Out-Dated Sveja Story Post Archive

[Sveja]

(With the shift away from Shaman, the heavily spiritual nature of some of these stories would have been simplified or absent. So they are not canonical in the form presented).

Father's Peach Tree

The girl's cheeks were stained an upset red, but she found comfort in having someone to lean her head against. Sveja, the soldier, was not necessarily used to being such comfort, but comfort here she was. She gently stroked the girl's hair, allowing her fingers to gently tug loose the knots in the girl's dark curls.

"I know, I know..." she sighed breathily in sympathy. "Its rough, isn't it?" She turned her head gently peering down at the girl, using her fingers to lift the hair from her eyes. "I'd say we Orks need to stick together, but its never that simple is it?" Sveja's shaded lips drew back into a smile. To others the look of her tusk-like canines, impressive for an Ork woman, may have been unsettling. But they were as natural as the smile itself to those who grew up among them. The woman's eyes were what gave the girl pause: Deeply blue, unusual alone, but the blue of her irises so overwhelmed the rest of her eye that they seemed to glow in the dim light of the street.

"Its alright, little one. We will get you something else to eat." Sveja held the girl on her lap with her left arm, and reached into a belt pouch with her right. Playfully, she made an exaggerated expression of effort, squeezing her lips and eyes together tightly, and furrowing her brow as she seemed to be in search of something, having already found the treat her fingers sought. This was brought out, at last, with a brilliant grin of satisfaction; quickly reflected in the girl's own smile.

With a laugh she dropped the candies into the girl's hands, "There - there's a little something to enjoy."

Taking in a deep breath, she leaned back and gave the girl a moment to enjoy the treat.

"You know... this reminds me of a story." The girl's interest remained in the candy, but Sveja did not seem to mind.

"I was about... you know what, just about your age." She announced with a smile.

"My father was gone by then," she didn't linger long on the shared fate of orphans.

"But I had not forgotten his tree. Ooooh nooo," she stressed, shaking her head, "I would never forget his tree."

"I still remember when him showing me that tree. Over. And over. And over again," she smiled wistfully as a sad laugh threatened to break forth. "He always acted like it was the first time he'd shown it to me. Like it was the first time I'd ever seen it."

She wiggled her body, raising her shoulders up high. The movement caught the girl's attention, and Sveja lowered her voice, doing her best to mimic the deep resonance of her father. "Oh! This tree, have you seen it Sveja? Such a lovely peach tree! I planted it myself, I did. A cutting from a great Elf's garden it is. It shall be the pride of this block by the time it grows! Such flowers, and then fruit, such fruit!" she touched her fingers to her lips with a kiss, before throwing her fingers apart, "the sweetest you will ever taste."

The memory blazed vividly in her mind, and she breathed a happy sigh before settling back to her normal posture.

"He cared for that tree like a member of the family. Like another child; a sister to Orek and I."

"Oh, he loved all of his plants. His garden, and the fields he cultivated." Her mind walked the fields of her youth, remembering the crops as they grew. Grain grasses standing far above her head. Green bundles of vegetables seeming to explode out of the ground. There were not many growers in this part of the Kaer - it is not a natural profession for Orks, and those who organized the Kaer's knew it. The available fields in the Ork area were far from the Sun Stone, its nourishing rays barely licking the ground over long shadows at this distance. The soil was thin, with the stone that protected them from the scourge, barely buried beneath it.

"He never took 'no' for an answer, no sir. Never did. He grew whatever he wanted, and always insisted that, 'Greeb will provide. Fear not, for he is near and smiles upon us.'"

Sveja smiled deep and full of bittersweet.


"And so he did, my da'. And so he did. And we ate well, and he grew enough even to sell. But his tree, which he tended and loved - he never did see it bear fruit."

She patted the girl's shoulder, while the familiar emotions of emptiness and anger swept over her like a tempest - the urges were fierce as they were brief. She breathed in with a shudder, a momentary sign of the inner storm storm, and patted the girl's shoulder comfortingly.

The girl looked up at Sveja as the last of the candies disappeared, curious about what came next.

