Night Fears

[Jobolg]

“It’s all a lie, you know. A fabrication of a feeble mind desperately clinging to what is slipping away.”

Where is this voice coming from? I can see nothing in this fog, not even my hands. It is too heavy about me. I should respond. “What is?”

“You. Your life. Your existence. You are no less a falsehood than the mechanical abomination you wrought from the stuff of the earth.”

I am not false! I stand here firmly in this mist as real as any! But I must know... “Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

What unfair question is this? How should I know who she is? A voice in my dreams, little more. “You are a voice in this black mist I cannot see. The demon?”

“No. I am no demon. Try again.”

Such a soothing, melodic voice she has. But I cannot abide it! She speaks to me as though I were a child. “Your voice has an air of familiarity to it, but I have never heard it in the world before.”

“You have, but it was only for a time. Only would you remember those months in the back of your mind, for your entrance to the world ceased me.”

I was right. Never have I heard this voice in the world. I heard it before the world, when all was as black as it is now. I refuse to believe what I know in my soul to be true.

The voice says nothing in response to my thoughts. Everything is cold with the realization.

“...mother?”
----------------------------------------------------

Jobolg sprang up, flinging the sheet which covered him off the bed. It drifted gracefully down to the floor, molding over the shape of a discarded core and causing its light to dim and distribute a cool red glow about the room that shined off the prevalent metals, though something other than the core seemed to be helping the luminescence. A trickle of sweat ran coldly down his forehead until it was wiped clean with a swipe of his forearm and flung randomly to his right. The orc swung his legs around, dropping them off the side of the bed. The dull steel floor was cold on the bottoms of his feet, sending a shiver up his legs and into the base of his spine. The air seemed saturated with the vile stench of burning brimstone; it was a far-cry from the smell of various oils he was used to. He looked around serenely at his burning lab, gold eyes scanning over the flames which flickered and danced atop churning gears and unstable triggers.

“Where am I?” he wondered a loud. “Am I back in my lab? Why does it burn? Everything in here is too controlled to catch fire.”

Jobolg rubbed his eyes as if to clean the sleep out of them and rid the fire from his lab, but it remained. Groaning in annoyance, he forced himself to stand, nearly naked form stretching its arms above his head as a yawn overtook him in the typical morning ritual. A calm stride carried him groggily through the jumping flames and to the wavering purple void that was the lab’s exit. Raising his legs one at a time, he stepped through the portal and looked around at what should have been Gadgetzan, and was, but yet was not.

“Still dreaming,” he muttered to himself, gazing about at the gray and black dreamscape which surrounded him. The tiny round goblin buildings of the town extended from the ground at odd angles, their wood warped and contorted, and gray. Everything he passed was gray or black, and only a few bits of white resided here and there in the small inkling of stars overhead. There was no color to anything but his skin and robes. “Nothing but darkness here.”

Jobolg looked at the shattered contraption that was usually above the entrance to this place, now grounded, as he walked past it. Gray sparks flickered from its gears in a vain effort to lift itself back over the entryway of the normally sprawling desert town. From behind it, a small shadowy image flickered, and whisked behind the cover of a nearby rock in a black blur of motion.

“Demon, how did you get loose?”

There was no response but the shuffling of the shadowy entity behind the stone.

“Do not make me repeat myself! Step out from behind the stone, demon, or I’ll bind you in a manner significantly more painful than the original.” The threat spewed from Jobolg’s lips before he even realized what he was saying, and he balked at the almost angry tone in his voice.

Slowly, the shade emerged from behind the smooth rock, poking its head into the light. The creature was no demon. That was clear the moment Jobolg spotted its fluffy pink pigtails. No, this was not a demon. It was a gnome. It was THE gnome. He saw her everywhere he went, from Booty Bay to the Plaguelands, and she even made herself briefly present before a bad-tea induced journey of a technicolor nature. It was as though she was his tiny stalker and in a way it was flattering. But now she was here in his dreamscape, in his mind, in the holding cell for the demon which sustained him and he couldn’t help but wonder how.

She responded before he could think to ask, as though reading his thoughts. “You don’t even know who I am or why I am here, do you?”

Jobolg had to be honest. There was no point lying in his own mind. “No. I do not.”

The gnome’s lips peeled back into a cute sort of smile. “But you are aware of your own purpose here, I hope?"

“I am only aware of what I feel, and I make no claims of distinct knowledge about anything but machines. Not even myself.”

“So you would remain indifferent to the world?” the gnome inquired, seeming strangely concerned about him.

“I remain indifferent to nothing! I have friends, and the guild I am within fights for a noble cause that I am proud to be a part of,” Jobolg retorted, feeling the anger well up in his voice again at her accusation. “I will listen to no more of this!”

