What a Peon Forgot
Bokar didn't want to be anywhere near the pool.It seemed a curious thing to just discover in the middle of the Ashenvale forest. Even with her dulled senses to all things magic, she could feel the power radiating from the pool. It was an aura that began in the moss-covered stones to the frothy glowing red waters that bubbled within. But it wasn't the power that seemed to flower through each breath and step of The Warsong Clan's shamans.No, it was something altogether stronger and more frightening to behold.Bokar looked all around her as her knees knocked together.To her left and right were some of Grom’s most accomplished warriors who watched with sneering disinterest as the clan approached the pool in haphazard lines. Their skin was bright red with muscles tensed and poised as if half-expecting…or desiring a fight.Bokar wanted to leave and return to chopping down trees. Even if it meant being in the range of the elves who stalked the orcs from the darkness.She shifted backward and shook her head. “Me no-no think this for me.” Bokar murmured to no one at all. Bokar took another step. She twisted her body half-hoping that the imposing warriors on her left and right would not notice and let her leave.The orc behind her booted her in the small of her back before she could take another step. Bokar stumbled towards the pool.Bokar swung her arms wildly and managed to stop herself from falling to the ground or crashing into the peon ahead of her. She exhaled and righted herself.It was then she noticed the steely stare from the warriors directed at her. And she knew that escape was no longer an option…if it ever was.Who kicked me? Bokar wondered. Bokar whirled around to face the orc behind her. And what she saw was a male dressed in the harnesses of a peon. She didn’t recognize him.The other peon’s skin was dotted with wounds and scars both old and new, Some were wide gashes suggesting a human sword’s slice. And others were curious little points that Bokar knew to be arrow wounds.He almost looked like a warrior in his own right, but his hands were calloused from labor rather than combat.Bokar snapped out of her appraisal and searched for the orc’s eyes. And found him to be staring back.His eyes were fierce and narrowed as he regarded the peon. “Why you kick, Bokar?” Bokar said. “Because you’re a sniveling runt!” The larger peon said. “I heard your doubts, but LOOK AROUND!!” The peon motioned to the trees. “It’s only because of the Chieftain and his warriors that we aren’t being killed by the elf women. Or smashed down by trees that come to life. You can see the power those waters bring and they’ll make us stronger than we ever dreamed, just as the Warsong needs. And you wanted to run? I should save the Chieftain the trouble and cut you down myself!” Bokar blinked and stared at the other peon. The power of the pool and the blood contained within was obvious. Even if her mind was dulled enough to not notice the extra layer of hard muscles that seemed to sprout in each orc as they drank. The pulsed and thrummed with an undeniable aura. It spoke to distant memories of the Warsong's greatest victories and of champions and heroes that have long since returned to the ancestors.But beneath that promise of power was something more…something wrong. And as she overheard one warrior say, this was against everything the Warchief had taught them.Was it really right? Bokar shook her head at the other peon. “Me no-no think, Bokar need this. Me just build and work-work.” Bokar said. The other peon sneered. “We work for our clans! Will you tell our chieftain you don’t want to work?” He moved his face close enough that Bokar could feel the heat of his breath. His breath was foul and bitter. “N…no. Bokar work-work good!” Bokar said. The peon grabbed Bokar by her shoulders and jerked her in closer. Their faces were inches apart. The disgust in his eyes was unmistakably wild and feral as he hissed… “Then drink! Just as the Chieftain says we must! And if you become a peon of worth, you tell them that Kreszen kept you from being a coward.” Kreszen, Bokar thought, Bokar will remember that name. Kreszen then jerked Bokar around and shoved her towards the pool. Bokar flailed her arms as she stumbled forward. She choked down a gasp and stamped her foot righting herself as she moved behind the peon ahead. Her legs still shook with uncertainty and unease. But with so many eyes watching her, all she could do was keep pace with the line. One by one, the peons approached the pool. Each was given chalices or mugs to dip into the pool. And one by one they drank. Then one by one their bodies grew stronger and bigger. Bright reds bled through their skin drowning out the green hues that they once all shared. And most roared and slammed big fists against their chests as their eyes were filled with bloodlust and rage. When Bokar reached the pool, a skull chalice was shoved towards her. Instinct compelled Bokar to take the chalice between her hands. She blinked twice and moved