"Well..." the woman hesitated to continue. She sniffed in through the nose in an effort to fight back tears.

"I kept checkin' on that tree. For da'. I made sure it had water. Made sure it was trimmed as best I knew. I would make the walk out from town here to see it. And know that it was growing, just as he would have wanted."

"And it did. It grew, like I knew it would. I think some of da' was left behind in it when he passed on. Just a touch of his spirit, enough to encourage and nurture. And whenever I saw it, healthy and growing, I felt like he was nearby again."

She smiled sadly, before making an arching gesture with her free hand.

"Then... one day! Just as he had said, it bore fruit. There they were, a dozen and more of the little things," she gently curled the girl's fingers together into a ball, "about the size of your fist, doll."

"And just like he'd said. They were the sweetest I'd ever tasted." She grinned from ear-to-ear as she slowly shook her head in disbelief. "As sweet, and juicy, and perfect as anything you've ever imagined!"

She touched fingers to her shaded lips once more, closing her eyes like she was reliving that moment. "I ate one so fast, it was like it wasn't even there. Then I ate another!" She laughed, "I'd never had anything that tasted so good!"

She grinned and continued to gesture with her hand. "And I drew up my skirt like this, and threw in every last ripe peach I could carry in it. And I ran back to town as fast as I could! I shared them with my friends, and everyone who had shown me any kindness."

She laughed this time, remembering, "I even had a couple more for myself."

"Well, I figured, I would go back in a few days and the rest would be ready to pick and I'd have another feast."

"So I did just that, but when I got back to the three I was horrified! There was no fruit left! All had been plucked and picked off, many half-eaten were strewn around the lot ready to rot."

She snorted in anger, "I still feel the anger boil my blood today! It gripped me. I felt my body shake. I quaked with anger and rage for my father and his tree. I knew that something had stolen them. Wasted them!"

"As I looked around I soon found the thief. That what it was - and he was still there. A blasted tanuki, raccoon dogs the Dwarves call them. I could see the thief's long stripped tail sticking out from beneath da's old shed." She gestured with her arm and fingers.

"I rushed at it with a shout, and a holler! It retreated as I lunged, and I reached out desperately to grab at it but my arms were not long enough."

"I knew it would fight - but I knew I would fight harder, if only I could get my hands on it! And there I lay, engaged in a battle of wills with the thief. I have no doubt that it was terrified, it had nowhere else to retreat to; it couldn't dig out under the old house though it was trying."

"It clawed and it ran and it looked for anyway out that didn't lead it straight to me, but there was none! And I waited. I waited patient and angry for that little thief." Her lips curled back, hinting at a look of malice almost enough to scare the girl in her lap, whose attention was now rapt, "...then what happened?" she asked meekly.

"I do not know how long passed. I was determined to catch it. I wasn't going to give up. But it was just as determined not to be caught. But then..." she narrowed her eyes and peered around as if suspicious, "I felt something else there. And when I turned my eye around I saw something you will scarcely believe. A Tanuki spirit, just like in the stories, laying upside down on the porch. He had let his head fall down to the ground and was just staring at me with a grin."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise, "No..!"

"Yes..!" Sveja countered, with an animated nod. "That is exactly what I saw. And this spirit, grinning as he was, he just said: 'And just what are you doing pretty thing?'". She pronounced the spirit's voice with a playful, and sly inflection.

"Well, I huffed as you can imagine. I blew a mighty breath of anger, and I raised my voice in rage, 'Oh Spirit, this Thief has made off with my father's first fruit, which he longed for the years before he died!'

And the spirit, he lay there with his whole body slowly slinking off the porch and smiling slyly. 'Oh did he? Did he steal it, do you think?'

I stamped my foot. I nearly roared in rage. 'He did! And left it scattered all around! Wasted it! He did not even eat it all!'

He just kept on smiling, his fat belly soon reached the ground. 'And, pretty thing, what will you do when you catch him?'

'I will kill him!' I declared, triumphantly."

The little girl's mouth opened in surprise. Sveja's had continued gesturing with rising emotion throughout her telling.