With an angry snarl, he turned from the tiny gnome and walked away into the desert. The gray town of Gadgetzan collapsed behind him, spewing sand into the air in a billowing cloud. Jobolg did not notice a thing. As the city crumbled beneath the sand into dust, the desert began to change around him. Steel walls, covered in turning gears of all directions, blasted up from the sands with noises like cannons firing. Tiny rocks reshaped themselves into metallic glowing cores of energy. A cactus became a control panel, and the blinking lights danced upon it. The desert was no longer lacking just water, but was void of any biological life but the orc himself.

Jobolg looked around at the mechanical space which had risen around him and felt a strange sense of comfort. The churning of gears and the ticking of chronometers sent a wave of soothing calm washing over him. The flashing lights and glowing buttons within the room elicited a quiet chuckle from his throat. With a soft smile, he took a seat in front of a workbench and began turning the cogs of a tiny mechanical soldier, tuning it. He remained content at this workbench for precious few moments, however, before that voice interrupted him from behind.

“You are no less indifferent to the world than the Scourge. Your indifference is only less malicious. You are with this group and their cause is worthy, but what have you truly done for them? Very little. You hide away, sequestered in your lab with your precious machines and your priceless books performing little mechanical miracles which in the long run benefit almost no one.”

“That is where you are wrong! I have done so much here! I have created life from mechanical parts! I have produced legs, though I have yet to deliver them, for the friend of a friend, someone I do not even know!” Jobolg replied indignantly.

“And you also charged gold for those legs, if it is recalled, so in the end you remained again indifferent.”

“No! I...” the orc trailed off, only now truly noticing where he was. This was his lab. The place he spent so much time in, tinkering away with things which seemed so significant at the time but so pointless now. “Why am I here?”

The gnome smiled sadly at him, tilting her head to the side. “This is your sanctuary, this place of churning steel and burning fuels. It is the place you have created within yourself to hide from the reality of things you do not have the courage to face.”

“And what is that reality?” came Jobolg’s question.

“That you are dying. That you should be dead already. That the only sustaining force within you comes from a demon ensnared through ritual magic and that if it were to escape, you would fade from this world into the torturous nether, your soul, the half of it you have, no longer your own.”

“Then I was right.”

“Yes, you were right, but does it really even matter? Do you even remember the promises you made? You don’t, do you? You don’t remember a thing of your past. You have locked it away to facilitate this sanctuary. But it is still here. You cannot destroy your past. You may only hide it from yourself.”

Jobolg stared at the gnome disapprovingly. His golden eyes narrowed, brows furrowing inward on top of them. “And where, little gnome, would I have hidden something as large as a past?”

“The same place you store everything else of value to you,” the pink-haired gnome answered. With a snap of her fingers, a massive safe, a black steel marvel of engineering, dropped from the sky. It crashed through the roof as though it were gelatin, surprisingly no debris flying anywhere, and landed on the ground as soft as a pillow, but as loud as dynamite. “Let’s see what’s in here, shall we?”

“How did you-“ Jobolg began to say, cut off as the gnome easily popped the safe-storage device open. Within it was nothing. Blackness. But as the orc peered unknowingly into that blackness, everything around him began to go black as well. The gnome, his lab, his devices, faded into nothingness until all that surrounded him was black and misty.

He stared into the void, waiting for what he did not know.

[Jobolg]

Jobolg ventured forth into the blackness, stepping on solid dark. Quiet echoes of voices reverberated off the nothingness around him. They spoke of something he knew to be important, but he could not piece together just what their words meant to him.

“...but Elder Shaman, we must not complete this task! You know what it is that is within this woman! Let us destroy it rather than release it!” a voice demanded.

“No. I know its soul is taint, but its spirit seems so strong, and I do not feel it would be right to extinguish a life, no matter its potential for darkness,” an older voice, presumably this elder shaman, replied.

“It is my child!” chimed in a third voice, this one female but sounding very feeble. “I wish it brought into the world the way you would bring any other orc into this world! After all I’ve done for you, you can do no less for me!”

The first voice was outraged. “Do you not know of your own madness, woman? You’ve run about town day after day during this pregnancy, screaming in tongues not a single one of us could understand! The thing in your belly is unnatural and evil! Do you even know who the father is?!”

“Does that really matter?” the woman retorted, a hacking cough tearing through her otherwise soothing voice. “It simply means I was given a blessing.”

“Or a curse!”

“Calm yourself! Now!” the elder shaman yelled out commandingly. “Even if the soul which produced this child is demonic, it can be purified, like all things Fel.”

Jobolg continued walking, these voices growing nearer and louder with every step he took. When it seemed they were so loud he could not hear himself think, there came a slit of light ahead of him, cutting through the darkness like a knife. A massive finger, followed by a tremendous green hand, shortly after joined by another, reached in through the opening of light. The orc watched blankly as the hands stretched in through the darkness, grasped his comparatively small form and then began to withdraw. They lifted him, pulling him towards the light at a rapid pace. The narrow slit expanded outward, growing larger and brighter until there was no more darkness. The light encompassed everything, leaving him blinder than he was before.

