User blog:KodiakPackAttack/Naharak Hawktotem - Born From Cinders

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

= Born From Cinders  =

"A Flame on a starless night"

The smoke filled the air as the fires burned low around the newest inductee into the Ashwalker Warband. Given only water, the fires had burned all day in order to cleanse her of all impurities -- for her to become reborn. The Elf’s naked body was covered in soot, blackening her skin as the ritual slowly came to a close.

“Rise, Zyaise Morningsworn,” an aging Tauren shaman said. “Brother Fire has burned all around you; everything you knew that once was is no longer. The dawn you woke to has become night in the presence of all those gathered here.” He raised his hands, motioning to what was left of the Warband.

Zyaise rose, looking directly at the elder, and then to their enigmatic leader. The elder continued to speak. “...You stripped naked, throwing your clothes in the fire, for they are from the Zyaise that once was. Now, prove to Brother Fire that you are truly born from cinders.”

Everyone watched in silence as Zyaise strode bravely from the middle of the smoldering ring towards their bovine leader. The drums beat more and more loudly with every step she took, the rhythm becoming faster and faster. Finally, she stood outside the ring and the drums were stopped. The elder shaman threw up his hands. “LOOK TO HER, BROTHER FIRE!” He shouted. “LOOK TO HER, SHE WHO IS BORN FROM CINDERS… AN ASHWALKER!”

The warband threw up their hands, shouting their cheers. The combined Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Ogres… all the races of the Horde and a Gnoll who had undergone the same ritual as her greeted their newest comrade.

Naharak, his face clad in wolf’s skin, nodded. He rose as Zyaise leaned on her sponsor, a blanket clad around her. “Zyaise is the first of many,” he began. “She came to us in an hour of darkness. We sent so many warriors out to the Broken Shore, only for a single letter from Leturok to return.” He looked directly at her. “She did not know us; she could not have. We hide away in the mountains, our enemies running rampant, the perpetrators of the crimes against us lying in wait, using the opportunity of disunity among our Horde to strike out of vengeance.”

These words had been the most Naharak had spoken to them in years -- every member was silent, hanging on every single syllable that came from him.

“...But we shall hide no longer. The time is coming for when we, even in our weakened state, must rise. When we must come down from our mountains, when we must surge against our enemies with extreme prejudice. Our ancestors look upon us and we shall meet them again.” He paused for a breath, only to take out an ax and hold it aloft. “I promise to you, Ashwalkers, that we will answer the crimes that were committed against us tenfold. We will help unite the Horde in these moments of disunity… or we will be lost.”

Cheers erupted as Naharak ended his speech. The young Tauren drank in it their voices, intoxicated by the drumming. Soon everyone began to fade away for the night -- to their duties. Naharak sat at the edge of the entrance to the Hawktotem burial caverns, watching the camp feast, drink, and celebrate their new comrade.

Naharak flicked his ear as he heard chainmail. “Warmastah,” the voice greeted. “It be time fo’ ya. De circle be set up per ya specifications.”

He rose, patting his friend on the back. “Thank you, Tecun,” he said. “An’she’s Light has cleansed my mind of darkness. It has been almost two years since I saw the smallest of sparks light of the dark… but now, I hear the call of the Sibling Spirits. Do not disturb me -- no one shall. If I do not come out of this cave, lead the Ashwalkers out and into the light.”

The masked Troll bowed his head. “As ya wish, Warmastah.” He took a knee. “Dis one be ya humble servant; ya ears, ya eyes, ya blade. I be doin’ as ya ask.”

Naharak descended into the cave -- to where the totems once stood, but now were nothing but ash. A circle, burning dimly of coals and incense, filled his nostrils as he stepped through and into the middle. He sat and meditated. For some length of time -- he did not know whether it was a minute or an hour, he waited.

His mind grew dark as the last of the embers burned out -- everything around him became pitch black. He heard the voices in his head -- the call of his tribesmen slaughtered at Camp Ahok’awa. But he did not speak, even as they grew deafening; when they reached their apex, he waved a hand gently through the air. An’she’s light filled it, the sparks lighting up the cavern and quieting the voices.

“...Kashu’ake…” a voice was heard. Naharak’s mind went into another world, a point in which every elemental plane met. He felt the raging heat of the Firelands, the surging storms of Abyssal Maw, the tearing winds of Skywall, and the cold avalanche of Deepholm. The Sibling Spirits stood on their respective ground, the Tauren small in comparison between them all. “...You failed us…” spoke Brother Air, the gusts of wind flowing as he spoke.

The Tauren remained calm, standing slowly. “I did,” he admitted, holding his head up to he could look at them. “I strode down my father’s path, not one of redemption. It was only a matter of time before I grew to be like Him.”

The four Sibling Spirits were silent. Naharak merely continued. “But you have been watching; I know you have. Even without your presence, I could feel you as I cleansed my mind of the voices, cleansed it with An’she’s Light. I come before you now and beseech you: make me your champion once more. Kashu’ake promised that he would redeem his bloodline, but Naharak will become your greatest champion.”

“We have taken a great risk on you and your bloodline, Kashu’ake,” Sister Water said, the water splashing Naharak. “We have been abused many times over; never has one such as yourself asked for forgiveness.”

The booming voice of Brother Earth was heard next. “...It is why we give you one last chance, Kashu’ake. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son; the son, however, must push that away. Get far away from His image.”

Finally, the raging heat of Brother Fire almost burned Naharak’s fur. “We will not give a second chance. Your reverence is noted, but after this… you will suffer dire consequences.”

The four spirits held their hands aloft. “...You are redeemed, Kashu’ake…” they all said in unison. “...Be reborn.”

It all ended in but a moment. His mind was returned, the trance over. He looked around the cavern, the once hot coals now cool. He stood up, holding out his hands. Mumbling those shamanistic words of power, he called out to the Sibling Spirits.

And they responded.