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[Out of the Frying Pan] The Story of Ratchis (Concluded 10/28)
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<blockquote data-quote="Ratchis" data-source="post: 906036" data-attributes="member: 5004"><p><strong>updated 5/27</strong></p><p></p><p>That season was a constant struggle to find sufficient food and to kill the gnolls in any area we hunted in before a larger group learned of our presence. Despite all odds against us, we survived without much trauma. Before my 13th year, the medicine man began my tattoos. Eventually my arms would be covered with the story of the tribe on the inside and my own feats on the outside. </p><p></p><p>I also knew an orc female for the first time. She was about my age, and we were forced to stay in a tent for the night. I was not particularly happy with the arrangement, but I knew we would both be beaten if anyone checked on us and we were not copulating. I tried to be as gentle as I could. In the morning, mother looked at me for the first time in years. I don’t know whether the tears in her eyes were pride or shame.</p><p></p><p>The next year went by in what passed for relative harmony in my tribe. The approaching winter, however, was dreaded before it ever came as our medicine man saw bad omen after bad omen following the first snowfall of the year. These omens did not lie. The storms came fast and heavy as the season approached. Food became scarce, avoiding the gnoll bands got harder and harder as areas with anything to hunt got smaller and smaller. They knew we were there and our skirmishes grew more frequent and costly. I learned to poke through the thin ice to get at the fat fish below, and this supplemented the women and children who could not hunt for themselves.</p><p></p><p>In the middle of the winter, on one of my forays, movements through the brush near where I fished disturbed the natural silence I enjoyed so much. Slowly, I stood and silently made my way around the perimeter of our camp. What I saw made the blood in my veins freeze like no ice storm ever had. We had been surrounded by a huge gnoll war party, waiting for the signal to wipe us out. </p><p></p><p>I ran as quietly as I could toward camp. I was stopped in my tracks by a huge, vicious hyenadon used by the gnolls in war. It stared at me, growling silently. I stared back, unafraid. I could feel its tension, smell the excitement on its breath. I was calm and held my hands up and felt a connection with the animal I had never experienced before but one that did not seem foreign or strange to me. I extended my calmness with my gestures and by sharing with the beast’s empathy. Finally, it sat and wagged its tail. I pet it on the head and took off toward my people.</p><p></p><p>I got to the edge of the camp and realized warning the tribe could bring the attack immediately if I didn’t do it right. I quickly gathered some loose pieces of wood and walked into camp, trying to look like a young orc gathering wood. I calmly placed the wood in one of the piles and headed to my area. Once there, I was able to tell Tarschkur what was going on, and he gave me a look like everything would be okay. I felt a huge burden lift off my shoulders as he headed off to communicate my intelligence however he could. </p><p></p><p>An hour passed and if planning was going on, it was impressively covert. I could not see any change in the dynamics of the tribe despite the threat at least some of them knew about. Suddenly a battle cry erupted to the east of the camp. It was an orc cry but I could not see what was occurring. Right after this, gnoll arrows began to rain down on the camp. I grabbed one of Tarschkur’s shields, took my quiver of half-spears and drew my short sword. Avoiding arrows, I made my way to the edge of the camp. </p><p>I heard screaming and the sound of mayhem battle brings, but I could not spot the fighting from where I was. I continued to creep back into the drifts and woods obscuring the combatants and spotted the gnoll archers where I suspected they were. They hadn’t seen me yet so I used the opportunity to climb a tree. A height advantage such as the one the tree provided makes throwing half-spears even more advantageous than I usually found them. I had them scattering after four throws. </p><p></p><p>It was from this view that I saw the gnolls desperately charge into the camp. I scurried down the tree, leaping the last ten feet and hurried into the fray, trying to find my mother. The tribe’s flanking of the gnolls had ruined their ambush, but they swarmed us and all I could do was swing and parry and dodge until I was exhausted. The battle remained at a fever-pitch for maybe 15 minutes until we were chasing down any gnolls we could. </p><p></p><p>Immediately after, I rushed back to camp looking for mother. She lay where she was struck down, her head many yards from her lifeless body. I sank to my knees and wept as my tribe burned its dead and licked its wounds. </p><p></p><p>I did make sure to burn my mother myself. I was not taking any chance she would end up on my plate. The biggest loss as far as the tribe was concerned was the weapon master, Gahmkish. He survived but took a leg wound that got infected, causing him to have a severe limp. We had to move on and though he could have been carried easily, that was not our way. He was to be left behind to die in the harsh winter because he could no longer earn his own keep.