“It’s a boy. Did you hear me? It’s a boy. Just as you were hoping!” the voice of the elder shaman informed her cheerfully.

The woman’s voice did not respond.

As Jobolg’s eyes adjusted to the light, he began to see colored shades of things around him. The walls of the place he now resided in were crafted of fine reddish wood, and the room itself was immaculately clean. Wooden framed beds with feather mattresses and white sheets came slowly into focus. He looked up, shocked to see himself in the grasp of an elderly looking orc many times his size. He looked down at his own hands to find them tiny, fatty and infantile. When the orc attempted to question this, the words did not fumble from his lips. All his throat formulated was a simple high pitched grunt.

“You see! Look at her! You should have taken my advice!” Jobolg looked over to the voice of the first speaker. He was a tall, weasly looking troll with a deep gash running up his cheek. The orc followed the troll’s arm to the tip of his pointing finger and found his eyes upon a peaceful looking female orc. Her hair was silken even by appearance, crushed beneath her resting head. Her body was full and healthy, her muscles toned in a feminine way. But the woman’s eyes caught Jobolg’s attention. They stared back at him glossy, cold and dead.

As he looked into the voids of her eyes, he realized the truth he would not admit to himself.

“...mother.”
-------------------------------------------

“Ah, so now we find ourselves at the root of things,” the gnome informed. Jobolg found himself back within the dreary gray dreamscape of his lab. A tiny colorless automaton whisked past his feet, heading toward one of the three moving belts within the far end of the lab.

Jobolg looked down at her, but found himself unable to speak, and scarcely able to move his body at all. He was able to wiggle his fingers, and his eyes flicked about as the diminutive being pranced around him in perpetual motion, but nothing more.

“I’m sure you are realizing by now that you were the cause of her death.” The gnome paused for a moment, noting the pained look of confusion upon Jobolg’s face. “Yes, you know her, and you are right in your assumption. She was your mother. Not any more, of course! Bringing you into this world was the last thing she ever did.”

Jobolg’s entire being tensed at this, but try as he might he could not lift his arm to strike her. How he wished she would leave him be!

“Do you think that’s your problem? Guilt? Subconscious guilt buried deep in the back of your brain? You’d be wrong, you know. It is fear that keeps you separated from all that you know. Fear that you might bring the same fate as the mother you never knew onto others. Fear of death. You really are quite fearful, but I’m sure you know that. I suppose you have reason to fear death though. After all, you haven’t been around very long, have you? And you’ve only one life to live.”

The small being bounded onto a gray chair, and from there onto high black table, placing herself at eye level with the orc she spoke to. Slowly, one of her tiny hands reached out towards him, its fingers rolling up, and she flicked him on the forehead. Though the gnome continued to speak to him after this, her voice faded into the background as the world around Jobolg began to change.

[Jobolg]

“Pass it here, Jobolg! Pass it here!” spoke a voice from one of the shapes slowly coming into existence around the orc.

Jobolg looked down at his small, youthful arms; they were not feeble, but had yet to develop real muscle. Clutched between his palms was a heavy leather ball. He could feel its weight pulling with gravity against his desire to keep it up. The images came together faster now as he stared into the ball’s leathery surface. The shape shouting to him was another orc. It was a child like he was, the boy’s bald head the color of the rolling green hills they played upon.

“C’mon, c’mon!” the other orc sounded impatient to receive the ball, but Jobolg paid him no heed yet.

All around him was green and ripe and flowering; it was awe inspiring to the one who had for so long confined himself to his laboratory. The birds sang happily within their trees, sweet melodies of nature whispering through leaves and feathers. A tiny dragonfly buzzed past his nose in search of food, its plated form a radiant red. Jobolg looked up and saw the pillowy clouds whisking softly by in the cool spring wind; he felt the same wind flow soothingly through his hair. Seated quietly in the distance was a smaller, solitary orc. He seemed to be watching them wistfully, only occasionally glancing back into the thick book he held.

“Quit standing around! Pass me the ball already, would ya?!”

This other orc clearly did not share the admiration for the suddenly green land around him. But then, he was probably accustomed to it. With a nod of his head, Jobolg raised the ball up to his chest and thrust his arms forward, pitching the leather ball in a shallow arc to the other orc, who caught it with a smile and a laugh. The lonely orc in the distance stared at him harshly with golden eyes.

“Bout’ time!”

Smiling peacefully at a bee upon a lily nearby, Jobolg was nearly hit in the face by the return throw of the brown sphere. Only on instinct, his body seeming to move on its own, did he thrust his hands up in time to intercept and catch the ball. The other child laughed gleefully, while the separated one watched with disdain.

“You caught one! Good job!”

The words inadvertently brought a smile to Jobolg’s lips, and only when he passed the ball back did he realize how happy he seemed to be. It was a feeling of peaceful euphoria of the likes he had never experienced in the past. Everything here seemed so right, as though this was how things were supposed to be. But they were not. He could never remember living in such a nice place, nor playing with another orc in such a way.

