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Prolific Writer
Join Date: Dec 2005
Gender: Male
Posts: 207
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The Fifth Horde:
Here's something I've been working on for a little bit, I trimmed it a bit because people seemed put off by the length.
The Fifth Horde(part 1)
by: Marshall Todt
“Aggrig!! Aggrig!! Aggrig!" The cheers deafened him, a thousand voices chanting his name. A satisfactory smile formed on his lips, and he quickened his pace, arriving at Urgon's chambers before the high priest could return there. Seating himself in one of the pair of hard chairs in front of the lavish wood desk, Aggrig waited.
"In all my winters," Urgon said, bursting through the door, "I have never seen such a display."
Aggrig rose instinctively. "What display, Great Chieftain?" he replied, keeping all but the smallest of smirks from his lips.
"You know, hordling." Urgon glared. "You hear them cheering you...by the next ascent of the Holy Fire, your name will be known from cave to cave...every tribe and every chieftain will watch your Trial of the Hunt very carefully, hordling." Urgon turned from the younger man. "If you succeed, they will all court you. They will want you as their champion, as their elite guardian."
"This I know, High Priest," Aggrig said. "But since your priests have guided me since the kindling of my inner fire, won't that bring honor to this entire tribe, and your entire priesthood?"
"It will, Aggrig," Urgon sighed. "But I fear that you have placed more on your shoulders than you can bear."
"By honorable flame, sacred light, and blessed earth may I have the strength." Aggrig recited.
"I see your skills in memorization aren't limited to horde history, but also include our prayers." Urgon said, a small grin creeping across his face. "Still, Aggrig, you must be careful. All eyes are watching you, and while you can bring great honor to this tribe and to my priesthood, if you fail, it will bring shame and sorrow to all of us."
"I will not fail." Aggrig said. "I did not fail this test, nor will I fail any test placed before me."
"Yes, I know." the high priest slumped into a chair, rubbing his temple. "You tire me, boy. You're like your father."
"How did my father die?"
"I've told you a hundred times, that is not for a hordling to know."
"Will you tell me when I finish the manhood trials?" Aggrig asked, returning to the hard chair. "When I receive my shield, and take my place among the warriors?"
"Your father entrusted the story of his fate to me, Aggrig. It is my decision when you are ready to hear the tale. You may have just recited the histories of the hordes and completed the Trial of Intelligence better than any since Tralatar, but you are not ready yet." Urgon gingerly stood, and retrieved something from inside his desk. "And you may kill the Orgristin and take his hide for your shield in the Trial of the Hunt, but I will still decide if you are ready to hear the story or not."
"If my father trusted you with his death-tale, then I will not question the wisdom of it." Aggrig said simply. "But it doesn't keep me from becoming curious or impatient."
"I know, Aggrig, but as mature as you may seem at times, you are still a hordling, but we are forgetting the duty we must discharge here." Urgon held up the blade he retrieved from his desk. "Aggrig, hordling of the Flaming Spirit, as your Chieftain and Highest Priest, I command you to take your first step towards manhood. This is the blade you will carry always, will you obey your Chieftain?"
"I will, High Priest." Aggrig rose, and bowed slightly.
"Then take up your blade." Aggrig pulled the sword free of its leather sheath; the dim firelight glimmered on the unpolished surface. "Treat that blade as your honor. If it is dirty, your honor is dirty, if it is dull, your honor is dull, but if it is clean and sharp, so are you."
"I will not fail you, Chieftain." Aggrig bowed again.
"Go then, hordling, you have taken a mighty step towards manhood and equality within your clan."
Aggrig backed out of the doorway with a bow, and ran to his quarters. “There is much to do before tomorrow,” he said to himself.
“Your sword is your honor, hordlings,” a very scarred old man said. “The way you wield your blade speaks wonders about your honor. I will teach you the ways of the warrior, and those that listen will find their Trials of the Hunt go easier than those who aren’t paying attention,” his glare penetrated the back row of hordlings, and a few stood up a little straighter. “Also, my teachings will keep you alive if and when you must fight for this clan.”
“We wait your teachings, Warmaster,” twenty voices recited.
“Good.” He said. “Who can tell me about the blades you were rewarded with after your Trial of Knowledge?” A single fist was raised in the air. “I thought you’d know, reciter. Tell your friends about their weapons.”
“At once, Warmaster,” Aggrig said, nodding. “These blades denote the lowest rank among the horde. They are imperfect, and made of materials that are easy to find. Even the lowliest of smiths can make these blades. They do not keep an edge for long, nor do they shine even when polished for hours.”
“Very good, Aggrig.” The Warmaster smiled. “So, why have you been given these almost worthless blades?”
“So we can kill for honor and be rewarded with a real weapon.” One of the hordlings shouted.
“Show me your blade, Rarsh.” The Warmaster growled, taking the weapon from his student. He ran a finger along it’s surface and laughed. “Your weapon is unpolished and unsharpened, without an edge you’d do better to fight with a rock.” He returned the weapon to his owner. “Do not speak until called upon, especially if you have something particularly stupid to say. Aggrig, inform these ignorant slugs why you were given such blades.”
