Falkreath: The Stone Orc Settlement

Kneeling down before Theev'Nok, Thorok hunched over him for many, many minutes. Holding his head up to Thorok's own, he'd kiss the side or the top of the giant corpse's head every now and then in remorse and mourning to show his depths of sorrow. His arm was eventually held, resting upon Thorok's shoulder as the Chieftan, the hand limp, yet still formed to a fist, as the villagers began walking by in a line, hands grazing over Theev'Nok's mighty, fallen fist. Towards the end of the group, which had lasted at least 17 minutes in walking alone, would be Rev'Nahn, Zash'Neck, and then Rictofen, all with even more sorrowful and sad faces, Zash'Neck going so far as to hold the knuckles of the fist up to his forehead, bowing down with closed eyes in sorrow. Continuing on, Rictofen held his hand for quite some time, tears streaming down his face, forcing himself not to cry as a wobbly sigh came from the boy's voice, letting the hand lie down loosely before walking off to the group once more.

Standing around in a complete circle would be the members who wished to play the music, a way in their tribe to help carry Theev'Nok to the Heavens, rather him walk by himself. Around them would be the rest of the tribe, all with lowered heads and fists at their sides, those with a more personal bond raised high to their center chest. Zeel'Nok was seen amidst the crowd with Kold'Ron, who returned just in time for the ritual, holding onto each other with both holding a fist to their  chest, Zeel'Nok crying moreso than Kold'Ron, who shed many tears as well.

Standing behind Thorok was Fal'Thoma, head hanging with sadness, but no tears. Depression lifting her fist to her chest, lip loose and nearly drooping downwards as she looked to Thorok's feet. A stone walkway towards the top of the fire would hold Thorok, directly above the pyre that rested Theev'Nok's body oh so beautifully. Closed eyes, a stone crown above his head, hammers at his sides and fists placed upon his center chest, connecting at the knuckles, he lied there.

Thorok began his speech, not a moment before looking down with a heavy, depressed sigh, staring to Theev'Nok with a longing look, lifting his head up to the group around him, Rev'Nahn standing there with Zash'Neck, both holding the same torch with both of their hands, as they deserved the honor to ignite his passing.

"Here, we will cry, and mourn, and we shall watch our brother descend to the realms of peace and joy. Here lies an idol to all future-warriors, to the ones that will lead in the fights we will encounter. Here will escape our brother Theev'Nok, who has fought bravely to defend our families, each and every child as well the elderly. The Mountain of our time, the friendly giant, the guardian of the Frok'Nold!" His fist was raised high into the sky, a shaman crawling towards him with a strange bowl, waiting for the speech to finish.

"Now we will mourn over the passing of our beloved. But those who know better will realize he has not passed! Even now he rests in the heavens, the sheer size of Mathladeem himself as he stares down with watchful eyes, daring all who come in violence to step into our boundaries. May he be heard in the stories of our fathers, and their descendants who fall from their fruitful arms!! May he be recognized and remembered as the defender of the Frok'Nold who he truly was!! May he walk with feet that shake the earth's spirit in excitement that he yet again wishes to visit this realm!!!" He shot his fist higher into the air, the constantly added commotion now even growing louder with cheer at this point in the speech.

"And from here, let us release him!! For his duties as a Frok'Nold cannot be postponed any longer!!" His hand lowered to the bowl, remaining there as the music began to rise up in volume to a calming, but still loud, level, Rev'Nahn and Zash'Neck marching forward and placing the torch to rest against Theev'Nok's pyre, with one last statement from Thorok the ritual continued in silence.

"And now, Theev'Nok of Falkreath, you will rise to the heavens, and cover this homeland with your ever-loving arms.... May the days be fruitful with your protection, and our futures inevitably safer with your watchful eyes... Be released..."

With that, the arm was lifted from the bowl, and the ritual shaman ducked off towards the crowd once more, looking with sorrowful, yet inspired, eyes. Thorok's fist held a large amount of marble, ground into a fine, fine dust. As the fire continued, the song was heard in a complete rhythm, and Thorok's hand was raised over the fire, slowly dropping the powder atop of his fists and chest, holding it there ceremonially until the song ended, stepping down from the pyre with weakened legs and a cramped arm, staring down to Theev'Nok for a long moment before returning to his Hut, as he was no longer permitted to see his beloved brother fade to another realm.