“You don’t remember because it never happened! Things were never like this! Outcast!”

Like a bolt of lightning the voice jolted through his brain, its raw power burning the backs of his eyeballs. Torturous white hot needles of light pierced them from the front, racking him with pain and stealing away the beautiful landscape. All but the pain was replaced by a broad and empty canvas. It was as much nothing as the black mist, but it seemed so much colder.

“That was simply the delusion of a desperate, childish mind. It was what you really wanted then, wasn’t it?”

All at once the scenery repainted itself, but now the land was bleak and red. The rolling hills became jagged cliffs, painted in stark contrast of a still beautiful sky, its glaring sun pouring heat into the already swelteringly hot and dry land. The trees became weathered rocks onto which the dying roots of dying plants clung tight in hopes of water. But greatest of all the changes was his own. He now sat alone, silently glancing over the text of the thick tome he held only briefly and sporadically. With hateful golden eyes he glared at an orc child in the distance, one of two, holding a leather ball within his small hands.

“You wished you were that child so hard... After all the elder shaman’s attempts at ‘cleansing’ you, the scars of which shall never go away, they owed you at least a simple game of catch, but you never received it. They allowed themselves to be swayed by the words of foolish adults with foolish beliefs about you. Half-soul. Demon child. Do you remember how they called you that?”

Jobolg’s childish hands quivered with rage, balling up into a fist so tight he could feel the circulation to his fingers cutting off. The other child wordlessly looked in his direction and immediately seemed to feel the daggers in his gaze. The playing child quivered and tossed the leather ball to his partner who spoke words to him Jobolg could not understand from so far away.

“You really were right, you know. One can’t blame you at all for hating them so passionately, so purely. No one wishes to be the outcast. Everybody needs someone to talk to, and you had no one, not even in these younger years meant to be so carefree and glorious.”

The light flashed in his eyes again as the sun exploded with molten fire. He found himself creeping through the night, the dark cloud-covered moon shedding only dim trickles of light down onto the dry, dusty earth. The lack of stars would have made it difficult to see through the pouring sheets of rain had he not carried with him a glass lantern. Thunder clapped behind him as a building in the distance drew nearer; his legs carried him toward it by themselves. They were longer now, more toned, every stride carrying him further than the tiny legs of the child he was moments before. As he passed a wide puddle, he felt the urge to stop and examine his reflection.

He was a rather handsome orc now, in his mid teens by the shape of his jaw and cheekbones. His lengthy black hair, tied into four braided tails, seemed barely affected by the rain which battered his face and poured in a steady stream from his nose and chin. Tattered clothing, soaked and useless, clung tightly to his form, making him seem pitiful despite his powerful muscles. With a lengthy sigh, he continued his trek toward that building, the light of his lantern flickering unevenly upon a poorly self-made copper shiv at his waist.

The orc came at last to the window of the place and brought himself to gaze inside. The soft light of a candle twitching on its wick within revealed the image of a sleeping child; it was the same child that played ball in front of him so many times before. The child was barely touched by the ravages of age. He looked nearly the same as he had in those memories. But the boy had not refused to age. Jobolg simply grew too fast. Images of their taunting, upturned noses made his blood boil. Slowly, quietly, he reached for the handle of his shiv.

“It wasn’t fair they got to live full lives, while your childhood was so short. They were only slightly smaller than that boy when you were born, and so they were only slightly larger when you were the size of their teens. You were forced to watch them play through their childhood while you sat alone, outgrowing them. How could they blame you for being so angry when you were so dejected and alone?”

Flash! He was inside. Jobolg’s hands thrust the makeshift dagger down toward the bed and it sunk into its occupant with a sickening ‘shlick.’ The weapon was twisted and yanked out, raised high above his head with both hands, and then its curvy blade plunged into the child again. The boy didn’t wake up as the knife was slid from his body again, lifted above the larger orc’s head, and the boy continued to sleep as those angry hands thrust it down a third time toward his throat.

The world flickered again. Jobolg felt the cold chill of the wooden floor upon his knees as he stared at the palms of his crimsoned hands, breathing heavy and rapid. The gentle sound of the sheets and their slow, rhythmic dripping of thick, heavy fluid pounded in his ears.

“They drove you to it. Because of them it got its hold on you. This wasn’t your fault.”

[Fhenrir]

(( Masterful writing as always Jobolg. The crowd demands more! ))

[Vilmah]

((I'm sorry it took me so long to read this, write more!!))

[Jobolg]

“Kill the demon child!”

“Slay him! Behead him!”

“No, burn him alive! He killed the children! No fate is too horrible for this netherspawn!”

“It’s probably his fault we’re all getting so sick, too!”

