The Initiate

\\\\ CHAPTER 1 ////

'They brought this upon themselves. It is time for them to pay for breaking the covenant us Orcs made with High Lord Sylenas himself. For any Orc that dares to betray the High Lord's trust shall be slain without remorse. Let the heretics die by the mighty hands of the Duskaxe clan. Let the puny whelps hide behind their pathetic spells! We shall slay them where they stand with our steel and our sweat.'

Lur'duk slammed his heavily armored chest with his giant cleaver and let out a furious warcry. The Warband of 20 orcs followed in kind. The valley bellowed with their thunderous roars as they prepared themselves for the massacre ahead of them. For that is what it was going to be, Turk'an had no doubts about that.

[The Ashrock clan were a small tribe of Orc magi that had up until this point been harmless, yet now their influence had grown so much so that war chief Lurduk had sniffed them out, and decided it was time to cull them.]

This was the first raid Turk'an had ever been on. His heartbeat quickened in his chest, and the same pain that always would twang every time he got nervous, throbbed on the scar on his left leg. He had always been gifted with fighting. In fact, there was nothing that his mentors taught him that Turk'an didn't pick up exceptionally quickly. It was about time that he got to see real combat. He rubbed his leg to try and soothe the pain but it never made much of a difference.

''Don't worry Turk, there's no need to be nervous, you know how to use that axe better than any of the rest of us! In fact, just having you stand next to me makes me feel that little bit better.''

Neh'dia reassured him whilst nudging his left shoulder. Turk smiled, his scar always hurt around her too, but being around her was always worth the sacrifice. Even in her full, Dusksteel plate armor, she had an amazing figure. Thick Thighs, great mountainous breasts and eyes so piercing they could shatter any opponent's resolve before they could land a single blow. In the orc world, all displays of strength acted as their own aphrodisiac.

'How are you not nervous Neh'dia?'

'The first raid is always the worst, but just remember who we're are fighting. They are Mageblood. Traitors who gave up their blood right the moment they decided to merge their wills to the Maya.'

She spat on the ground out of the winged helmet. The shape of them allowed protection to the upper face but still allowed room for their larger protruding teeth, and powerful booming shouts. The high elf craftsman had got one thing right with their gifts of armor, they had accounted for nearly every detail that a larger being needed.

'Silence your tongue youngling! Now is not the time for fear! For today we march to victory and the eradication of the Ashrock clan from our borders. Let the blood rain!'

'LET THE BLOOD RAIN'

With that last call, the horde charged towards the barred wooden gates of the tribe. It was mad to think that this is how Orcs untouched by the Conclave lived. It was such a primitive life. Wood wasn't going to stop the horde. Nothing was going to, but that wasn't what Turk was nervous about.

The elite warriors thudded against the gate, panicked cries and shouts could be heard behind the door.

'...Just hold them...little while longer...'

Pain. Searing pain on his scar. Turk hadn't felt anything like it before. Was there some sort of connection? He shook his head and continued onwards, adding his strength to the barrage of orcs. There was a glow of violet through the gaps in the gate, and the sounds of moans of pleasure in the distance. Then a crackling surge of power could be heard. A high pitched fizz and snap as the moans turned into passionate screams.

'Quickly whelps. They cannot finish that ritual!'

The Orcs increased their intensity, slamming their axes harder into the wooden frame. The gate split and shattered behind the might of the Warband. Blood splattered in all directions as the hunt began.

Turk'an was immediately set upon by an orc larger than him, dressed in the skin of a bear, wielding a large two-handed blade. In the primitive tribes, the swords were saved for the members of the chieftain's family, it had to be one of his sons.

'You think yourselves better than us with your polluted notions of genocide?' His adversary remarked.

'You, in your shiny suits and constricted ideas. I will prove to you today that you all are just flesh and blood beneath that prison that protects you.'

'A prison that will protect me from your primitive steel.'

The Mageblood twitched into action, bringing his sword down from high above his head. Turk'an blocked the blow, parrying it effortlessly with a pirouette. With the enhanced momentum, he instinctively went to lodge his one-handed axe deep into the side of his adversary, but the axe failed to bite flesh. A competitive dance ensued, Orc against Orc, each fighting for their own lives.