</p><p></p><p>I went back and tried to help him walk faster so that he could stay close enough to the camp to be protected from wolves and other predators that never got too close to the tribe. He allowed me to help without uttering a word to me. His cold eyes would follow me wherever I went when near him, but that was the only communication that went on between us for the week it took the tribe to find another site to settle into as long as we could. Hunting was even poorer in the new area, and I passed up many a meal when I noticed less small ones in the camp. My fishing did help some and Gahkish got my share so he was satisfied. </p><p></p><p>“We fought many an ogre. We killed them, used their hair for fine pillows and used their skin for tents,” the old weapon master said to me a week or so after we had found the new camp.</p><p>And so for weeks, I would do my chores extra quickly, hunt and fish for as much food as I could, and half starve because there was no way I could feed the both of us adequately. The hour or two I spent with Gahmkish became the highlight of my day. He never spoke of anything else or thanked me for the food, but I got a different story every day. Soon, I noticed how pale he was. I wanted to make the fire bigger, but I didn’t want to attract wild animals or the attention of anyone in the tribe. As the weapon-master took on a gaunt appearance despite the healthy diet I provided, I knew the end was near.</p><p></p><p>I began suffering beatings again as my value to the tribe slipped due to all the time I spent with the old one. It is good for me that I was the most accomplished tracker we had, making up for my inexperience with near-unbeatable intuition. Thus, it was easy for me to back track and throw off anyone who got curious about how I was spending my time. </p><p></p><p>I arrived one particularly cold day to find that Gahkish had let his fire go out. He was gray and breathing with difficulty. I knew he was dying. I made my usual inane small talk about the day while he began one of his stories. He lost his breath several times and was eventually too exhausted to continue. I sat with him, keeping the hair out of his eyes and telling him what a great warrior he had been. He gripped my arm and looked into my eyes, a stern look on his face. His eyes though, they spoke of something else. I knew he was struggling for words our language did not possess. I gripped his hand and gave a slight nod. He passed on a short time later, still gripping my arm. </p><p></p><p><strong>to be continued. . .</strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Ratchis, post: 906036, member: 5004"] [b]updated 5/27[/b] That season was a constant struggle to find sufficient food and to kill the gnolls in any area we hunted in before a larger group learned of our presence. Despite all odds against us, we survived without much trauma. Before my 13th year, the medicine man began my tattoos. Eventually my arms would be covered with the story of the tribe on the inside and my own feats on the outside. I also knew an orc female for the first time. She was about my age, and we were forced to stay in a tent for the night. I was not particularly happy with the arrangement, but I knew we would both be beaten if anyone checked on us and we were not copulating. I tried to be as gentle as I could. In the morning, mother looked at me for the first time in years. I don’t know whether the tears in her eyes were pride or shame. The next year went by in what passed for relative harmony in my tribe. The approaching winter, however, was dreaded before it ever came as our medicine man saw bad omen after bad omen following the first snowfall of the year. These omens did not lie. The storms came fast and heavy as the season approached. Food became scarce, avoiding the gnoll bands got harder and harder as areas with anything to hunt got smaller and smaller. They knew we were there and our skirmishes grew more frequent and costly. I learned to poke through the thin ice to get at the fat fish below, and this supplemented the women and children who could not hunt for themselves. In the middle of the winter, on one of my forays, movements through the brush near where I fished disturbed the natural silence I enjoyed so much. Slowly, I stood and silently made my way around the perimeter of our camp. What I saw made the blood in my veins freeze like no ice storm ever had. We had been surrounded by a huge gnoll war party, waiting for the signal to wipe us out. I ran as quietly as I could toward camp. I was stopped in my tracks by a huge, vicious hyenadon used by the gnolls in war. It stared at me, growling silently. I stared back, unafraid. I could feel its tension, smell the excitement on its breath. I was calm and held my hands up and felt a connection with the animal I had never experienced before but one that did not seem foreign or strange to me. I extended my calmness with my gestures and by sharing with the beast’s empathy. Finally, it sat and wagged its tail. I pet it on the head and took off toward my people. I got