In days of hope, when Bruna was young, he already had been bigger than most other children of the Frostsong. Many had feared him and even more his father, and so he spent his time alone doing what his father had taught him. Even though he wasn’t there often, whenever he was he spent time training with his son, testing his brawn, forging his muscle. And Bruna took it to heart. His days were made of training, of forging the steel of his body and once he got barely old enough, of killing. Hunting what his family needed, for his mother was ill. A curse that should follow their family until his own lifemate would die once she became a mother.
When he got a sister, the boy was forced to become a man. He would never tell anybody but her, but he was glad that his father had given life to a girl and not another boy. For a boy would have been a constant rival for their fathers honour, while his sister was a family treasure he swore to protect in his absence. He told himself he did so for nothing but their fathers approval, yet her smile should always echo in his eyes. His training was not carrying wood or stone anymore, but running up to the mountain with his sister on his back. Laughing and spurring him on, the little girl became his new reason to train. To make her laugh, to see her smile and to protect her from all the world would throw at them.
As those years of happiness went by soon, he became old enough to do his Daal’Gavek. His quest to become a proper man of the clan. He was thirteen when he did his and he knew he would have been ready earlier, yet a shaman who should become seer was against the Khans boy doing it early. Bruna had distaste for him even back then, yet it was only another year of training and then he was allowed to hunt for his name.
Most children went to the pines to hunt for a beast worthy of their blood. But only he was son of the great Khan, so he knew it would not be enough to come back with a grand wolf or even bear. So instead of daring the pines of the south he went up north to the last edge at the boiling sea.
The most northern place of the Frostsongs influence yet the one with the least snow. For the sea here was blessed by the dragon's fire generations ago, when it still fought against their enemies. Salty it boiled and crashed against the cliffs in hot storms of thunder. Shamans often sent their apprentices here to meditate on all the elements. The storm, the sea, the cliffs and stone, and finally the echo of fire that boiled deep within the northern tides.
Bruna however was here for another reason. Some of the Isles deep within the salty boiling waters, carried the nests of wyverns. Entire swarms called it their homes and he knew if there was anything worthy of the Khans son, it would be a Wyverns mighty head.
He built but a simple floss, and set off into the storms. The fishermen, among them a girl that should become his daughter's mother, shook their head, for they knew the boy would die.
Yet by luck and brawn he survived the boiling storms.
Coughing and with his dark skin being burned by the sea, he crashed ashore the obsidian Isle. Scarred and desperate he crawled up to the dark cliffs when he heard the haunting screech of the beasts he sought. He stood up and pressed himself against the hot black cliff before him. Just a second after he did, two red Wyverns crashed down on the black beach. They were fighting, even though he did not know why he knew it was deadly. Too occupied with each other to see him, the two beasts were biting and clawing at each other. Both protected by their dark red scales, yet both wounding each other with every tooth and every slash. They curled and snapped around like a ball of deadly spikes and the boy was lucky that one already had lost parts of its tale, otherwise he would have been crushed by the same when instead hot blood sprinkled his panting face.
Suddenly the ball of scale, flesh and teeth became two wyverns again as one made its height and wings shown. It stood on two legs and roared into the sky while fire escaped its maw, the other however wasn’t scared and used that moment to jump at its neck. The boy could see that the bite was deep, maybe a mortal wound already, when the biting wyvern spewed fire with its bite. It ignited the venom inside the other's throat and made it burst open in a small explosion of flesh, flame and venom.
Yet still it was not dead. It fell down on its back just before the other climbed on it and roared right into its now scarred face while its own had lost parts of its snout with the explosion. Then it simply flew away as the victor.
Now the boy was alone with the dying beast. He saw its breathing getting lower and lower and once he could properly look at it he saw the nasty open wound the explosion had made at its throat. He had never heard that a wyverns Venom was the reason for their fire, but this has taught him better than any shaman could.