"And then he said, 'Do you think he knew he was a thief?'

I looked at him, all confused. 'Your little thief, do you think he knows that he is a thief?'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'Or did he simply find something to eat, and nothing stopping him from eating it?' By now the spirit was laying fully on the ground, belly-up, still just grinning at me.

I didn't really know what to say, but the spirit had more to say himself. 'Oh - but do you think he fails to understand you now? Or do you think he knows you want to kill him. Look at how terrified he is.'

I turned my eyes back toward the shed where the tanuki still hid, his body still shaking with exertion.

I looked back to the spirit. 'But these fruit are my father's!'

He grinned at me, before tilting his head, 'Then what are they doing out here in the yard? Maybe you should have been a little more careful.'"

Sveja snapped her fingers, "And like that. The rage was gone. I do not know why, for sure. Maybe because the spirit made me understand that it was I who had to take responsibility for my father's memory, not the animal."

"My rage cooled, and still the spirit watched me with that grin of his.

'Oh at least a little wisdom you show, after all.' He rolled over onto his legs and then stood up, dusting himself off.

'Your little thief may have taken some fruit: but he has left you with a lesson.' He leaned toward me, suddenly his eyes seeming to stare right into me, 'Never forget how lucky that makes you, pretty little thing.'"

Sveja stretched her arm out, and opened her hand as if she were dropping something, "The spirit dropped a pair of peach pits, one out of each hand. And vanished - poof - just like that!"

Sveja made a bemused expression, "So it was several lessons in one. And ever since then I have made sure to gather up all of the fruit at the first chance I get. Lest I lose them all again to another tanuki, or squirrel, or spirit."

She formed the number two with her fingers, "But I always make sure to leave a few behind as offerings. Two for the tanuki. And two for the spirit."

She grinned as she reached back into a bag, while the girl listened to the end of her story.

"Why do you do that?" the girl asked.

"Never take blessings for granted, little one! Especially when spirits are involved. Always repay them for your good fortune."

Sveja grinned and gave the girl a handful of peaches.

[Sveja]

Winds of Change

A gust of wind rushed by the young girl, crouched down beneath a copse of mostly bare trees. Such wind was rarer down here, but not unheard of. From whence did they come? Shifting pressures within the large cave system, a crack somewhere in the defensive foundations, or the result of Elemental enchantments placed centuries ago to create some sense of normality for the thousands of non-Dwarf denizens of the Kaer? Or, perhaps, some other phenomena as of yet undiscovered. During this season these winds managed to pick up the drying and withering leaves, blowing them along, skittering and dancing across paths well and poorly trod alike. All in a fashion plenty familiar to those who lived in more normal times.

The girl's eyes opened again after bracing against the wind. She stared out across the pond before her. It was less a pond, and more a shallow pool where a small stream, otherwise a trickle, flowed through. It had just enough to current to keep from being stagnant, but still algae, lilies, and other wetland plants found a way to thrive in its waters. The shore on either side was little tended. The gardener's of Daiche seldom made their way this far from the canal and, regardless, it was a site non-Orks tended to avoid, for it was a site of particular cultural importance to the Ork Quarter. Why exactly that was seemed lost to the mists of time. Five centuries, or roughly twenty five generations of Orks, had passed since the time these caves were sealed from the inside.

Unlike in most Kaers, these Orks had not built the structure that now protected them from the Scourge that raged outside. This was unusual, other than specifically Orkish kaers, most such residents were slaves, or the descendent's of slaves, or at the least providers of the hard menial laborer necessary for projects of such scale. But, those gathered in Daiche were of an altogether different character, quite literally a Company of Or'zat speaking Orks recently returned from generations of life in the distant East. From what could be gathered from verbal lore they were a small Cavalry that had left the fabled kingdom of Cara Fahd as it had crumbled. Their descendants wandered and traveled as a band of mounted mercenaries, finding plentiful business in the kingdoms of the Far East. In the years leading up to the Scourge they were pulled back to the West by a powerful force: omens driving them back to the very feet of the Tylon Mountains where the Passions are said to reside. There they and a few Orks local to the region but unaffiliated with the predominant Metal Fist who dug their own Kaers beneath these peaks, settled in Daiche at the invitation of its builders.