'Your weight betrays you Duskaxe Orc'

The Ashrock Orc moved with heightened speed, freed from the weight of the plate armour and went to slash Turk's stomach with one cleave of his sword. Turk went to move but wasn't quick enough to evade the strike. There was a clang of metal, as the sword bounced off effortlessly. Turk's eyes widened. If he wasn't wearing that armour he would have died, but he did not hesitate long at the thought. Turk took it to his advantage and swiped back with his axe with a combination of 3 different strikes. His opponent was quick, moving around Turk's blows.

With one more strike, they locked themselves into a battle of strength. Dusksteel against iron. They both gritted their teeth as their arms trembled at the amount of strength they were pouring into the tug of war. To the victor, his life.

'Why do you kill us Orc? Do we not share the same blood.'

Turk's strength was failing as the giant blade of his enemy got ever closer to his face.

'Do we not breathe as you breathe? Do we not fight as you fight? Are we not kin of the same race? Our enemies lie outside our lands. It is them we should be fighting not each other.'

Like watching the sunset on top of the Skyland mountains the blade was descending. Turk had to do something, but he couldn't help but wonder what enemies the orc was speaking of? Now was not the time for such contemplations.

Turk took a step back and yanked the hooked edge of the axe towards him, ripping the weapon from his adversary. The orc stood there shocked at the maneuver.

'What do you speak of?' Turk said.

But before the orc could speak a blade plunged out of the chest of his foe. His eyes opened wide as the sword retreated back through the path it traveled. Blood splattered everywhere as the orc dropped to the floor. Neh'dia nodded at Turk and continued on to fight.

'No one lives!' Lur'duk roared. 'Kill every last one of them.'

The General's words were dampened sounds.Turk'an stood dazed at what had just happened, peering down at the growing pool of blood at his feet, as the Orc's life drained before his eyes.

'What did he mean? Enemies outside our lands?' He whispered to himself.

'TURK! To the Shaman's hut! They cannot be allowed to finish!' Neh'dia roared.

The sparks grew more intense in the distance as a low pulsing sound got louder and louder. The violet light was ballooning the longer that they were left alone. Turk and Neh'dia sprinted to the Hut's doorway as fast as they could. They were greeted by Lur'duk himself. He gave them a nod and in they went.

Inside there were two Orcs having sex. He was using an ivory shaped phallus and fraxing her as fast as his arms could move. The more she screamed with pleasure the brighter the man glowed in an array of luminescent violet glyphs. The pair did not lose focus at their arrival. It was as if Turk, Neh'dia and Lur'duk weren't even there.

'Quickly we must kill them, break the circle. It's the only way in.' Lur'duk barked.

The couple were surrounded by a circle of bones that were levitating a couple of inches off of the floor. Turk went to swipe one out of the way with his axe, but it was repelled by a barrier of pure light. The force knocked him off of his feet. The couple remained entwined, as the bone dildo went in and out with skillful guidance. The lustful rhythms of pleasure growing. The chase for her to orgasm remained undisturbed.

Turk shook his head and cleared his vision and saw Lur'duk removing a pouch of duskdust from his pocket. Lur'duk flung it at the couple. It spread over the sphere protecting them, revealing that which was invisible. There were several gaps in the sphere, points at which Lur'duk utilized. He reached his hand through the gaps and grabbed one of the bones. The humming stopped and all the bones dropped to the floor.

The moment the circle was broken, the male Orc pulled his attention away reaching for a bone dagger next to him. He went to stab Lur'duk but he slashed with his sword downward and split the bone weapon into pieces. The male Orc knelt before him closing his eyes, and put his arms out to the side with his palms up.

'Spirits take me.' The Shaman said as Lur'duk cleaved his head from his body. The woman didn't know what to do, and died where she lay as Lur'duk plunged his sword through her heart. He did not stay long, Lur'duk stormed out of the hut and continued on with the battle. Neh'dia followed. Turk should have been right behind them, but magick had always interested him far more than battle.

Turk heard the clank of steel, a squelching of blood, then deathly silence as his brothers and sisters finished off the remaining heretics. Turk felt a huge energy just being in the Shaman's hut. Unlike the other Orcs, Turk enjoyed reading, and had studied the ancient magick of his ancestors from the Conclave's libraries.

