The night air was crisp with the hint that the snow would fall again soon. The only sound breaking across the frozen ground was Arein’s grunts of pain. No screams would dare issue from the lips of a daughter of Paagrio. She would bare this child without aid of medicines and face the fire of pain with grim determination. The only comfort for this daughter was nestled in the knowledge all children of Paagrio were molded by the fire and only to the fire would they succumb.
Gregar the mighty warrior and chieftan of his clan stood at the doorway of the shabby little structure which made up his household. His reverie broken by the shaman’s mutterings of prophecies to come from this child. No words of comfort or love would he ever utter to his mate and lover. This was the bare necessity of life even if Arein died. One warrior departing so that another can fill the place. Secretly he hoped the child would be strong and that Arein would not descend to the fire’s of Paagrio. His unspoken love a secret shared only between the two. It was a match born of the fire he a Titan among his kind and she a Dominator. A match that had cleaved a gap between his peoples.
The shaman has stopped his incantations. Gregar takes a deep breath to mask the concern he has for his mate. With once last glance at the frozen land his people had been driven into he turns to find out the fate of child and woman. There on the cot sits Arein face full of pride at what she has spent the last four hours of pain to deliver. “Let my pain shape your life little one. Out of the fire you have come and you shall rain it down on your foes!” Arein could not be prouder that her child came into this world without a whimper. Gregar is more reluctant to shed praise on the newborn just yet. Knowing that the child must first endure the flame he doesn’t wish to speak. The mighty warrior crosses the threshold to lay a caring calloused hand on Arein. This will be the only sign he gives of how happy he feels. His face a mask of impassiveness he turns to the shaman.
“Oh child of Paagrio you have passed the first test of fire. Now you must endure the flame so that your soul can become as hard as steel and your will of iron.” The shaman has known the prophecy for his entire life. He wonders if this child is the one or just another failure. Long he has mistrusted the union of Gregar and Arein, but he cannot deny the power they wield together. Now will their power be instilled in this child? Only the fire of Paagrio will tell. With no more thought he takes the brand from the fire. The gleaming red steel bears no symbol. The child will either be burned and die or he will mold the steel into the magic of a warrior. Placing the brand on the child expecting a scream to issue from its small lips the shaman tries not to smile.
The only sound heard in the domain was flesh sizzling. The sound concerns Gregar. Has his child failed the test? No chieftan can have a failed child. He squeezes Arein’s shoulder awaiting the proclamation A thunderous clap envelopes the village as light blazes from the child. Reeling with shock Gregar and Arein take a moment to gather their wits and wipe the stars from their eyes. The shaman lays across the room having been thrown from the socerous magic that has been released. The brand is gone and the child is sitting on the floor looking at his parents. His eyes gleam with a fire that is burning brightly. The only mark on his green chest is a dark emblem of a the symbol known in their language as a paincrown.
Gregar bends down to his son eyes no longer the dead cold they have held for thirty years. He picks up the child and carries him over to Arein. They speak in whispers at the brand that has not been seen in a thousand generations. “Now a name must be chosen for our warrior son” speaks Gregar. “Aye, it is so but what name will fit a warrior with so much power?” asks Arein. She turns her head at the sound of the shaman stirring on the floor. Concern for his well being does not cross her mind for they are children of Paagrio and ask for no quarter nor provide it.
Slowly the shaman stands and shakes the dust from his head. Limping slightly as he crosses the room to Gregar and Arein. Coming to the child held closely in Gregar’s arms he does not disdain the slight affection being shown. “You have a mighty warrior son Gregar and Arein.” The shaman is still in shock from the thunderous clap and expenditure of energy resulting from the magical brand. Looking for the symbol that has been created his eyes widen at the sight of it. “The prophecy” is all he can exclaim. So shocked to see the paincrown he is left speachless.
“The child’s secret name shall be Gorthol” says Gregar as he names his child. “His enemies shall know him as DreadHelm. That being the name of the old language.” The child only looks up at his father fire still blazing from his eyes. No syllables can yet cross from his tongue, but the look is an approving one. He knows not what lies in his future but the fire in his soul has claimed its first victory of many to come.
