Player Content
The Seeker - by Murk the Jerk » September, 2018
Djingor, son of Fyrr, son of Thrask of the Snow Spears, or Traas Jahkara; Ijyut, son of Akor, son of Naas of the Blood Fists, or Buta Nas; and Agaarth, son of Wyrhaald, son of Naash. The last was the one that was really important to him, though only slightly more than the other two.
Agaarth, the elder of his own tribe, the Gra Kjruuttaii, or War Dancers. Agaarth, his father-brother[1].
As they neared, the Voraath stood straighter, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. The three war-bands halted, and only the elders and a shaman from each tribe approached. Kraagrif nearly opened his mouth to greet them, however quickly closed it allowing them to address him first, as was proper.
"I see you, Kraagrif of the Gra Kjruuttaii," first to speak was Ijyut, whose tribe came from the furthest south.
"I see you, Kraagrif of the Gra Kjruuttaii," second was Djingor, who was the youngest of the elders present.
"I see you, brother-son." Agaarth spoke informally. That was acceptable from family, and made it clear to the others that they weren’t only of the same tribe, but that they were kin. That wasn’t anything they didn’t already know, but that didn’t make the greeting worth any less.
"I see you, Seeker," The Shamans spoke in unison. That was unexpected. Normally, they remained silent unless they needed to speak when it came to formal greetings such as this. The young warrior wondered what the meaning of that was. Perhaps it was a matter of reminding him of his duty, and that this task might distance him from it.
"I see you, elders. I see you, honored shamans."
"You do not have your zuk-naath, Kraagrif. Have you cast it aside, and with it your caution?" Agaarth sounded amused by that thought. Many people thought voraath had no senses of humor, however Kraagrif understood that non-Voraath simply didn’t understand the humor of his people. That didn’t surprise him. Southlanders had terrible senses of humor. He had once been told a knock-knock joke by a wandering priest. Not only did it not make sense, but it wasn’t funny, either.
"I have no caution, elder. I place myself and my shield between great beasts and demons, to protect those who are not as sturdy as our people. "
"There is honor in this," One of the shamans stated, and the other two bobbed their heads in agreement.
"There is," Ijyut agreed, "But we are not here to speak on shields, or honor. We are here to speak of war. You and your allies, you have claimed the Black Scepter from Illidania. This was as the shamans asked. So did you fulfill your end of the agreement, we will too. Three war-bands, one of each of our tribes," Kraagrif had expected that many. It would be foolish to send all of their forces, but three war-bands were enough to lay a siege on a city.
"Why then, do you halt us here, Warrior?" Another shaman asked, "Were we not to march to fight these demons in Kasiq? Were we not to march to purge that city of its filth?" A different shaman asked, pointing north with his gnarled, lashed-skull headed staff.
"We cannot march yet, Shaman. It is not a fight we can win yet."
Djingor snorted, and tossed his head back, "You insult us, youth? Half our number is enough to fight a city of demons. We can win."
"Hold, Djingor. Perhaps the young one knows that which we do not," The third shaman grunted to the elder.
Kraagrif expected this response from Djingor. He knew enough of the warrior-shaman that he expected him to wish to charge into battle, regardless of intelligence that had been gathered by the Hammerspark Heroes. Among the elders that he knew of, Djingor was the youngest at forty five years, and considered rash among the other elders. More than once champions of the Gra Kjruuttaii had needed to face against a champion of the Traas Jahkara over what seemed to be a minor dispute, only because Djingor had felt some slight to his honor. Or, at very least, that was how his father-brother saw it. Kraagrif had seldom been party to those sorts of talks among tribe elders.
"The Ossian Devils that plague Kasiq, they are not normal demons. They do not die when they are slain. Even the magi," the word spoke with a degree of contempt in Kraagrif’s tone, "Their magic has little lasting effect. Their Radiance has little lasting effect. They die, and then they return to kill again. Further, something has the survivors in Kasiq held in thrall. Not all of the humans there are Sinners, so caution must be exercised."
"Then what do you suggest be done, Seeker?" one of the shaman’s asked.
All eyes rested on Kraagrif, who closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The bitter cold air felt refreshing in his massive lungs. He had heard the small people complain about that stinging, however that idea was foreign to him. The Warrior took a time to formulate a response, even if he already knew what needed to be done. Grif expected Djingor to protest, and if Djingor dug his heels in too deeply about the way he wanted this to be handled, two things could happen. Firstly, Djingor could lead his people in before the other two tribes. That, Kraagrif expected, would be a slaughter. Second, Djingor could just leave. That would leave the other two tribes without enough warriors present to form an offensive that would be effective, meaning more stalling to try and find more Voraathi warriors willing to fight for this. Even if that was possible, it meant more delay, which meant more time for the enemy to learn their terrain and grow more effective.
"The allies I have gained in Hammerspark Hold intend to move on the source of the Ossian Devils, their… for lack of a better term, ‘core’. I propose we allow them to do just that, while reducing the potential threat to their mission by engaging with the Devils at the same time. We can fight demons. We have the strength, the numbers. We can be their zuk-naath, while they the spear that deals the death blow to the fiends."