With each book he read, the more he hungered to learn. Something about it fascinated and excited him. Just being here filled his mind with curiosity. The hut was still musky, with the smell of exotic incense. A faint purple glow from the ritual still remained. It was like a haze as if his eyes needed to blink. He did it, but the haze didn't disappear.

Then he saw it. Something that called to him like a magnet. It was a book, and on the front there was an emblem with 2 stag horns that met at the top almost forming a triangle surrounded by a circle. His scar began to hurt again, but he felt something different this time. Energy within him he hadn't felt before.

'No.' He whispered to himself. As he turned to face the door of the tent. If Lur'duk found out he had stayed and read the book he would be punished. Lur'duk knew of his passion with magick, but Turk had always used the excuse that it was better to know the enemy one is fighting, so Lur'duk had allowed it. Turk took a step forward towards the door. He was almost out.

'I have to, never again will I get such an opportunity.' He muttered to himself.

Turk went to grab the book. There was a low hum, like a vibration that shook the earth. The book flashed a sharp purple. Then there was silence. The clatter of the Orcs outside disappeared, and Turk was left alone. Him, and the book. He reached out again to try and pick it up, but it was glued to the circular table in front of him.

'They said you would be coming...' A deep booming voice rattled Turk's soul.

'...I still, however, do not trust their judgment. Considering your allegiances, I should rip your soul from where you stand. It wouldn't be difficult for one so distant from the Spirits. Do you even know how to protect yourself?'

'Who are you!' Turk demanded.

'I am the voice from the void. A Spectre made of Maya, and the guardian of the sacred knowledge within this book. Knowledge that our noble chieftain wanted to pass onto his son, which you, so skillfully slaughtered!'

Turk thought for a moment. Twisting his head to the right pondering the right words to say. For he didn't want to anger the Spectre.

'Would you not do the same should someone try and destroy the knowledge that you are so proudly guarding?' Turk retorted.

'Hmm, an Orc with wit. Surprising for a thrall of the conclave. A slave to the will of the High Lord, using it as an excuse for murder. No because you have wit, it makes me trust you even less. Tell me, oh clever one. Why then do you slaughter those who share your blood?'

'This is my first raid...'

'And that is supposed to make me not rip the soul from your beating chest? Ha! Wit, but no wisdom.'

'It didn't give me joy killing the chieftain's son, he died honorably in battle, like a true Orc should.'

'A battle for the wrong cause is a pointless battle, and a waste of a life. You would do well to remember the phrase, choose your battles. You know not why these men have been put to slaughter, yet you still do your masters bidding. You are nothing more than a prisoner in steel, a prisoner that I shall set free.'

'...ARGH!'

There was a barrage in his head, a sharp twang that felt like an intense headache. Turk closed his eyes and winced. The pain started to grow in intensity. A pain that turned to an unbearable heat that began to flow down his back to his heart, burning his body from the inside out. The Spectre was attacking a part of him that was beyond the physical.

Further down his body the energy went. Singeing and twisting parts of him he didn't even know existed. Then it reached his leg.

His scar hummed just like the book had done. The room erupted into a golden light. Then the burning stopped, and calmness was restored, like the sea after a storm.

'By the Spirits, they were right.' The Spectre boomed.

Turk fell to his knees exhausted.

'If I were to grant you the secrets to this book, you would need to make a vow to the ancient ones. That is my condition. You have but one chance to make your choice.'

Turk didn't know what to say. Still confused about what had just happened. What was the Spectre offering him exactly? Why had it stopped when it had reached his scar? All he knew was that this was real magick, and anything written in that book would give him far more information than any of the analytical books of the Conclave. For they were all written by the Duskmoon elves. This was from the hands of the Orcs. The choice was easy.

'I accept.' Turk managed to say.

'Then you must vow to the Spirits, ancient and new. You must swear before me and their presence that you shall never slaughter another of your kin again...'

Turk winced. Never to kill another Orc? But that was the Duskaxe way? How could he not? What would happen in the next raid?

'...Should you break this pact, the might of the Spectres shall tarnish your soul and banish it to the lower planes, for good. You shall never again walk the physical realms of Sopora. Never again feel the pleasures of a physical form. And never again feel the calm the higher planes provide. You will be tortured for eternity.