Jobolg looked to his sides at the tight, constricting ropes which were wrapped around his wrists and ankles. They ran off to his sides at sharp angles and connected into massive poles extending from the ground, leaving him suspended upright and spread eagle in the air. The people below shouted curses at him, but his mind was too far gone to make any sense of their words, lost in the haze of pain which wracked his body. They threw rocks at him. Sharp rocks cut into his flesh as they scraped by or spun against his chest; dull, heavy rocks which were quick to leave sickly purple bruises shattered against his body with the sheer force of impact, the orcs below pouring all their strength into the throwing.

“Look at how they treated you! It was their fault you did what you did, and still they felt they could rightly punish you for it!”

A rotten tomato flew through the air and smashed open on his face, filling his nostrils with a repulsive scent. The bad fruit dripped off lips and fell to the ground below with a soft splat, its juices spraying back up onto his ankles. One of the horrid orcs below spoke something in a deep voice. The crowd went into an uproar, raucous cheering reverberating endlessly through Jobolg’s unreceptive ears. He knew this had to be where they were going to kill him, but at the same time, he knew that somehow he had not died this day.

The orc felt a rush of air upon his back, the sky coming into view overhead as the pillars were pulled down horizontally. He tried to focus on anything other than what was happening to him. The deep orange which painted the sky wavered as ruffling clouds drifted gently overhead. One of them looked like a boar, its vaporous tusks skewering into the side of a mountain. The sun threatened to burn both a puffy running man and Jobolg’s eyes as he stared into it, dim blue circles forming into his vision when he looked away.

“Focus, bastard child! You’ll not tune this out!” came that deep voice. Jobolg heard the cracking of a whip and shortly after felt the piercing pain of it upon his chest as it sliced into him. His cries of agony echoed on the sharp mountains not far in the distance, sending a flock of ivory birds scattering to the four corners in fright. The orc in charge of the whip growled after a few more painful snaps, and stepped close to Jobolg’s helpless form. It leaned over and grinned broadly. Despite his blurring vision, Jobolg recognized the orc.

“He was the worst of them all. He made so many claims to seem noble. The bastard acted as though he would support you, but when the whip was placed in his hand, he enjoyed it. Look at his smile. Look at the cant of his eyes. He hated you as much as the rest of them! But you saw through his facade. You hated him right back, just as much or more than any of the others.”

The elder shaman’s voice cracked with age as he spoke again, white tails of wispy hair falling from his head. He hacked and coughed between words. “You’ve been a curse on this village from the moment you killed your mother coming from the womb! I loved her, half-soul! I loved her so much that I didn’t even wish to leave her when I discovered she was heavy with child that was not mine. I knew what you were before you were born, and I tried to reason with her. I tried! I wanted to destroy you before you destroyed her, but I had to remain true to my calling. This damned noble, natural calling! I couldn’t unjustly take your life, and because of that, you killed her! But now you’ve done it! You’ve given me reason to take action, justifiable revenge!”

“Full of hot air, isn’t he?”

The elder shaman dropped the whip with a snarl, placing his hand upon the intricate hilt of a bladed weapon. He grasped it tightly, and drew it from its sheath with a swinging motion. He held it over his head high, his brows furrowed deeply over his eyes. The blade was crafted of elegant ruby, collecting light from the sun and distributing it around randomly, creating tints of red upon Jobolg’s skin. “Now you die!” he exclaimed. Jobolg’s eyes snapped shut in anticipation, but nothing happened. Slowly his gaze opened in little slits at the sound of the surprised murmers emitting from the crowd. The clunk of the blade hitting the ground sounded as the elder shaman clutched at his gut. A hacking cough spouted thick crimson fluid from his mouth which painted Jobolg’s legs.

“He deserved it. They all did.”

Jobolg’s eyes frantically darted around in confusion as the same thing began happening to all those onlookers who had moments before began cheering at his torture. One by one, they all slowly keeled over, choking up their own blood and spitting it all over each other in a gruesome display of scarlet and crimson artistry. Without even thinking about it, Jobolg felt his lips twist into a sinister grin. He watched with pleasure as those last to fall began shouting fearful curses at him. The dusty orange landscape was now a sticky red nightmare. Blood and bodies mingled with the dry ground and the almost cheery cloud-filled sky to create a surreal image which seemed to burn itself into Jobolg’s mind.

”I’ll bet you’re wondering what just happened. Well, they were right about one thing. You were the cause of their 'illness' .”
-------------------------------------------------

The flowing stream of water sparkled elegantly in the sunlight. Crisp, cool air, unusual for the time of day, blew briskly over Jobolg’s sweaty skin. It felt refreshing, and brought a calm smile to the orc’s face. He sat calmly upon a massive flat rock, looking over the last pages of his black leather-bound book and admiring the occasional rainbow trout as it leapt from the steam to catch a fly. The script within the tome was old and barely legible; many of the pages were even beginning to crumble to the wears of age.

“You big dumb demon! Let me go!” said the voice from behind him.