Standing at the front with ultimate respect would be Zar'Dura, for she was with him at his passing moment. Rev'Nahn to her right, and Zash'Neck to her left, small space between them as their outer arms were placed with a mighty fist upon their chest, letting Zar'Dura act how she wished to. Inside the hut, however, would be the other wives, waiting to stand nearby Thorok along with Fal'Thoma, all standing around Thorok as he soon fell to a great, depressing silence.

Many, many moments were laid there with a hand to his heart, sighing heavily with a saddened face. Theev'Nok was dead, Shorbolg knew all too soon. His future was inevitable, but he ignored the signs of depression either way. Theev'Nok did his part, and the Judgments said there shall be more to fall. He had to stop the largest target from causing any more damage, now: Rag'Novok. It was time, that for once, Shorbolg had fought.

The egg shell was held in his hands frailly, knowing its delicateness all too well. He chanted in a whisper, barely any voice to his words as he circled the egg out as far as he could reach around in a circular formation. Then his volume increased, smoke rising from the egg suddenly. Green smoke. He continued this, more smoke plooming upwards as he chanted constantly, non-stop at that. His eyes glowed, his back began to glow as well, with symbols of wings. Upon his head grew a strange crown in glowing green symbols, and his eyes intensified as he spoke. His voice echoed with that of a hundred-fold in his tiny hut. He was now speaking out loud, the green fire from the crucible in front of Shorbolg mimicked in the egg, now ablaze in the depth of it, hissing out a rattle from the egg shells inside of it sizzling, more green smoke rising.

And from here, the talking turned to shouting, and shouting to a yell. Tucking the egg close to his chest, putting out the fire, his chanting grew louder, now as loud as he could shout as he forced his hands upwards into the air. Suddenly, his loudness was disrupted, a massive, enormous sphere covering his hut, a beam shooting high into the sky as lightning crackled in green from the orb into and on the hut, zapping Shorbolg every now and then, making him jitter and flinch as he knew now was no time to back up. The chanting kept at the volume, however picked up in voices from the orb, echoing his words around to match the volume of a dragon's at one point, then blinding light to all who looked to the hut, a strange humming power heard at the last few seconds before the blinding moment.

It seemed to be bright for a few seconds, roughly around 14, when things began to fade back into vision. From there, inside of his hut, it glowed a teal aura, smoke rising from the holes leading inwards to the hut. Suddenly, the door opened wide, and it would be a stranger who walked out at a dramatic pace, staring to the group that looked with worry.




He was silent, standing there for a moment with eyes that displayed power, authority, and age. He glanced to the group, before stepping out further to be viewed, however, none were brave enough to near the lands that bordered his hut at this time. 

He had wings, and mighty horns, those were the first to be recognized. Then came the fact of purple skin, what many of the Frok'Nold's shades changed to when emitting a powerful spell to boost themselves, trading their natural skin tone with the tattoos upon them. It seemed to be the opposite for this figure. Hair, like that of youth, floating above his head, as for the moment gravity seemed sterile. And eyes... eyes that glowed continuously, and did not fade from that brightness. Eyes that told the magic of centuries on end, that told the understanding of what Frok'Nold wielded as spells. This proved hard to see where exactly the figure stared, aside from his head positioning to face wherever it was he was looking.

And so from there, not much else could've been seen, aside from ragged trousers, as the being suddenly lifted to the sky, wings mightily flapping upwards and he took off with speed, spinning into the air before stretching his wings out, gliding with a fast pace southeast from their direction, over the tribe, a barrier of green magic covering the front of him now like a meteor falling to the sky, increasing in speed as this occurred.

Echoes pops into existence, when Zar'Dura finishes screaming. He isn't looking at her. He is watching the rapidly diminishing dot, that is Shorbolg. He frowns, he knew this was going to happen. That didn't make him happy about it. The futures were shifting. There was a possibility for a happy ending, there is a possibility of tragedy.

"It appears this is a day of great events."

Echoes smiles reassuringly at Zar'Dura. There is a certainty in his glowing eyes, a belief everything will be okay. Perhaps the orc will take comfort in that, perhaps not.

"I will do what I need to."

With that the two pop out of existence.

<Exit to the Open Desert.>