the chalice closer to her lips. But then her nose caught the scent of the befouled temple waters, which made her eyes water and her face scrunch up in something close to disgust. She wanted to give the skull back, but the closest orcs chanted in throaty tones: “Drink. Drink. Drink.” Bokar felt a stone in the pit of her gut. Almost as if her entire body were screaming at her that this was nothing short of a bad idea. But when she tried to burrow deeper in her thoughts for reasons as to why all she found was that incessant voice and the intrinsic knowledge that she was but a Peon. And that alone meant one undeniable fact. Work-work for the Warsong. Bokar closed her eyes and tipped back her head. She guided the skull towards her lips. She leaned her head back and tipped the chalice back to match. Her tusks scratched against the skull as her lips parted to welcome the gift shoved into her life. And then she drank. She drank until that brackish goo splashed down her throat and filled her gut. Bokar’s eyes shot open at the taste and smell that surrounded her senses. It was like nothing she had ever known before. It was hotter than fire and more alluring than sleep and more horrid and smelly than ditch duty. It filled her limbs with an energy she couldn’t remember ever having. And it made her heart pound with the fury of a drummer at the helm of a ship. Then pain raked through her flesh. Bokar lost her grip on the skull and heard it smash against a stone on the forest floor. The orcs closest to her cheered and howled in victory, even as her innards were filled with the sensation of knives scraping across her like grindstones. A thunderous headache pounded from somewhere deep in her skull. It was all Bokar could do to wrap her arms around herself as she collapsed.“Hnnghh, Bokar don’t feel so G—GAAAaghhhh” Bokar said through gritted teeth.She felt something hot burning from deep within. And through tear-streaked eyes, she could see changes across her body. Her flesh was suffused with a blood-red color that started at her arms and spread through her body. Sweat ran down her arms which grew harder with muscles that she had never had before. She could have sworn that she'd gained at least a few thumbs in height and at least two palms in width as the world seemed all the smaller.Bokar couldn’t admire the changes, however, because she was grappling with that terrible pain. Kreszen booted her out of the way as he took up his place in front of the pool. And just like that, she was forgotten. But Bokar never forgot her inner voice… Work-work for the Warsong.~~~A Short Time Later The day was hot and harsh. The sun's rays beat down on the peons like lashes across their broad red backs. Their harnesses stretched across their powerful builds with sharp leathery creaks. The stillness in the air was punctuated by the crack of stone and the thunk of wood. And the rolling thunder of marching Warsong Orcs sounded across the plains of The Barrens.The sky glowed and pulsed with a portentous red color that overpowered the natural shades of the land. Animals hid far away from the Warsong Clan’s toil, with even buzzards giving the worker’s fields a wide berth.It was as if Kalimdor held its breath for fear of choking on the tension that surrounded its breast. For the Warsong were preparing to fight.But not all were so committed to the cause, even with the blood of Mannoroth freshly flowing through their frames. And none were as committed as Bokar.Bokar arrived at the worksite where orcs piled stone, metals, and lumber for construction projects required for the Warsong's war. And though the pile was large enough to begin construction, it was not nearly as large as she thought it could have been.Bokar sneered and looked all around to see what her fellow peons were doing. She frowned at what she noticed.While most were busy chopping, smashing, or digging, there were a few who seemed content with napping the afternoon away beneath shady trees.Bokar groaned at the sight. Especially when she spotted Kreszen among the sleeping few, with his fingers folded neatly behind his head.Bokar can’t allow this. She thought as she gripped the hammer at her belt, while her eyes remained locked with Kreszen.The Peon stepped towards the pile of resources with a strong stride and powerful steps. Her chest heaved as she sucked in deep breaths and exhaled in heavy puffs of frustration. Her body coiled and tightened until her muscles felt raw and tight. And her eyes always remained on the nearest snoozing peon she passed.When she finally reached the pile of stone, wood, and metal, she threw her arms open wide and bellowed so all could hear. “Bokar is here!” She bellowed out as she grasped the thick stone mallet at her side. “What are peons doing?!” She pointed at a large gray boulder that was pushed into the pile early in the day. She then turned towards the nearest of the sleeping peons and offered a sneer that reached from her tusks to her eyes. She raised her hammer high and called out once