“I’m not a demon,” Jobolg responded. He turned his head to look at the other child, the second of the two from that memory. The boy was twined in dense leather straps which bound him to the surface of a massive gray tree, long since dead and bare. Its branches stretched toward the sky with jagged, lifeless fingers. Gingerly, Jobolg hopped down from the rock and rifled through the heavy cloth sack on the ground beside the boy, pulling out a large piece of chalky white mineral. His opened the book wide and placed it upon the ground beside the stone, gripping the chalk tightly as he drew upon the rock the white runic circle shown on the open pages of the book. “I’m an orc, just like you.”

“No you’re not! You’re the dirty spawn of a filthy nether beast!” the boy exclaimed.

“Makes you angry, doesn’t it? It made you very angry when he said it back then, too.”

Jobolg did not respond to the boy, though his hands crushed the chalk within his grip as it grated against the stone surface. The symbol illustrated within the circle was full of sharp peaks and jagged arcs, lines crossing lines at every turn. As he finished the last connection, the chalk fell to dust in his grip and was blown away by the wind.

“What are you doing?!”

Several lengthy strides placed Jobolg in front of the boy. He stared into the child’s eyes furiously for a long moment, his own oculars wide and alert. With a single swift motion a copper shiv was drawn from his waist and slashed through the thinnest of the boy’s restraints. The others required more attention. Hunching over, he began sawing at the leather with the sharper side of the handmade weapon. Strap by strap he cut the child loose.

“You’re... you’re letting me go?” the boy said as the last strap was cut loose.

“You could say that,” Jobolg responded, a dark smirk creeping along his lips. The surprise in the child’s eyes when he felt Jobolg’s fist driving into his gut was beyond description. The child was grasped tight by the arms and thrown unceremoniously over his shoulder. The weight of the child was insignificant to him, the boy’s limp unconscious body slapping against Jobolg’s powerful form as he took those few steps back to the stone. He was very gentle to set the child down upon it.

“Ah, you must remember this. This is the day the dark ways first began to pull you in.”

Grabbing a piece of the slashed leather, Jobolg cleaned and sharpened his blade, dragging the material across the weapon’s edge. He tossed the useless leather behind him and began his work upon the boy with a newly functional knife. The shiv was pressed against the boy’s chest, and pressure was applied as it was drawn around in a broad circle, the sounds of ripping flesh dominating the gentle flowing and splashing of the stream. Blood oozed from the gashes which trailed behind the knife as Jobolg guided it around the boy, carving a copy of the chalk circle the child laid on into his flesh.

Crimson fluid gushed down the boy’s chest, rolling off of his tiny frame and onto the rock. When a drop of blood fell onto the chalk drawing, it ignited in brilliant green felfire. The sun seemed to go dark around them, eclipsed by some unmentionable force, leaving only the flicker of unholy green light upon the nearby landscape for a short distance, where the horizon died into blackness. The fire quickly rushed up the trail of blood onto the boy’s chest, and the flesh carving there imitated the chalk, flaring up and burning into youthful flesh.

Jobolg was painfully aware of a manic grimace upon his own face as he raised his shiv high over his head. Both hands gripped tightly to the handle, its copper blade gleaming a dull orange despite the emerald illumination of the flames. With a loud outcry, Jobolg’s arms swung down, spiking the shiv deep into the center of the burning flesh carving, the resulting spout of blood splattering upon his face.

In an instant, the flames of the carving rippled out over the child. A massive wave of it erupted from the hole created in its center and shot across the boy’s body, completely enveloping him. There was little more than a second for Jobolg to step back before the fire flared up high, and then all at once the flames and the boy were gone, leaving nothing but blood and ash sitting upon the heated rock in their place.

The orc scooped the sticky ash substance into his hands, pouring it into a broad vial filled halfway with bubbling purple liquid. A wisp of smoke was elicited from the vial, as was a laugh from Jobolg’s throat. Placing his thumb over the opening, he shook the container of thickening liquid violently, allowing a foamy froth to seep past the seal of his finger and leak onto the ground.

“All that bookwork for one little vial...”

Jobolg’s feet sunk into the sandy surface of the water’s edge. He held the frothy vial far in front of him and tipped it over. In a fluffy waterfall, like the clouds overhead, the stuff was dumped into the river. Briefly the water became a sickly purple hue, but it reverted to its clear blue form as quickly as the change occurred, and as it did so, the color came back to the sky, and the sun broke through the darkness.

“A curse. Your first curse, and at the same time the most powerful curse you have ever dared to bring upon anyone. Ritual magic makes for powerful effects. You knew every one of those people would drink that water.”

Jobolg stared at the sun as it slowly set behind the red mountains, rays of brilliant light streaking across the sky. He smiled at the black storm clouds which loomed eerily in the distance. This would be the night he would deal with the other child.

“They would all drink the water, and thus they would all die. Frankly, they deserved it."