For this pact could be your blessing, or it could be your curse. Do you swear Turk'an of the Duskaxe clan to never take the life of another orc again?'

Turk paused. He needed to decide. Curiosity and passion, or loyalty to the Duskaxe ways, and servitude to the High Lord Sylenas. Who even was he? Turk had never met him, yet the entire clan's way of life was dictated by his rule.

'You must decide quickly Turk'an of the Duskaxe Clan. Follow your heart youngling. There are two paths for you that stem from this decision. One is an awakening, the other is a sentence. Choose.'

'Ok, I will do it.'

'What exactly is that? You must vow to me by the Spirits of the Ancient ones.'

'I vow by the Spirits of the Ancient ones. That I, Turk'an of the Duskaxe clan will never kill another orc again.'

'Then it is done. I release the bondages within this book. May it serve you through the astral planes, lower and higher. I depart this land through your touch. Kiss the emblem and seal your vow.'

Turk did as commanded. He kissed the book, putting all of his energy into the promise he had just made. Then before him a bracelet of pure black flames surrounded his left wrist. It was like it was alive, but not quite in the physical plane. Then it faded, just as quickly as it appeared.

The Spectres' voice, a mere whisper said. 'Never forget Turk'an. You are more powerful than you know.'

Then there was silence, which was soon interrupted by the general's call.

'Let's move out welps! Collect your trophies. Then we ride back to the Duskaxe borders. The heretics stand flayed beneath our feet, and tonight we feast in our glory.'

There was another roar in the distance, which meant the Warband was about to return home. He didn't have much time. Turk'an pocketed the book under his cloak. He returned to the Orc he had bested in combat, removed the right bottom tooth, that protruded the largest. He pierced a hole through it with the pointed tip of his axe and mounted it onto a corded string. He smiled. His first trophy. Turk walked over to his mount, as the rest of the Warband collected their trophies too.

'Sora, I've missed you' He stroked his pet on the back of its mane. Sora let out a snarl, which to most people would have been threatening, but to Turk he knew she was happy to see him.

She was a giant wolf-like creature, made out of hide so thick it could have been rock. There were several red mountainous protrusions from his beasts skin, which only added to its intimidating aesthetic.

'Let's get home. There has been enough killing for one day.'

\\\\ CHAPTER 2////

Turk'an hurried away from the feast the first opportunity he could. As much as he enjoyed the air of festivity, his thoughts couldn't stray far from what lay inside the book he had hidden at his hut. He walked the paved streets of Youg'Zard, a contrast to the scenery he had seen earlier that day.

He walked through the streets of the Hightooth's, their vast mansions of masonry, each with its own personalized flare. Turk sighed at the sight and continued onward through to the Middletooth's sector.

The buildings were not as grand as the Hightooth's but were still of a good size. Families could be raised with enough space for everyone. To have a separate bedroom was all but a dream for Turk.

He continued onward to his hut. Made from the dregs leftover from the rest of the city, the dwellings in the Lowtooth's sector were thrown together without much care and consideration. Turk was an orphan, and thus the trophies that determine his dwelling relied solely on him. Since he had none, he was cursed to live in the slums of the Lowtooth Sector, which could even be considered the Low-Lowtooth Sector, but compared to the primitive hide tents of the Ashrock clan, he lived in luxury.

He stood outside his small, misshapen hut, and smiled, his thoughts turned towards the book that lay within. He shut the door behind him. Inside there was just one room. He slept, ate, and relaxed all in one space. It had a metal bed, a table, a sink and that was it. Toilets and showers were shared amongst the Lowtooth's. One day he would have his own shower. He had always promised himself.

Impatiently he moved over to his mattress and took the book from out under it. It would be safe to read it now, considering everyone else was distracted by the feasting. Something seemed so natural in the pages before him.

The rituals, the symbols, the descriptions. It was as if he was relearning something that he already knew. According to the book, the wielder had to go through a process of initiation, usually conducted by the Elder Shaman of the tribe. The rite would involve ritualistic sex with a female whose energy was ripe with Shukti, a powerful sexual energy that would be used to awaken the feminine current within the male Magi. and thus the ability to shape Maya to one's will.

He turned the page; 'Self Initiation' it read. This was more like.