more… “What are peons DOING?!” Then she swung the mallet down. The strike smashed into the gray stone, making its surface erupt in cracks from the force of the shot. a hefty dent into the massive stone. Pebbles and chips exploded outwards in wild arcs and sprays all around her. The reverberations and echoes fired like thunder through the gathering. And nearly all of the peons turned towards Bokar with fearful expressions. Except for Kreszen whose expression was a mask of surprise and uncertainty.Good, Bokar thought. Bokar cast her gaze from one end of the gathering to another. She moistened her lips and tusks with a sweep of her tongue and tightened her grip on the mallet. When her eyes met those that were hard at work, they turned away and returned to their duties. Others were sheepishly staring at her behind drowsy eyes as they scratched their bald heads or picked at the dirt and sweat that covered their chests. While some of the sleeping peons jumped to their feet and returned to their labors, a few too many rolled over until their backs faced Bokar. Bokar's nostrils flared as she stared at the nearest lazy peon. She ground her teeth until she heard their scrape. She dug her heels into the dirt as certain thoughts forced themselves to the front of her mind. Her body tightened as she felt her blood grow hotter with each breath as that other orc slept.She only hoped that Kreszen was watched. “BOKAR,” the peon said, “IS HERE! WHY YOU NO WORK-WORK?!” She slammed the mallet into piles of nearby stone once…twice…then thrice. Pebbles and stone flakes flew every which way, with several palmfuls landing on the peon’s arms and ribs. The thunder of stone smashing stones rang out through the air. But no matter what she did, the other peon still slept. Enough! Bokar thought as she slung the mallet over her shoulder. She took another step towards the sleeping peon with dark intent evident in her eyes and expression. But before she could take another, two hands grasped her by the shoulder and hip. “Please don’t,” Kreszen said as he tried to pull Bokar back. Bokar shook off his hands and took another step. “Wake up!” Kreszen shouted to the sleeping peon. But the stubborn fool remained resolved. Bokar said nothing as she reached the slumbering peon. She simply stared down at the orc’s red body as she weighed the hammer on her shoulder and considered how she should swing. But despite the thoughts that ran through her mind, Bokar still found it in her to give one last chance. She kicked at the other orc’s boot and said, “Bokar want to work-work! You work-work too!” The peon groaned and shook. He twisted his body away from that kicking foot. But Bokar kept tapping and kicking and prodding until the Peon shifted and opened his eyes and looked at her. As he spoke, he raised an arm and twirled two fingers indicating the area around him. “Me sleeping,” said the peon, “Leave me alone!” Bokar was close enough to see how haggard and worn the peon looked. The effort of shifting his body seemed to make his arms quake and tremble. His massive arms seemed small and rubbery as he strained with the effort of a tired gesture towards Bokar. But nothing looked as worn as his eyes, which had hefty drooping bags beneath his sockets and a bloodshot color to them that betrayed ceaseless labor ever since they arrived and got to work. Bokar felt a strange tingle in her chest. She understood the peon’s exhaustion as her muscles ached as well. The constant labor to feed the Warsong’s ambitions was taking a toll on her body as well. And for a brief moment, she wondered if she should let the peon rest. Her grip around the mallet’s haft loosened and her brow rose slightly, softening her frustrated expression.The peon sensed the shift in Bokar. He rolled over and tucked his cheek atop his folded hands, shut his eyes, and went back to sleep. Bokar felt the demon's blood ignite within' her frame. The exhaustion she felt was forgotten as was any thoughts of mercy that she entertained. In their place was a grave insult from the orc's simple gestures. And that insult made her nostrils flare and teeth grind in disgust. “Bokar see enough.” She hissed. Kreszen shuffled away, giving up on the lost cause. Bokar heard him grabbing tools and marching to join the others in the labor of the day. Bokar gripped the mallet with both hands and swung it high over her head. Her blood seared as strength filled her limbs making her muscles ache. Her knees bent to lend balance to her stance and she grunted aloud as the mallet came down.