The Black Company was brought, whole, into the Kaer. Mounts, warriors, and followers all. But centuries and generations of life in this world of the inky black, anywhere artificial light does not shine, have changed them in nearly every way. Orks are an adaptable and hardy people, and have taken to the city and Kaer life. Although Or'zat, the Ork tongue of Cara Fahd and ages past, is still spoken in their homes, most converse in easy Throalic for daily business. Those with sufficient wealth dress and behave as would any Dwarf - though their reputation for temper and passion, due to the fires of Gahad, never long escape them.

The Company itself still claims to be a Cavalry. But the expense of maintaining so many mounts, and the limited value of their expertise, means that in reality it could only be called a Cavalry in spirit. Long ago it opened itself up to capable and ambitious warriors of every race in the Kaer, and the Company now is little more than a glorified holding pen for the Kaers most warlike and violent to find some outlet for their energies, and the strict discipline that prevents them from being a threat to their neighbors. Not that their members would admit it: proud they are, and prepared to throw themselves at any challenge. Although their units are still referred to as squadrons, all but one now exclusively train on foot. The Company's Grand Tournament long ago ceased including a Riding Skills test, it no longer being deemed a relevant test of the skills they require. Their number of mounts dwindles, maintained just above viable breeding stock where possible, and under the ever-watchful eye of the Council lest they consume too much of the city's limited resources and food.

So too have gone many of their Orkish culture ways. Traditions once essential to maintain cohesion and discipline on the dangerous marches of a Cavalry Company seemed of little use or purpose when buried in depths beneath the earth: with every generation born destined to die under a sky of stone, having never seen a wild animal or plant, a little more died with them. So too, then, the purpose and traditions surrounding the Company's Shaman whithered and died of disuse. Children still gathered around her small hut: staring and pointing while whispering tales of terror and shivering in fear and whispering claims that she was as old as the Kaer itself. Without beasts to tame, wild's to understand, and the need to call upon the spirit's aid, of what use was she? As they grew more distant from their ancestors, adhering ever close to the ways of their neighbors, they grew more distant too from the ancient call of the beasts their ancestors had known.

Those old enough could still just remember a time when the Ork Councilor would pay the woman the odd visit for her advice on matters concerning their people. But even this had not been done in decades. The old woman, some unkindly call her a crone, would hobble her way to the main street in town for each year's Rohodo celebration. Once, she had blessed and lead such festivities: now she is avoided, and the young wonder why she is there at all.

Still, the Shaman woman manages to walk, barely supporting herself with the aid of a stick, and appearing completely blind. And somehow she finds her way there and back every year, and whenever she leaves in between.

It was at her hovel that the young girl now stared from a little distance across the pond, beneath a few trees clinging to a few leaves apiece. She had been here before - and she would be here again. When she had nothing else to do, which was frequent enough given she was just an orphan on the street, she felt drawn to this place as if she somehow belonged.

She turned her eyes, surprised at a sudden sound. Her sight soon caught the culprit, the shimmering outline of a squirrel. A second followed the first, and they ran quick circles around her before darting up one of the trees. The second still gave chase, their bushy tails longer and fluffier than any of their real cousins twitched with quick and playful misdirection. There up in the branches of the trees they chittered energetically and she imagined she heard them speaking to her, "Go on go go - go and see her." She smiled at their play and laughter and lingered a little while longer.

[Sveja]

Over open plains we soared,
Grass all shades of gold and green
Over hills that rise and fall,
Like those we have never seen.

The young girl's body gave out with a shudder. Her eyes rolled back, and her body fell limp. She collapsed onto the fur covered floor with a softened thud. The old woman withdrew her hand slowly from the girl's forehead. It had taken the slightest touch, and the smile on her blind face showed no sign of regret. She inhaled deep the heady perfume of herb and incense.

