User blog:KodiakPackAttack/Naharak Hawktotem - A New Champion

Originally posted on February 5th, 2015 on my | blog.

= A New Champion  =

"Even the smallest of sparks can light up the dark"

The Hawktotem Burial Grounds wereonce filled with a dim blue glow, casting light upon the totems that told thelives of those who had sworn fealty to the Hawktotem. Dozens upon dozens of totems with elaborate runes had been in the cave before a massive Kor'kron warband had sacked Camp Ahok'awa, the Hawktotem’s sole village.

Naharak sat alone amongst the ashes of his fallen predecessors. He was once Chieftain of the Hawktotem Tribe and a powerful shaman in his own right. Now, he was just a husk. His people were stolen away from him; his oaths were broken before the Sibling Spirits of Azeroth. Silence was the answer he received from them when he called out in battle. His dreams were now haunted by the two-hundred-thirty-seven villagers that had once occupied Camp Ahok'awa.

He did not blame anyone but himself. He was responsible for the atrocities of Camp Ahok'awa and he was to blame for the dismantling of the Hawktotem Tribe.

He flicked his ears when he heard the quiet footfalls of someone approaching. Naharak did not turn around, but he knew who it was. “Speak, Tecun of the Skullfang,” Naharak commanded. “Have we received reports from our expeditionary forces?”

Naharak heard the sound of chainmail on rock. Tecun had knelt down. “Yes, Warmaster. Two messengers be gettin’ through da portals from Ashran,” Tecun began. “Jen'doo be reportin’ dat his forces be combatin’ da Iron Horde in Frostfire Ridge, home to da Frostwolf Clan. He be makin’ his base at Bladespire Fortress. He be inductin’ some exiled Ogres of da Gorian Empire and some Frostwolf Orcs into da Warband ta make up fo’ his losses.” Tecun paused as he stood and leaned against the cave wall.

“He and Leturok be makin’ some serious headway against da Iron Horde. He be requestin’ dat once we be finishin’ wit’ da Kor'kron on Azeroth dat we send all available forces to Draenor. Our shaman and mages on Draenor be workin’ on a way ta open a portal, but dey need ta be syncin’ wit’ our side. A powerful artifact be needed on one side…” He trailed off and waited for a response.

Naharak understood his meaning and was silent for a long moment. The map is hidden, he thought to himself. Locked away and guarded. He finally spoke once the silence between the two had become deafening. “The Starmap was hidden for a reason. My father believed it too powerful, lest it fall into the wrong hands.”

“Den he would have destroyed it, Warmaster. He be wantin’ ta be usin’ it for his own purposes, such as destroyin’ Darnassus when da time be right.”

Naharak nodded. “You are correct in that regard. Leturok shared with me many of my father’s plans for the future, but none of them included the Starmap.” Not that he divulged to Leutrok, anyway.

“Still, da Starmap be crucial to openin’ a portal ta Draenor. We be needin’ it if we be wantin’ ta reinforce da expedition.”

Naharak waved his hand. “I will think on it.”

Tecun turned to leave, but then sharply turned back around. “Is your sickness gettin’ any better? Can ya speak to da Sibling Spirits?”

“No,” Naharak responded, his voice weak and quiet. “Leave me.”

Tecun bowed his head and left the cave. Everything was silent again, and Naharak was alone once more. Darkness closed in on him and he began to hear the voices. It began quiet; a few voices were whispering into his ear every few hours when he did not speak. As time grew, more voices joined and they began to crescendo. Whispers gradually became a normal volume, a normal volume gradually became yelling, and yelling gradually became a riot. The masses screamed into his ears: ''Why didn’t you save us? Why did you lead our warriors away? Why did you abandon us?''

He grew used to the spirits of hundreds screaming in his ears demanding justice for the slaughter of Camp Ahok'awa. Each time he cried a little bit less, but each time his sorrow and depression grew.

This time was different. When the voices reached their normal peak they did not plateau; they kept growing. The shock of the growth caused Naharak’s heart to beat faster. He began to sweat, dampening his fur tremendously fast. His ears began to ring before he cried out. “Cease!” The voices did not stop, their cries growing louder and louder. His head felt as if it were about to explode. “Stop speaking! Stop!” he bellowed. He gripped his head in some mad attempt to keep his head from breaking in two.