-CRUNCH- -SPLAT- Few peons saw the moment of violence, as most of them busied themselves with their labors. Those that did couldn’t grasp what they had seen. One imagined a melon splitting open, but such a comparison seemed foul compared to the mess that dripped from the edge of Bokar’s mallet. Another focused on the feral look in Bokar’s eyes, but such memories were lost beneath the chattering giggle that they could have sworn they heard. But all knew what Bokar had done and none had the courage…or foolishness to question her choice. Bokar liked it that way. It made it easier to focus on wiping her mallet head clean on the corpse’s leather shorts. “Bokar gave chance…” the peon woman said, “But this one broken. We serve the Warsong or we die.” Bokar snapped her head up and looked all about her. There wasn’t a single peon who wasn’t busy at work. And that pleased Bokar. “Good. Bokar work-work too.” Bokar said as she leaned down and seized the corpse’s axe before chopping down the tree that the body was slumped against.~~~The Night Before Mannoroth’s Death The sky was lit by Azeroth’s moon. It cast an eerie light over land that, from a distance, looked as peaceful and idyllic as a babbling stream. Small birds chirped their night songs as they plucked small fruits from nearby branches. And a refreshing breeze blew across the land from the east to the west. Most of the Warsong slept through that charming part of the night. As warriors and shamans dreamed of the next day's fighting and conquests. While the peons slept dreaming of work and snacks. But there was a small group of peons who were wide awake even at that time of night. Their tools remained at their sides, each covered by tufts of fur tied up in vines, so they wouldn’t clink and clank as they made their way through the terrain. There were twelve in total, each lined up in a neat snake-like row, with Bokar serving as its head. Bokar reached a thick copse that surrounded a wide and peaceful pond. Tallgrass and loose vines spread from tree to tree, which gave plenty of hiding spots for prey and valuable cover for Bokar and her growing company. She leaned against a group of vines and peered into the darkness. She turned her head left to right, searching for any signs of life surrounding that pond. To the left was a zhevra who noticed Bokar’s presence and turned and fled into the wilds beyond. To the right was a sleeping hare that didn’t seem to care about Bokar or the 11 others with her. Bokar smiled and looked over her shoulder at the other orcs. “Bokar say it clear! Go-go! Drink. Wash.” Bokar said. Each of the orcs nodded as one then poured into the clearing surrounding that pond. Some loosened their worker's harnesses and leaped into the pond water. Others stretched their bodies that ached from the day's labors. While the two newest members, two women, stood on the outskirts of the group and kicked nervously at the dirt. The women looked at one another and then at Bokar. The one on the left was a little taller and broader while the one on the right was short and narrow. Both had the muscles required for a peon’s tireless life and neither looked happy to be there. Bokar approached the pair and clapped her hands on their furthest shoulders until their attention turned to her. “Bokar know something wrong,” Bokar said. “What is it?” “Me don’t know if this for us.” said the narrow one. “Me think it feels wrong.” The other bobbed her head in agreement and motioned to the bathing and stretching peons. “We should sleep. We have lots to do tomorrow. You say this is to make us better but…” said the taller one. Sleep? Bokar wondered. Can’t sleep. Must work-work and grow strong.Bokar smiled a smile that reached from ear to ear. “It’s true. Bokar know we have much to do. We work-work hard for Warsong. But, we stronger than ever before. The blood makes us stronger. We work-work even harder.” Bokar said. She then turned and motioned to the other peons who had joined in bathing in the pond. Their harnesses and loincloths were left on the shore. Each of their faces seemed energized, relieved, and familiar. Almost as if they were a family. “Look at them. Bokar knows they come from many families far and wide. But we here together, washing before we train and grow strong.” Bokar said. “But why?” said the leaner one. “Why do we need to grow stronger? We plenty strong to do our work.” “Yes, but Bokar knows we can do MORE”, Bokar said. “We are stronger and still do same thing we always did. But bathe with us and follow Bokar, and we become even greater in the Warsong. Cull the weak. Embrace strength. And our Chieftain will see Bokar and all as greater!” Bokar felt her blood heat boiling as she spoke. Her muscles tightened and throbbed as she flexed her arms imagining what it might feel like to swing an axe to kill rather than for lumber. Her breathing became ragged and puffed out in shorter bursts as dreams of standing atop piles of weaklings culled by her hands rushed to the forefront of her thoughts. Then she felt hands clap down on her shoulders. She snapped out of her bloodlust-driven fantasy and looked into the faces of the two orcs. She shook and looked over her shoulder towards the pool, then back at the two peons in front of her. “Will you join Bokar and others? Our family grows stronger if you do.” The two women exchanged a look. But this time their eyes weren’t filled with confusion or doubt. Their jaws were set, their tusks seemed to shine, and their lips were hard lines across