He knew this was his chance. Maybe not as honourable as he would have imagined, but at least he would survive. See his sister again, and bring a wyverns head worthy of his fathers name.
Slowly he got closer to the dying beast. Once it saw him it tried to move but too much blood had left its body already. After he drew his axe, they both shared a look. Every attempt it had of fighting back was gone, and it seemed like it knew it was only a matter of time now that it would die. The boy would never tell how the beast had died, yet those pleading eyes, asking him for a swift death, should never leave his mind.
If his future had turned out like so many of the clan had predicted he would have seen these again much sooner, in the beast that was their master. Yet by either fate or his own broken pride it was another boy that should see the dragon for himself and make plans to change the fate of all orckind.
He never understood how something could plead for its death, how something could give up and stop to fight back until its last breath.
That changed the day he saw his daughter's lifeless body in front of the burning oak. The day all he had left, all the hopes he was fighting for, had died by a fight that never should have been. By an axe that was crafted to protect her. Blocked by another that was made to defend their bloodline. But what did axes matter, when she was dead?
What did any of it matter now? His sister was part of the enemy now, and his daughter was dead. So was his father and the woman who had granted life to his daughter thirteen years ago. There was no one and with his daughter's fire extinguished all hopes that still had burned inside of him were gone.
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His eyes were tired during Aru’Gals speech, yet his body fought to not cry in front of the crowd. He was beaten. Everything was lost, and he did not care for the poison in his friend’s words. His eyes only resting on her empty face, his mind drawn to the few memories they had shared together. To times she cried, to times she laughed, as few as they may had been. None of them to ever return.
As the day continued and the clan was forced to work on the mine, he stumbled through the day. Made preparations for her funeral. She needed a dolmen and he would work on one. Her dolmen needed chimes, and he would make sure it did. When he saw a smith for them, it was the only time that day his mind was truly drawn to the presence. The smith was running low on ore, yet he crafted weapon after weapon. When Bruna requested the chimes, the young smith sighed and looked at the remaining ore. Bruna started to stare at him and huffed angrily from his nose. Before the smith could say no to the beast an older smith came from inside the forge tent. “We shall make sure that her stone will sing.” He answered. Words that brought Bruna’s mind closer to reality once more he looked down and tried to fight it all before after a long deep breath he looked back up at the smith.
“I also need a helmet..” he added. “Make sure my face isn’t…” He stumbled over his words “make sure it is protected.”
Now even the old smith looked at the ore and shook his head. “It depends, what the Khan might say.”
“He will agree.” Bruna stated, knowing Aru’Gal would do anything for him in times of need.
As he left the forge tent he heard the smiths discuss his requests, but it was but a distant echo. They would work on the chimes. And he would rest in the tent with the body of the dead. Like it was tradition. Like he did back when her mother died. Back then he tried to fight his tears in front of his daughter, back when he tried to be strong for her, back when he thought he could remain a rider and still see her protected. Back when his sister came to aid them both in their grief.
Now he was alone. The tent was dark and no one but him and her body took watch inside. The wind was cold, but he could not feel it. His tears left rivers to freeze, yet he couldn’t feel them either. His mind was tired of fighting the reality of her death and the closer the night of her burning came, the harder it became to fight back.
Voices echoed from the mine. Screams, roars and finally the lashing of whips. It was enough to drag him out of his sorrow and into fury for but a second. “Don’t listen to them..” he told his daughter. “They won’t disturb your journey.” He closed his eyes and took her cold stiff hand. “I will make sure of it.”
Yet he remained, neither caring nore doing anything about the clan and neither did anyone dare to disturb him. Over the day he heard how trees down south were cut and how riders ordered commands to the clan. He heard how lashes were answered with screams of pain and he knew, as his fathers son, he should have cared. But what did it matter?
Dusk came close and soon a shaman he barely knew stood in front of the tent. “Beast?” his voice took Bruna out of what could have turned into an uneasy sleep. “It is time.”