The girl, meanwhile, soared. She could never have imagined the scene that now unfolded before her mind's eye and embraced all her senses. She felt the rush of wind through her feathers, the sound of roaring air as she glided through the sky hundreds of feet above the terrain below. What was this? What am I doing?

The spirit loosed an eagle's high cry that pierced the girl's ears with surprise, for the cry had not come from another, but from her own lungs and her own beak. Hooked, and powerful, she could tear apart the prey caught in her talons. She felt her wings dip to the right, entering a gentle turn before the force of a rising thermal pushed her, circling, higher into the sky. Higher, and higher she soared. Higher even than the highest ceiling of the Kaer. She seemed an eternity from the ground below - while the land itself was simply beyond imagining. It stretched out to the very edge of vision in every direction. She had nothing to relate to, no ability to judge just how large an area this could be. But it had to be many times the size of the sheltered space she lived within, the Kaer in which she had made her entire young life.

As she turned in slow revolutions she could see the grass far below, waved in rolling patterns by the wind. Its hues beautiful, vivid yellows reflected by the glorious light that bathed them all from the sky. Here and there other patches grew shorter, in brilliant greens or ruddy browns. The whole plain was interrupted periodically by small blue rivulets of water, tiny steams flowing onward toward a mighty river that gathered in the far distance. She focused her vision there, on that body of water so similar, but so dissimilar from the canals she knew. Suddenly she felt the vast distance bridged by the exacting vision of an eagle. She could see the details of the far shore, small trees clinging haphazardly to earth overhanging the fast-flowing water beneath. Grasses and plants spurted around rocks that all arranged together by nature's forces untouched by name giver's intent. A fish leaped from the water, breaching in pursuit of food. That sight made her stomach clench in hunger.

But her turn continued as she made slow spirals in the air, rising ever higher into the sky.

A curiosity struck her abruptly. She turned her head so that she could gaze upward toward the ceiling. There she saw naught but brilliant blue sky and the bright yellow orb of the sun. The endlessness seemed to stretch to infinity above her and the revelation struck her like a thunderclap. Uncertainty and fear gripped her; her stomach turned unnaturally within her belly, and she felt as if without a ceiling above her she might risk falling forever upward into that endless void of air. The natural ease of the entire vision began to fade. She was no longer the eagle, she was again aware of herself - herself, the orphan, the girl, the Ork.

She woke with eyes blinking blearily as she heard a final Eagle's cry echo within her head.

"So you now have met Aetoc." The old woman grinned. "He too has been waiting for you, these many long years."

[Sveja]

Taking place the night after the Wendigo Battle.

Reliving the Nightmare
Apprentice No More - Part 1

Such terror only stalks the darkest of Sveja’s nights. Those nights when her subconscious struggled with the intractable, or when gripped by the dual doubts of uncertainty and inadequacy that gnawed silently at the fragile bonds of her sense of self-worth. It may be that only those who knew Horror could understand the sensation it heralded. It had been years since that encounter. Years since the creature’s physical form had retreated from the lifeless bodies of her family; but its long shadowed tendrils still found ways to dig and tear at the hidden wounds it had inflicted upon her.

The start of the dream was always the same: she could see her hand, unusual for dreaming she would think, finding herself still partly conscious. Then, reflexively, she would watch herself open that old door. The hinge always creaked, and the familiar sound would summon a sudden alarm of realization. Her mind’s eye would startle, fully awake to a world of neither dream nor reality, but of warped memory.

She pushed the door open, blinded momentarily by the rush of outdoor light. She remembered the feeling, it was as if she was greeting a visitor she knew was arriving at just that moment. She had never understood what it was she had felt, or why she had opened that door: but a malignant voice would whisper a terrible truth, “You know why you opened that door. You let the Horror in.”

She remembered the wide-eyed look on her mother’s eyes. An expression of fear and doubt at her daughter’s sudden strange behavior - it was the last clear memory she would have of the dearest woman to ever live.