to the edge of the camp and realized warning the tribe could bring the attack immediately if I didn’t do it right. I quickly gathered some loose pieces of wood and walked into camp, trying to look like a young orc gathering wood. I calmly placed the wood in one of the piles and headed to my area. Once there, I was able to tell Tarschkur what was going on, and he gave me a look like everything would be okay. I felt a huge burden lift off my shoulders as he headed off to communicate my intelligence however he could. An hour passed and if planning was going on, it was impressively covert. I could not see any change in the dynamics of the tribe despite the threat at least some of them knew about. Suddenly a battle cry erupted to the east of the camp. It was an orc cry but I could not see what was occurring. Right after this, gnoll arrows began to rain down on the camp. I grabbed one of Tarschkur’s shields, took my quiver of half-spears and drew my short sword. Avoiding arrows, I made my way to the edge of the camp. I heard screaming and the sound of mayhem battle brings, but I could not spot the fighting from where I was. I continued to creep back into the drifts and woods obscuring the combatants and spotted the gnoll archers where I suspected they were. They hadn’t seen me yet so I used the opportunity to climb a tree. A height advantage such as the one the tree provided makes throwing half-spears even more advantageous than I usually found them. I had them scattering after four throws. It was from this view that I saw the gnolls desperately charge into the camp. I scurried down the tree, leaping the last ten feet and hurried into the fray, trying to find my mother. The tribe’s flanking of the gnolls had ruined their ambush, but they swarmed us and all I could do was swing and parry and dodge until I was exhausted. The battle remained at a fever-pitch for maybe 15 minutes until we were chasing down any gnolls we could. Immediately after, I rushed back to camp looking for mother. She lay where she was struck down, her head many yards from her lifeless body. I sank to my knees and wept as my tribe burned its dead and licked its wounds. I did make sure to burn my mother myself. I was not taking any chance she would end up on my plate. The biggest loss as far as the tribe was concerned was the weapon master, Gahmkish. He survived but took a leg wound that got infected, causing him to have a severe limp. We had to move on and though he could have been carried easily, that was not our way. He was to be left behind to die in the harsh winter because he could no longer earn his own keep. I went back and tried to help him walk faster so that he could stay close enough to the camp to be protected from wolves and other predators that never got too close to the tribe. He allowed me to help without uttering a word to me. His cold eyes would follow me wherever I went when near him, but that was the only communication that went on between us for the week it took the tribe to find another site to settle into as long as we could. Hunting was even poorer in the new area, and I passed up many a meal when I noticed less small ones in the camp. My fishing did help some and Gahkish got my share so he was satisfied. “We fought many an ogre. We killed them, used their hair for fine pillows and used their skin for tents,” the old weapon master said to me a week or so after we had found the new camp. And so for weeks, I would do my chores extra quickly, hunt and fish for as much food as I could, and half starve because there was no way I could feed the both of us adequately. The hour or two I spent with Gahmkish became the highlight of my day. He never spoke of anything else or thanked me for the food, but I got a different story every day. Soon, I noticed how pale he was. I wanted to make the fire bigger, but I didn’t want to attract wild animals or the attention of anyone in the tribe. As the weapon-master took on a gaunt appearance despite the healthy diet I provided, I knew the end was near. I began suffering beatings again as my value to the tribe slipped due to all the time I spent with the old one. It is good for me that I was the most accomplished tracker we had, making up for my inexperience with near-unbeatable intuition. Thus, it was easy for me to back track and throw off anyone who got curious about how I was spending my time. I arrived one particularly cold day to find that Gahkish had let his fire go out. He was gray and breathing with difficulty. I knew he was dying. I made my usual inane small talk about the day while he began one of his stories. He lost his breath several times and was eventually too exhausted to continue. I sat with him, keeping the hair out of his eyes and telling him what a great warrior he had been. He gripped my arm and looked into my eyes, a stern look on his face. His eyes though, they spoke of something else. I knew he was struggling for words our language did not possess. I gripped his hand and gave a slight nod. He passed on a short time later, still gripping my arm. [b]to be continued. . .[/b] [/QUOTE]
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[Out of the Frying Pan] The Story of Ratchis (Concluded 10/28)
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