“Because these blades require time and effort to be battle-ready. This trains the hordling to ready his weapon and keep it ready at all times. No other blade requires this much to maintain an edge. Also, in battle, only the best prepared of these blades will keep an edge for very long, meaning that those who sharpen their weapons will kill their enemies faster, and bring more honor to this clan.”
“Good, Aggrig.” The Warmaster said. “Though I teach the ways of war, you should all know that the battle starts first in your mind.” He waved the hordlings to the door. “That is all for today. If your blades aren’t battle-ready tomorrow I won’t teach you.”
“I bet you think you’re smart,” Rarsh growled as they left the training room, “but memorizing rules and reasons won’t keep you alive for long. Being the Warmaster’s pet won’t save you when a plain-dweller’s blade is at your throat.” Rarsh spat at Aggrig’s feet, and stormed off.
“No, it won’t,” Aggrig, said, calmly. “But learning all I can from the Warmaster and the other elders will.”
The rag wiped the blade ceaselessly. With each stroke the faint sunlight glowed a little dimmer, and the colors of the sky darkened into the myriad of orange slowly fading to purple. Aggrig watched the sky, looking at the colors, and silently thanking the Holy Fire for such a display.
“If you keep sharpening and shining that weapon, there won’t be a blade left to hold an edge.”
“I know Bacra,” Aggrig said, starting at the sky. “Polishing can’t hurt it, especially with Warmaster Zril’s commands about blade cleaning and sharpness.”
“Those rules are true on the battlefield, hordling, and they will keep you alive in your Trial of the Hunt.”
“I wish I could take my Trial now. Once I’m considered a man I’ll have the freedom to choose what I do.”
“Free to choose to become the Chieftain’s champion perhaps.” Bacra laughed, and looked at the colors that fascinated his younger companion as they faded to black. “He won’t let you do much else, Aggrig. He realizes your potential and your respect for our ways and our honor. He was your father’s dearest friend.”
“At least champions get respect. I’m still a hordling, and because I’m a little smarter than the rest, and can actually remember the teachings of the High Priest and Warmaster, worms like Rarsh mutter behind my back.”
“Those people will always be around you, hordling. It seems incompetents manage to advance with those who actually deserve it. With a little experience, you will figure out how to deal with them.”
“Like smashing their faces into a wall?”
“That would feel good, certainly,” Bacra smiled, “but what I meant was that honor is its own reward. You’re honorable, and that’s what matters, not what others say about you or your honor.”
“You’ve been listening to Teller Crilla again, haven’t you?” Aggrig said. “I like the tale where she claims to have been a great warrior with the second horde, and died more honorably than any other, which is why she returned as a woman, proving females are the most honored.”
“Despite that tale,” Bacra chuckled, “she is still very wise and, like you, listens well.”
“Finally,” Aggrig said, as the last drip of sunlight slipped into darkness. “Now the lazy ones will wake and Warmaster will teach me a few things.”
“You’ve been up all day?” Bacra asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Aggrig replied. “So I came here to think.”
“About what?”
“Just a dream,” Aggrig trailed off.
“A dream’s keeping you awake?” Bacra asked. “Want to talk about it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on, Aggrig. I’m your mother’s, brother’s son...practically your denmate, and an omen reader as well. It’s my duty to help you.”
“So Urgon didn’t make you a fire-tender like you thought?”
“He said I had talent, so instead of tending the fires I stare at them looking for omens. Now tell me your dream, hordling.”
“Fine, you win Oh Mighty Reader of Omens,” Aggrig said with a false bow. “There’s not much to my dream, I doubt you’ll find anything.”
“That’s for the great Reader of Omens to say, Aggrig,” Bacra smiled. “Now tell the dream.”
“Enough, seer, or I’ll leave you guessing about my dream.” Aggrig said. “When I went to sleep, everything was dark. Then in my dream, the colors started to appear. First purple, then blue, then red and orange, and finally everything was bright and warm. Then everything was plunged into dark and cold, like being underwater in the lowest stream.”
“Interesting.” Bacra muttered. “Lots of meanings can be found in the play of light and dark.”
“There’s more.” Aggrig said. “When everything went dark and cold I felt like I was drifting, and I heard something. A sound like a thousand voices talking at once.”
“What did they say?” Bacra said, interested.
“I couldn’t make it out, they were all drowning each other out.”
“Sounds like a warning.” Bacra said. “There hasn’t been on reported to the priests in forty-five winters. If you figure out what the voices say, they will probably warn you against something or tell you to prevent something. You needn’t fear this dream, hordling, but if it returns try and listen to those voices.”
“Now you know why I’m sitting here thinking about it instead of sleeping,” Aggrig said. “Don’t tell anyone about this, I don’t need other hordlings thinking I’m crazy on top of being a know-it-all.”
“Only if you sleep and if the dream comes try to hear those voices, Aggrig.” Bacra said. “I know there’s something to this dream.”
“Don’t tell Urgon either, brother.” Aggrig said. “I don’t need to give him another reason to want me as his champion. If I’m a seer as well as a champion, every tribe will pay him homage, and call him blessed by the Great Fire.”
“You should speak to him about it, Aggrig, but I respect you enough to allow you to have that decision.”
“Thank you, brother.” Aggrig said. “Now I must go and see if this blade is sharp and shined enough for the Warmaster.”
Last edited by Dresdor : 12-17-2005 at 11:49 PM.
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