Djingor grunted, and stepped forward, nearing his golden face to Kraagrif’s own, staring him down with his olive gaze. The warrior could smell the bloodvenom on his breath. Most Voraathi did not imbibe enough of the potent liquor to get intoxicated before battle, however the berserkers of the Traas Jahkara were said to drink of it heavily. It was said the bloodvenom fueled their Krondhir-empowered rage, making them some of the deadliest shock troops in the Voraathi tribes.
"Why, then, runt, do we not strike the source ourselves? Have you been away from your people too long, that you would give the glory of victory to dwarves and outlanders?"
"No elder," Kraagrif said, meeting the furious gaze of the other Voraathi with a level one of his own, "They bring something to that fight that we, as a people, do not possess a great deal of. They bring diversity. They have among them rogues and scoundrels, yes. But they also bring with them Priests and Warlocks, who understand the nature of such things better than even – and no offense is intended by this – our shamans. I believe that they possess a greater chance of success with less risk of casualty. I think not of our glory, elder. I think of the lives of our people."
"The Seeker speaks wisely, Djingor. I have walked the world, in the Southlands. They have among them knowledgeable scholars. Our perspective, it is as a blade. Deadly as it is, it is narrow. A blade is not needed here," The Traas Jahkara shaman said to Djingor.
The elder stared Kraagrif down, even after hearing his shaman’s words, and Kraagrif remained steadily matching it, until Djingor eventually snorted and nodded, making a show of turning back towards the rest of the elders by slamming his shoulder into Kraagrif’s own. The younger Voraath ignored the hostility. He didn’t expect that all would agree with going along with this plan of action.
"Djingor, do you intend to break your word? It was agreed that if Kraagrif returned from Illidania with the Black Scepter, then we would lend him men for this cause," Agaarth watched the elder with a vaguely amused expression on his face, "Would you forget your oath?"
"I would not, Agaarth. I have brought warriors, as have you and Ijyut. I did not agree to waste our time waiting for humans and dwarves to take action."
"Good. Then shut up and stop your posturing. It makes you look as a child who knows the meaning of honor, but does not understand it," Agaarth then turned to Ijyut, who had been the quietest of the three elders, "What say you, war-brother? Does this plan suit you and your people?"
Ijyut bowed his head slightly, a reserved nod of agreement, "Kraagrif’s plan is for the best, it seems. However, I do not disagree with Djingor, in that we cannot remain away from our tribes to wait on the humans and dwarves, the outlanders. We have duty here, but we have duty with our people as well. Make sure that the Heroes of Hammerspark know this. Make sure that it is known, too, that we fully intend to take Kasiq, to purge it of evil. Make sure it is known that we will hold it, and if the Humans come to claim it again, we will not hesitate to defend it. That is the price of our service. A city, and the lands around it."
"It will be known, elder. I will return to them, and let them know."
The elders each signaled their war-bands to begin setting up camp, as Kraagrif gathered his things from the snow.
"May you find hearth and hold tonight, brother-son," Agaarth offered Kraagrif as the younger warrior prepared to depart for Hammerspark Hold again, clasping him on the shoulder with a firm grip.
"May you find hearth and hold tonight, Kraagrif son of Thangir, son of Wyrhaald," Ijuyut mirrored, placing a hand on his chest over one of his hearts.
"May you find hearth and hold tonight, Seeker," The shamans offered in unison.
"… May hearth and hold be found for you," Djingor snorted, as he walked away.
The other two chiefs frowned at this response, but said nothing. That farewell was usually reserved for Khaag, exiles, and enemies, and was considered an insult to say to any but these. Kraagrif clenched his jaw. That was a shot at his honor, however responding poorly, even to that manner of insult, would be considered dishonorable. Not responding to it in any way, however, would have been a show of weakness or submission.
Kraagrif weighed his options carefully, considering. It would be poor form to issue a challenge to Djingor here and now, especially given that he was lending the aid of his war-band. Repeating the same insult back to the elder, however, would reflect poorly on him.
"May you find hearth and hold, elders. May you find hearth and hold, honored shamans."
Ijyut and Agaarth lofted their brows at Kraagrif as he turned to walk away. Djingor grinned, counting that response as a victory for him, a precision strike delivered to the Seeker without any challenge returned to defend his own honor. The elder probably thought that Kraagrif was acting the coward, running away from the situation. Fortunately, for Kraagrif, he had considered his next words carefully, as he walked away a few steps in the direction of Hammerspark Hold.
Kraagrif stopped, and turned his head to look over his shoulder towards Djingor.
"May you find hearth and hold, Djingor, son of Fyrr, son of Thrask."
Agaarth actually laughed quietly, a low rumble that carried on the cool evening air.
Kraagrif had just regarded Djingor as a peer, not an elder. Djingor could probably be considered an enemy now, though Grif didn’t stop to gauge the elder’s reaction to find out. That would be a problem for another day.
[1] Author's Note : Voraathi describe their familial relations, instead of having a host of names for them. Father-brother is the Voraathi description of uncle. Brother-son is the description of nephew.