She grabbed a branch and ripped it off the tree and started swinging, Joft was forced duck and dodged her wild attempts a few landed hard against his tired boy. He had to do several back flips to keep out of the way of her makeshift weapon. She swung so hard it caused her to stumble and fall to her knees, sobbing she pounded the branch on the ground until it broke in several pieces.
Joft wrapped his long arms around her in effort to comfort her. Only to find out she was not done with her rage, she turned on him again and the pair wrestled on the muddy shore for a good while until he was able to pin her safely. “I hate you. I hate you, troll,” she hissed unable to break his hold on her.
“Why, Addrum?” He whispered easing the grip on her, she rolled onto her side her frame racked with sobs. Joft touched brushed her braid away from her face and helped her sit up. “Tell me.”
“You are the shaman I was suppose to be,” she moaned and buried her face in his chest, his hand gently rubbed her back. “I am supposed to be powerful and wise. To help my clan with my power.” She sat up and began to recite. “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.”
“You be a powerful instrument of good. You provide food and protection for dems that live in da clan. Da call didn’t say shaman.”
She pushed away from him and glared at him. “It says when all seems lost you will carry a mantle of a powerful shaman.”
He held up a finger. “Carry.”
“But…” she whispered confused for the first time. “How can I find peace without the mantle?”
“It be possible it be not yours,” he whispered and eased himself back into a comfortable sitting position watching her carefully.
Athrum closed her eyes, her muddy hands pressed against her face. “I want to find peace, Joft. I hate being so numb. I am so lost and confused.”
“Dan cling to my strength for a while, girl,” he whispered, she turned and peered at him still lost. “I be not an orc shaman, but I am one. Just ‘til ya find your own strength.”
“I,” she started unsure once again. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You be doing it for a long time now, Addrum. You be fulfilling dat prophecy and more.”
Her head lifted slightly and she peeked at him. “You think so?”
“I do,” he answered.
Athrum’s gaze swept over the troll for a long moment as the noises of the night rushed into the emptiness of the silence. She studied her hands unable to come up with an argument to that statement. “Can you sing that song about lost things for me?”
Joft gave her a nod and took a deep breath and let the haunting story unfold from his lips. Athrum scooted closer to him and put a hand on his knee as he was lost in the musical story telling.
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