Rise of the Horde

Khao'khen gave it some thought, the shamanic powers had gotten his interest. His curiosity piqued by the revelations of the shamans, asked, "And what of your own path, Hekoth and Gunn? What led you to become shamans?"

Hekoth, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames, spoke first. "For me, Chieftain, it was a calling that whispered in my dreams. I sought out the elders, learned the ancient tales, and received guidance from our clan's shaman. He was the one who taught me the ways of a shaman." He paused, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling long-forgotten memories. "It was not an easy journey, both physically and spiritually, but the guidance of the Great Spirit saw me through."

Gunn, his scarred face illuminated by the flickering fire, nodded in agreement. "I, too, heard the call, Chieftain. But my path was different. I was once a warrior, fighting alongside my brethren on the battlefield. Yet, I felt a deeper connection to the spirits, a yearning to understand the ancient ways." He traced the scars on his face with a calloused finger. "It was not an easy choice, for it meant stepping away from the glory of battle, but I knew I could serve our people in a different, more profound way."

Khao'khen, his gaze intense and thoughtful, considered their words. "Is it impossible to become both a shaman and a warrior at the same time?"

Hekoth and Gunn exchanged a weighty glance, the gravity of the chieftain's question hanging between them. "We don't know if it is possiible, Chieftain," Hekoth replied, his voice steady but laced with a hint of uncertainty. "We never have heard of someone among our race who is both a shaman and a warrior. Training in the shamanic ways needs absolute focus in order to make a connection with the Great Spirits."

"The path of the shaman is not a simple one, Chieftain," Gunn said, his voice as smooth as the finest silk. "It is a journey that requires complete dedication, an unwavering focus that can last for months on end."

Khao'khen's brow furrowed.

Hekoth, chimed in. "The warrior's path and the shaman's path are two sides of the same coin," he said, his voice a gentle whisper. "And only one can be held at a time."

Gunn continued, his eyes gazing into the flickering flames of the hearth. "To walk the path of the shaman, you must first let go of the warrior within. For the mind must be a clear vessel, open to the whispers of the Great Spirits."

"Whispers?" Khao'khen echoed, a note of skepticism in his voice. "What kind of whispers exactly?" his curiosity heightening, the only thing that was close to whispers that he heard were the clash of iron and the roars of battle.

"The Great Spirits do not speak in the language of war," Gunn replied, his voice rising with conviction. "They speak in the whispers of the wind, the murmur of the flowing water, the rustling of the leaves. To hear them, you must quiet the clamor within, the warrior's pride, the yearning for battle."

Hekoth added, "The journey to connect with the Great Spirits is a long and arduous one. It can take months, even years, to form a bond. It requires a level of focus and dedication that few warriors possess."

"Years?" Khao'khen gasped, his gaze filled with uncertainty, the interest in his head of shamans suddenly felt suffocating.

Hekoth smiled, a flicker of wisdom in her eyes. "Is the call to the Great Spirits strong enough to outweigh the call of the battlefield? The one who hears the calling must decide."

Khao'khen looked back and forth between Gunn and Hekoth, his face etched with confusion. He realized then that the path of the shaman was not a simple journey, but a profound and transformative one. It was a journey of self-discovery, a quest for a connection with the very essence of the world.

"Is it truly impossible to be both a shaman and a warrior?" he inquired once more, hoping for further explanation from the pair of shamans. Gunn extended his hand, with tiny bolts of electricity crackling within, "To our knowledge, this feat has never been achieved, even by our predecessors, chieftain," his tone tinged with doubt.

"It's possible that a feat our ancestors couldn't achieve may still be within our reach," Khao'khen pondered. "Just because it hasn't been done before doesn't mean it's impossible," he declared with unwavering assurance.

"Don't tell us that you are aiming to achieve such a feat?" Gunn's voice was filled with concern.

Gunn and Hekoth, the two most revered shamans of the tribe, who sat across from the chieftain, their faces etched with concern because of the chieftain's declaration. The air hummed with an unspoken tension, a palpable weight that hung heavy in the room.

Hekoth, cleared his throat, the sound echoing uncomfortably in the silence that followed. "My chieftain," he began, his voice gravelly with age, "it is a dangerous path you seek to tread. The balance between the physical and the spiritual is delicate, easily shattered."

Gunn, younger and more reserved than Hekoth, interjected softly, "We understand your ambition, Chieftain. But the path you seek is fraught with peril. The demons are cunning, their influence insidious. You must be wary."

The chieftain met their gaze, his eyes full of questions, "What do you mean?" he said, his voice filled with confusion, his green skin reflecting the flickering flames.

A silent exchange passed between the two shamans, a communication deeper than words. They knew the truth, a truth hidden within the chieftain's color. He was not simply an orc of different skin-color, like many in their tribe thought. His skin, a shade of jade, was a clear indicator that his lineage was deeply tainted by demons.

Hekoth, with the wisdom of countless winters behind him, spoke again, his voice resonating with gravity. "Chieftain, I understand your desire to be strong, to achieve a feat that was never done before. But you must know this...the demons are not a source of strength, but of corruption. Your skin is a sign of that corruption."

The chieftain's face had a look of wariness, "What source of strength? And what corruption?"

The room fell silent as the weight of Gunn and Hekoth's words settled upon the chieftain. Khao'khen's eyes widened, his gaze flicking between the two shamans, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames of the fire. The gravity of the revelation hung heavy in the air, a tangible force that demanded to be acknowledged.

"Demonic corruption?" Khao'khen whispered, his voice hoarse with a mixture of disbelief and growing fear. "Are you certain?" The chieftain's hand rose to touch his green skin, his fingers tracing the jade hue that now seemed to hold a deeper, more sinister meaning.

Hekoth nodded, his aged face creased with concern. "It is an unfortunate truth, Chieftain. Those of our race with green skin are more susceptible to the influence of demons. It is a mark of their taint upon their bloodline." The shaman's voice was steady, but it held a note of sorrow, as if he, too, wished it were not so.

"The balance of power within you is delicate, and the risk of succumbing to their control is very real." Gunn leaned forward, his scarred face intense in the firelight. "The path of the shaman, as you now know, requires a clear mind and a deep connection to the Great Spirits. But with your bloodline, the danger is twofold. Engaging with your spiritual side may open a doorway for the demons to infiltrate your mind and bend you to their will."

Khao'khen was rendered speechless by this unexpected disclosure. He had always believed that his distinct green complexion was insignificant and could be overlooked, but he was greatly mistaken. Among all the members of the Yohan tribe, he was the sole individual with a green hue. This fact shook him to his core.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight resting on the shoulders of all present. Gur'kan, who had been an attentive observer until now, spoke up, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I believe in you, Chieftain. Your strength and willpower are unmatched. Whatever the challenges posed by your bloodline, you will overcome them. The demons' influence will not sway you from your path."

Khao'khen's gaze flickered to the loyal warrior, gratitude and determination reflecting in his eyes. The chieftain's hand clenched into a fist, resting on his thigh, as if preparing for a battle of wills. The gravity of the shamans' revelation had struck a chord, but it had also ignited a fire within him—a fire that urged him to prove that he was more than the color of his skin.

Hekoth and Gunn, wise in the ways of the spiritual realm, exchanged a knowing glance. They understood the chieftain's resolve, but they also carried the weight of their knowledge. It was a delicate balance, and they knew that the path forward would be treacherous. The shamans' silence spoke volumes, conveying their unspoken support and respect for the chieftain's determination.