determined faces. They then looked back at Bokar and grunted into a nod before walking past her towards the pool. Bokar conjured the most primal images of the daydream from moments ago. A Peon cleaving multiple trees in single swings A Peon standing atop a mountain of weaklings A Peon uplifted to the Chieftain of Peons And every one of them was Bokar She roared at the sky and hooked her thumbs beneath her harness. And her new family roared back in response. But none of the voices of those other peons were as loud as Kreszen, her first recruit. Kreszen who once bullied her in Ashenvale. Kreszen who tried to stop her from culling a weak orc Kreszen who would have a training accident during their sparring that evening. Bokar won’t remember him for much longer~~~Several Weeks After Hellscream’s Sacrifice Bokar was tired. But it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that came after a long day of hard work. Nor was it the kind of exhaustion that came after a wild night of celebration at the latest honors and triumphs of The Horde. If anything, it was a damnable thing that made her ache from head to toe. It was the kind of tiredness that left her limbs to sag limply down her sides. The kind of exhaustion that left deep bags beneath her once-bright and happy eyes. It was the kind of tiredness that should have put her to sleep. And it would have, were it not for the nightmares. Ever since Grommash’s sacrifice, the rage and bloodlust that filled Bokar had fallen away. And in its absence, the poor peon was left with regret. Because she could recall every terrible act she had committed. And these memories came to her whenever she dared to sleep. She was visited every night by the faces of peons she killed for being weak or lazy. She could hear the chants from the cult she formed around herself in a grotesque mockery of family. She could even hear Kreszen's voice from the years she knew him, as a rival, follower, and as her last willing sacrifice. She couldn’t deal with the insurmountable weight of the horrors she’d caused. And her fellow peons knew it. While most of the peons had no idea of what she had done, they could sense that something was off with Bokar. Most avoided her out of self-interest. Except for one who felt pity for her and shared rumors of a troll shaman who could help. And that brought her to a lonely hut tucked between two trees somewhere deep within Desolace. The hut was a wooden thing, painted to blend in with the surrounding terrain. A small painted hunter's shield hung up against the left side of the entrance serving as the only ornamentation. Bokar stood her ground in front of that hut and called out… “Hello, Bokar here. Anyone there?” Bokar waited for an answer that never came. Instead, she could see a tall stick-like figure moving within the darkness of that hut. The figure was too far and too concealed for any details to come through. Bokar stepped forward and called out again. “Bokar here. Are you there?” Again the figure said nothing. But the shape turned its body fully towards her. And two tusks pointed in the peon’s direction as two eyes surely watched her from within the darkness. Bokar stepped forward and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Dat be enough, gyal!” said a voice Bokar didn’t know. “We don’t need to be doin’ a bit here.” Bokar lowered her hands. She watched as the figure pulled himself from within the bowels of his hut and stood to his full height. The man was ancient, with wrinkles across a weather-beaten pale blue face. His tusks were chipped from the stories of countless lifetimes. He was covered in leathers handsewn for modesty’s sake, with a pouch slung over his shoulders that must have contained dozens of implements and ingredients for the shaman’s crafts. “What’cha doin’ here, peon?” the old troll said. Bokar gulped. “Bokar need help. Can’t sleep. Bokar has long story that Bokar want forget.” The troll hummed and rubbed the full length of one of his tusks. “Interesting…” the troll said, “I can be doin’ dat for ja. But, I need to hear the story ja mean to forget.” Bokar blinked, not understanding. “Trust me,” the troll said, “dere be no way I can erase te right memories without knowin’. And dey say dat burdens must be shared before dey can be forgotten. But don’t ja worry. I am old and will take ja stories wit’ me. Ja will be free, if ja accept.” Bokar considered the offer. Part of her wanted nothing to do with the troll. Especially if it meant sharing her shame with another. But, the feeling of dread reminded her of a feeling she had long ago in the Ashenvale. When she stood before a choice that was hardly a choice at all and gave in to the call to drink of The Blood of Mannoroth. And just like then, it wasn't a decision at all. “Okay, Bokar accept. Let’s go-go!” Bokar said. “Good, den go and chop us some wood for a fire. I’ll prepare the ingredients for te ritual. And some tea for ja tale.” Bokar smiled. Bokar think this for me.
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