[Vilmah]

((...why must all of my guildmates have such a checkered past?? No no, it's cool. Makes us more interesting. Fantastic writing as always, my Archon. *salute*))

[Darkblade]

((I wish I could write with a fraction of that quality...eagerly awaiting more))

[Nojinbu]

((hooah! go jo!))

[Yichimet]

(( Awesome stuff, Jobolg. I'm still carrying those fireworks you gave me a few weeks ago and hoping I can catch up with you to chat some more. ))

[Chum]

((MOAR!))

[Jobolg]

The chill winds of Alterac Valley blew regularly, piercing through the armor of the five soldiers guarding Iceblood more effectively than any spear ever could. It was their job to fling themselves at any of the Alliance who would dare try and take the point from them. They weren’t important or powerful enough to aid the offense; they were simply extra bodies to be used as temporary deterrents. When one of them was killed, a prayer would be quickly said and another guard would arrive to take his place.

Jobolg stood among them, and almost smiled at his reflection in the ice below him. He had grown into a man in the year since the mysterious plague had wiped out his village. Broad shoulders rested naturally above a powerful body bulging with muscles. The offer he had received to fight the fight with them had been too good to pass up. In that recent year, he had taken an interest in things of a mechanical nature, and for working guard duty he was rewarded with a small workplace and engineering materials within the valley.

“Straighten up, Jobolg!” one of the guards shouted at him, breaking his thought.

“Oh! Sorry, sir!” came the response.

“I’m not sir to ya! Already went over this. I’m the same rank as you, so don’t call me sir.” The voice coming from this other orc was deep, and he looked quite old. Graying facial hair was tied into several braids, falling down over his chest.

“But you haven’t told me your name yet.”

“That’s because I don’t remember it! I told you that! I just sorta woke up here, and I’ve been employed to defend this spot since.” The eyes of the old orc became downcast, and in them Jobolg saw something distinctly familiar, though he couldn’t place his finger on it.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to get you thinkin’ straight aga-“

“Alliance attaaaack! To arms, soldiers! To arms!” interrupted the booming voice of their lieutenant, his arm thrust out. The protruding finger at its tip was aimed directly at a wave of humans, elves, dwarves and gnomes rushing across snowy landscape straight at them. “Hold your ground, men! Fight at these fortifications and we just may hold them off long enough for reinforcements to arrive!”

Jobolg stared blankly at the lieutenant. His voice had not sounded inspiringly confident. He knew they stood no chance against so many Alliance soldiers. Jobolg had no intentions of taking one for the team, so to speak, and as soon as the Alliance were close enough for their hunters to begin firing, the moment he felt an arrow whiz past his head, he grabbed the elderly orc’s shoulder and dropped to the ground pulling him with him.

Though his eyes were closed and his body unmoving – even his breath was held – he could clearly hear the sounds of the slaughter taking place all around them. It was quick and precise. A couple battle cries followed by several screams of agony and a few muffled gurgles. Upon his back he felt the gentle prod of a stick as one of them, a dwarf by the smell of him, tested to see if he was alive. He did not break the act for even a second to breathe in, knowing that doing so would spell the end of him. Fortune smiled upon him though and they did not stick around long, too impatient to get on with the battle, he supposed. Slowly an eye peeked open. Only a single inexperienced elf was left behind to guard the place... Idiots. To his side, the old orc seemed to be in one piece and was calmly peering back at him. The two gave each other a single nod, and then sprung into action.

“ERFIN?!” cried the elf, shocked beyond belief as two of the soldiers simply rose from the dead. He ran out of time just as he began to call for help, silenced by the axe which was planted into his skull. His limp body fell to the ground with a thud, the steady flow of crimson from the crevice in his skull dying the snow. As a final effort, the older orc thrust out his hands and the elf was thrown into the air by a shock of flame. They paid no attention to where his body landed this time.

“We should not stay here any longer than we must. There will be another wave of reinforcement guards here soon, and I do not want to be among them again,” the elderly orc stated. As Jobolg looked into his eyes, something familiar flashed in the back of his brain once more. He definitely knew this orc from somewhere!

“Focus, bastard child!” echoed the words in Jobolg’s mind. As they ran away from the site, quick as their legs would take them, he tried to pair the voice with a face. Dozens of voices and dozens of faces screamed in his head, fluttering around wildly attempting to find their match. When they were far enough away from Iceblood, the old orc’s voice broke through his ponderings and they slowed to a walk.

“That display, and you say you’re only six years old, huh?” the older orc inquired, to which Jobolg solemnly nodded his head. “Then why do you look like a full grown orc in his prime? As many days as we have spoken, you have never told me such.”

“I really do not know. I have been trying to find that out since I left the village. Many shaman have told me the same things, but none have been able to identify the problem very precisely.”

“And what do they tell you?”

“That there is something wrong with my soul. That it is my lifeline, and that I will continue to age as I do until this lifeline is fixed.”