Sorry Splatter no. He will take the path of a Titan like his father. However dont worry I will include many orcs in this story. I feel it brewing in my head and it may be a long one. :confused:
As the sun rose over the frozen plains of Elmore it was apparent that news had spread of the newborn orc child. The clan gathered outside the doorway of Gregar’s humble abode. Every orc assembled to see the promise of a child that would lead them from the darkness of despair into the light. The cold would not be a deterrent to these hardy folks who had waited countless generations for such a promise.
It had been a sleepless night for Gregar. Countless little thoughts had crossed the mind of the new father. How to raise such a child? What kind of father should he be? What training could he instill into this child? When the sun broke over the plains he rose from his chair by the hearth questions still unanswered. Arein was still encumbered by a well deserved sleep with their new born son held in her strong arms. Who was he to dictate to her how their son should sleep on the night of his birth? His thoughts scattered to the wind when the child stirred and looked up at him with those black fiery eyes. Those eyes that told of strength beyond the fallacy of his small size. Those eyes that told of adventures and victories to come. “Little one you and I shall see the world in a new way” muttered Gregar. After all no kind word would ever escape his lips. “This is a world of pain and suffering created to make us a strong warrior race. You shall experience it all that is my promise.”
The clan could no longer be ignored no matter how patiently they waited. To disturb their chieftan on the morrow of such a birth held great consequences. The door opened revealing Gregar and Arein holding their newborn promise. “Observe all of you the promise delivered!” Shouted Arein. “Many have held our union as a taboo. After all why would a Dominator and Titan ever join in such a union? I give you this as reason for our union!” The clan came forward to lay they’re hands on the child with the blessings and promises of each. Some offered praise others promise’s of loyalty. The warriors of the clan only promised pain and suffering in training as dictated by their code. No child of Paagrio could expect more.
Many days had passed since the introduction of the child to the clan when the parents of Arein and Gregar arrived. It was an uneasy truce between the chieftans of the clans. Arein was the daughter of Hatos the Urutu chief, and Gregar the son of Varkees the Atuba chief. The clans held together only under the strong leadership of the Flame Lord Kakai. The forbidden marriage strained that bond to its limit, and now the child would threaten to break the bond. Arriving at first light the opposing clans entered the village from opposing cardinal headings. Bristling with hostility the chieftans approached the door of their children.
From within the home Gregar and Arein sat awake awaiting the arrival. The rapping at the door did not come unexpected for this was the day fore told by the Shaman. Rising slowly Gregar looked upon his wife and child. His masculine face gave nothing, but his eyes….his eyes told more than he should have allowed. Arein closed the gap between them and grasped his hand squeezing tightly. If he could not allow his emotions to show she could. With a whisper into his ear of her love they crossed the room to the door and threw it open. “Welcome fathers into our home” said Gregar and Arein in unison.
An uneasy silence passed through the abode as chieftans and children sat across from eachother. What would come to pass this day Gregar wondered. Would war come this day and the letting of blood? It was the way he would have preferred to end the silent stalemate that currently held the room. Hatos was the first to speak, “The child bears the paincrown, and should rightly be raised by my tribe. Who better to teach him the ways of the Paagrio’s magic?” “Your tribe! YourTribe!” shouted Varkees. “My tribe is the rightful heir to such a child. We will raise the child to be a warrior in Paagrio’s service as none has ever seen! Magic is nothing compared to the power of the dragonslayer!”
The shouting between the two chieftans continued. Posturing and bristling with weapons and words a war was ready to break out. “Enough!” shouted Gregar as he slammed his dragon axe into the table. With the table cleaved in two and the chieftans silenced Gregar continued, “This is our child and we shall raise him as we see fit! Your bickering is pointless. The child was brought into this world by our union and shall be trained in the ways we see fit!” The silence that ensued engulfed the room. Both chieftans eyeing Gregar and Arein. “So be it” said Varkees. “We will be watching” was Hatos reply. The meeting over the chieftans and their subordinates left the village silently. Knowing this will not be the end of the debate Gregar and Arein close the door. Their child Gorthol sits in his straw bed awaiting the future.