“I command you,” he shouted one last time, “to stop talking!” He extended his hands outward from his body. Just as they reached their full length, light filled the entire cave. It illuminated everything for a few moments. The voices immediately stopped and Naharak was mystified by the light.

The light died down progressively. Naharak’s heavy breathing echoed through the cave room he was in. That was until a voice began to speak. “You still command An'she’s light,” the disembodied voice said. “Enough to silence the spirits who speak to you.”

Naharak looked around the cavern, but saw no one in the darkness. He figured his eyes were simply not adjusting. He could still feel the voice’s presence. “A power I thought I had lost,” admitted Naharak as he clenched his fists. “Come out and show yourself,” he commanded. The voice and its presence seemed so familiar.

The voice spoke again. “You have lost your connection to the Sibling Spirits. I have watched you as you abandoned your Sunwalker training in favor of your father’s path. I watched as you sat in the same position you are sitting now, trying so desperately to connect with them, each one commanding you swear an oath to redeem your bloodline.” The voice spoke in a flat tone, with no emotion in it. “You failed miserably, but the Siblings Spirits have not punished you.”

Thoughts began to fill Naharak’s head as he remembered the punishments each Spirit promised in the case that he failed to uphold his end of the bargain. Naharak’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, but he still saw no one. He tried to remember whose voice it was. “I have tried to call out to them. I wanted punishment. I wanted them to torture me, to bring justice to the spirits of the slaughtered Hawktotem, but they do not respond.”

The voice did not respond immediately, allowing silence to fill the room. Naharak spoke out: “Are you still there?”

“It seems you still have a chance to redeem yourself, Young Hawk – or is it Naharak now? Have you taken your outsider name as your true name?”

All at once, the memories of the voice came. He could not speak, at first, shock taking over his body. “Bolvan,” he whispered. “Is it you, my mentor?”

The spirit of Bolvan Hawktotem, champion of the Sunwalkers materialized within seconds in front of Naharak. He filled the room with An'she’s Light, basking Naharak in its warmth. “It is, Young Hawk. I have watched you for so long and wept as you started down the same path as your father. The path of a monster.”

Naharak stood and reached out to his former mentor, but in vain. “I tried to unite the Hawktotem – I created a village!” he said desperately. “But it is not what my father wanted!”

Bolvan waved his hand dismissively, a force of light coming from his hand and pushing Naharak back. “Arrok and I were supposed to train you, young one. You have ignored our training altogether, favoring Ghostpaw’s path, committing the same mistakes. The Sibling Spirits already granted you a chance to redeem your bloodline with their help, but you failed and thus, they no longer come to you.”

Naharak dropped to his knees. “I do not know what I must do, Bolvan. I need help.” His eyes welled up with tears. He began to weep, like a child afraid of the future.

“You must become the person that Arrok and I trained you to be. The Sibling Spirits have abandoned you, but they give you one more chance. An'she still comes to your call. Reach out and take his light or doom yourself and your ancestors forever.” Bolvan began to fade. “I am watching you, Naharak. I will always watch you, now and forever.”

The light that once filled the cave dimmed as Bolvan faded. Naharak gripped himself tightly as darkness shrouded his vision once more. All that could be heard was his whimpering. He stood, wiping the snot from his nose and stood in the middle of cave. “Just reach out,” he echoed Bolvan’s words, “and take his light.” He extended his palm, taking several cleansing breaths. He focused all of his energy to create a single spark of light.

Minutes felt like hours, but his hand glowed dimly for a fraction of a second, just enough for it to register in Naharak’s eyes. He began to swell with pride during the fraction of a second. The light melted away his sorrow; his mind drifted from the village massacre. For that fraction of a second, he felt whole again.

He sat down and recalled the words of the elder Gilroar Hawktotem: ''“One hour of practice, Chieftain, and two hours of meditation. The practice will keep your skills sharp, and the meditation will keep your mind sharper. That is how you defeat anyone who stands against you.”''

Naharak closed his eyes and began to meditate on his future.