“You’ve been a curse on this village from the moment you killed your mother-“ the voice cut off, repeating the final three words over and over again in his head. He had done no such thing! He was no murderer! He couldn’t kill anyone! He just... “I wanted to destroy you before you destroyed her!” A face slowly flickered into view, forming in the haze in his mind. It clearly resonated with the voice in his head, but it had no certainty in its shape.

“Well, you know, I may not remember much about myself, but I am still a shaman. Perhaps I can look to see what’s wrong with you?” the older orc offered, chuckling softly as he added on jokingly, “Maybe you’re some kind of demon child, eh?”

At that moment light was shed upon the image in his brain, bringing it into the clear. He almost knew who he was speaking to, but he could barely believe it. He would need to confirm... A slow smile slipped over his mouth and a playful slap was delivered to the old orc’s back.

“And I could help you too! I’ve been advancing very quickly in the field of engineering, and happen to have a device which could let me see into your head,” Jobolg noted. “How about I propose a trade? I look into your head and possibly find out who you are, and you could do your little spirit thingie and tell me what’s wrong with me!”

“Sounds like a deal to me! Where would we do this?”

“Right here, actually,” Jobolg said, quickly steering them off the pathway into an old, uninhabited cave. At the back of the cave, a lever was pulled and the rock slid aside to allow them into a reasonable sized room filled with all manner of parts, but only a few completed machines. “On the table over there. Lay down.”

The old orc did exactly as commanded, calmly laying down upon the shiny steel table. Suspended over his head by two metal poles was a large steel box. A narrow slit was opened up on the bottom of the box, and he looked up into it. Within, a dimly gleaming light emitted. Having no knowledge of engineering, he could only assume this light was what would scan his mind.

“Now I’ll need to strap you down for this to work properly, so I need you to analyze me first,” Jobolg said matter of factly.

“I understand,” the old shaman replied. Gently, he stretched an arm up and placed a few fingers upon Jobolg’s head. His eyes closed and his breathing slowed until it seemed he might lose consciousness. The shaman’s hands quivered briefly as he pulled them away. The process was much quicker and easier than expected.

“What did you find?” Jobolg inquired as he pulled the straps of the table over the shaman’s ankles and wrists, latching them down against the cold steel. He went back over them again to be sure they were tight enough for restraint, but not so much so to be uncomfortable.

“Only one thing, and it’s a doozy... You aren’t whole, my friend. Its as though something deterred your soul from entering your body at birth and only half made it through. Just at a glance, I’d say you have the weaker half, and that is why your life is progressing so quickly.”

“You can tell all that just by touching me?” Jobolg asked, clearly amazed. “Well.. where is the other half?”

“My spirit is strong, it seems. I can tell a lot of things by touching a person, but I could not tell where it would be. All I know is that all souls seek a body. I have no doubt there is another person out there with the other half.”

“And you cannot give me a hint as to who?”

“I am afraid not. It could be a troll, could be a dwarf.... could even be a murloc or an ogre. There’s really no saying until you find the person. I can only hope you will recognize it when you find it.” The shaman paused for a moment, allowing the sudden information to sink in, before he switched topic. “So you can look into my head now? I would very much like to know who I am.”

“I can do it now, if you would like.” Jobolg smiled, the voice of the Elder Shaman in his head ringing out, matching perfectly with the face of this one. Everything fit together.

“Justifiable revenge!” the voice wailed at him.

“So this device is sure to work, right? What is it, anyhow? Some sort of brain-scanner?” the shaman wondered aloud.

“The device has never failed in all the times it has been used,” issued the engineer’s response. There was a tense period of silence as a menacing smile crept over Jobolg’s mouth. “In Stormwind, I believe the humans call this device a guillotine.”

The old orc’s eyes snapped open wide as a lever was pulled. He stared into the gleaming slit in the steel box above his head as the energy he had seen earlier clarified itself to be a massive blade plummeting toward him. The cut was clean and quick, and his still blinking head dropped off the table into a conveniently placed basket. Jobolg grabbed the head by the ears and raised it up to his face, staring deeply into its eyes.

“I know these things aren’t instant death. You have about thirty more seconds of life in you I estimate, painful though those seconds may be, and I want you to know this... I already knew who you were. I do not know how you survived then, but you shall not now, and I am all too happy to watch you die again. THIS, Elder Shaman, is justifiable revenge.”

The head was tossed back into the basket as the life faded from its eyes. To see the dying look on the Elder Shaman’s face twice in one lifetime was more joy than any orc should have been allowed to have.

“He did not remember who he was, but you did. One death was not enough for the lies he fed you. Not enough for the torture he put you through on that rack. Not enough to make up for the misery of your oh so brief childhood. But two deaths ensured he was gone forever. Two deaths may have helped him understand how intense your hatred of him was. Two deaths... and you were happy.”

[Jaeus]

Great writing Jobo, as always. Glad to see you're still doing well.

[Rhowen-Prea]

(( <3 Jo. ))