With the door opened she experienced the snap of terrible realization. The girl did not know what was happening, but in that instant she felt the deep foreboding darkness of true terror. Her heart pounded in her ears, and the world fell away. The experience now was just as it had that day long ago, though it seemed like yesterday. It was coming - had it had called out specifically to her? She heard screams and the cries in the distance. She saw her brother come running across the yard as fast as he could hurtle himself forward.

He yelled, or screamed - but his voice now was silent. Perhaps she never heard what he was yelling - or she had forgotten - now only the distinct impression of his voice remained like a feeling rather than a sound. Then there was father: he showed no sign of hurried panic, only the resolve of a man who knew what he must do. He walked quickly from the field, with a well-used hoe thrown over his shoulder. He looked up to the doorway. The two of the made eye-contact, he was looking at her. In that moment she could read his eyes. He was coming to protect her. Everything would be alright. Their brown depths gave her a sense of comfort amidst the terror. His lips moved, but she could not hear his voice, only an impression of warmth somewhere lonely in the empty void of terror.

When he reached the door he carried her inside. Orek followed right behind him. Mother had thrown aside a rug on the floor, revealing a trap door that neither child new existed. Father was still speaking, his now silent voice gave life to that kernal of warmth within her heart, a flicker of light amidst the blackness that enveloped all. Mother rushed to the door - Orek had left it opened. Father gestured for Sveja to climb down through the floor. He cast a long look at his wife. They had no chance for goodbyes, but they had always known this day would come.

Sveja fell into the hole. It revealed the crawlspace under the small house, but it was even shallower than she expected. There may have been just enough space for father to fit, she thought, if he would squeeze. She heard a loud crash above. It was enough that her body to nearly leap from the bed where she slept. In her nightmare she reached out for her father, as she always did, trying in vain to stop what was about to happen.

Whatever the Horror had looked like, she had no memory. Its form now pure blackness, like a hole burned in her memory, as if she could remove it from existence. She looked through the gap under father’s arm. Her eyes moved helpless, terrified to her mother as the formless it burst into the house. Mother was thrown backwards, never reaching the door. It lashed out, a tendril of darkness, an extending vacancy in her mind that tore directly through her mother’s body. It was over almost immediately. She had just enough time to look back at her husband and children. It could have been a look of love or of fear - but amidst the nightmare it fell an accusation.

She remembered the flow of her mother’s blood. Soaking her dress first, and then running in rushing rivulets down her limbs to the floor. She remembered the shuddering throes of death, while Orek, too brave and too good, had lunged out of his father’s grip in an effort to save his mother. Her lungs filled with a scream that burned her throat. A scream stopped her heart. A primordial scream that left absolutely nothing within her. Her scream echoed into the world of the waking, and she violently through away the covers of a bed that could not protect her brother.

Father watched his wife and son murdered before his eyes. No one can no the pain he felt in that moment. A gentle ork like few others, whose gahad only encouraged him to bring forth the fruit of the land, watched everything he so loved and adored destroyed in an instant.

How many times had he tried to tell himself that these sorts of things could not happen here? That she was overreacting - they would all be alright, she’d see. Greeb is merciful, and his bounty plenty. Now he threw himself on top his daughter.

It would never, could never happen here.

It won’t happen here.

His weight pushed her back down below the floor. He wrapped his powerful arms around her. Arms that preferred the hoe to a sword. Such large, powerful hands. She imagined, once, that he could lift the world he was so strong. They were tender, despite the calouses, filled with love and a nurturing spirit.

Now he leaned against her, holding her down while his hands covered and stroked her small back.. “Shhhhhhhh…” he encouraged in the calmost voice he could imagine. One of his hands reached to cover her mouth. He had to keep her quiet - he had to save the only thing he had left.

Hands that could move the world. Hands that could do anything.

And there, shielding her from it, he gave his life for what he loved. There died the only man she ever needed. For all of his gentleness, and for all of his warmth. For all of his quiet wisdom, and for all the inherent goodness that had defined him, he was no match for a Horror. He died, and she had never deserved him.

Now a young woman, she leapt from her bed, as she always did at that moment. She cried out again, now in a loud heart-broken voice that rattled the windows. She fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands.