He sighed a final time and pressed her cold hand. “We are home.” He whispered to her and crumbled in his tears before Aru’Gal’s voice came from outside the tent. “Brother?”
Bruna wiped his tears away and stood up. He took her body once more before he left the tent. The sun was going down and Aru’Gal greeted him with a hand on his big shoulder. “It is time.” he repeated the shamans words.
Bruna nodded “I know.” He stated with a voice as cold as the valley that day and then followed the Khan and the shaman to the steep valley of the dead, east of the hollowed mountain. As he saw all the graves, the dolmen old and young, Bruna stopped. “Her Dolmen” he said to Aru’Gal “It’s still in the tent.”
Usually one family member carried the dead, and another the Dolmen.
“I will get it. Carry her further.” Aru’Gal said. His voice unusually soft.
Bruna nodded and carried her further, to finally lay her atop the stones of fire. Wood was gathered around it already, and both shamans and clansmen were gathered. Not many, and few he actually knew. Some of the riders were here as well, gathered around the soon to be pyre. There was silence for quite a while. Nothing but the howling wind of the steep valley until it was broken by the crunching snow of Aru’Gal who carried her dolmen. Bruna could see how the small orc struggled and went to get the stone of him. It was his duty afterall.
He placed the stone next to her body on the pyre and the old smith came from the crowd to hand Bruna the chimes. Carefully he took them and with much care hung them on the stone. The leather black and made of wyvern, like all chime ropes were, to survive the pyre.
“You should say something.” Gor’Mash’s old voice came low from the crowd.
Bruna nodded as the eyes of the crowd were on him. It took him a long moment before he could speak. “She is home.” he said with a shattered voice. “Her mother wil~” he coughed up the tears clouding his eyes again, before he looked straight forward once more. “Her mother will care for her now.”
Another long moment of silence came by, as many expected more to be said. “Torch..” he demanded. And was handed one by a shaman. With a last long gaze upon her lifeless empty body he waited. And waited. Not sure why, yet he was unable to take the step.
Aru’Gal’s hand touched his shoulder once more. “Do it.” he softly demanded. “It should be her fathers torch.”
He sighed and stepped closer to finally throw his torch at the gathered wood. Others did as well. Usually it would have been those that knew the dead, yet he wasn’t sure how many even knew his daughter. Some looked young, as if they could have been her age. Others older as if they could be his. The only ones he truly knew were the riders. Gor’Mash, Ur’Bak and Aru’Gal who all threw torches at her pyre.
Once the torches were thrown, the shamans started to sing in the oldest tongue and the fire answered as it lit up. Soon those few gathered answered as well, all together singing from their throat. While the fire lit up, her name in song echoed through the mountain behind them and into the endless valley of dolmen.
Bruna was meant to sing. Yet he could do nothing but stare at the flames while night started to cast its shadow over the valley. The fire rose and finally started to take her body. Yet his eyes remained on it. The Dolmen was gathered in flames as well, as it was tradition and stood proudly in the flames next to her body. Its chimes sang with the wind and their voices and soon her entire body was burning.
Many left the pyre after they had sung her song. Yet the riders remained. Waiting for her ashes to rise and take the journey to the last of all battles.
No word was spoken. No song was sung anymore. Only the crackling fire and empty wind answered her chimes. This was her last silent goodbye to her father and the mountain. Both of which taken so soon from her.
They were taken out of their silent prayers to the ancestors when a wyverns roar echoed over the mountain. All their eyes, even Bruna's, glared up when they saw the big Wasteland beast Dustfang.
“The ashes are answering it seems.” Aru’Gal said and then was the first to walk away.
Ur’Bak followed next and last of all with a pat on Bruna’s shoulder Gor’Mash the old rider.
Leaving the beast alone. Finally he could cry. Yet his eyes were empty.
He remained there for the night, unsure where else to go. Finally spending time with her.