[Sveja]

Disturbance in the Dorm
Apprentice No More - Part 2

The disturbance of Sveja's leap from bed, accompanied with a scream of fright soon roused most of the girl's dormitory wing of the Company Barracks. It was not the first time, nor likely would it be the last. Murmurs of discontent traveled quickly as whisper, "Sveja's at it again". While they turned themselves back to sleep, the young woman in question stood in the open middle of the room trembling with exhales of exhaustion and terror. Hints of golden-hued light touched the darkness as her awareness snapped back from the world of waking nightmare. The cries of her dying family rang in her ears, yielding slowly as the terror of the moment refused to release its hold upon her heart.

The door of the chamber cracked open. Sveja turned with a start, but the vision was a calming one as the Matron of the dorm stepped through She held a light-quartz lantern with just a sliver open, offering light for her feet to navigate. While Sveja wondered how much trouble she would be in, the stern Dwarven figure of the matron's look was a more gentle appraisal. She guided the girl from the room and out into the living area and lobby to which the quarters were attached. She threw a blanket over the girl's shoulders, giving her something warmer than the nightgown that draped her, and had her take a seat.

It took her a few moments to brew an herbal tea - a particularly weak blend, those who lived in Company Quarters were not exactly maintained in splendor, but comforting nonetheless. In the meantime the two of them did not say anything, leaving the girl with her thoughts. She accepted the tea and anxiously sipped; its warmth had a calming effect. As the immediacy of the terror faded she glanced around with suddenly nervous eyes, before offering gratitude in a weak voice, "Thank you..."

The Matron nodded, her smile carrying a little more warmth than it used to. This change in her behavior had been one of the things that changed when the Company made her an official member. Before that, one could suppose, the Matron had treated her more as a wayward step-daughter. Not without affection, but with a short and decisive discipline that rarely ended with a cup of tea. By now she knew well the subject of these nightmares which had been a real area of concern when Sveja had been a child. They had, mercifully, become far rarer these days. Sveja had told her once that her dreams now were blessed by the spirits - and that she frequently found herself soaring in lands above ground. Beneath the warmth of a giant yellow sun that made the crystals in their cavern seem meek by comparison. It had sounded quite awful to her, how could you trust a room without a ceiling? But if it gave the girl any sense of peace, it was well worth it.

Sveja took a deep breath and wrapped the blanket around her a little more tightly as she sipped the tea.

Their silence was interrupted by a tell-tale sound from up the stairway. Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. The repetition was slow and laborious. Sveja could remember a time, in her youth, when that same sound had moved so fast and furious. How it had chased her with angry fury.

Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. Both women raised their eyes as the sound reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, and then watched as the entryway door swung open to reveal the sound's master.

Ashbite Skaronox, or Master Ashbite, as he was known to the Black Company Soldiers and Officers whom he instructed. The once towering Ork seemed a fair bit smaller now. No hair remained on his head, and his impressive gray whiskers grew wiry, though still neatly trimmed.

One yellow eye turned to the women. His expression was as inscrutable as ever. Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. Thu-clunk. He approached them with his heavy wooden crutch announcing its arrival before his remaining leg would catch up with each step. He drew up against the desk behind which Sveja was seated, and against which the Matron leaned. He looked between the two of them several times before his gaze settled on the Matron.

"What's this then?"

The Matron turned an unammused look his way. "The same as always, I think," she answered with an indignant huff of defense for her ward.

"But it has been months. Or years." The old ork replied, resting himself against the desk as well. "Unless I am mistaken..."

The girl lifted her eyes from her tea and gave her head a shake. She answered in a weak voice "No, it has been a long time..."

"So. And on such a day too." He commented to himself, fingers stroking the whiskers that lined his jaw, forming long side-burns.

"Come."

He used to say, "Come, child" but that too had changed with her officially joining the Company a year before.

He pushed off from the desk and turned back to the stairway. Thu-clunk. The-clunk, the crutch lead and good leg followed.

Sveja stared at the Matron for a moment. The woman offered a look of comfort. Surely, she did not have to follow the old teacher at an hour like this.

He paused and rested his hand against the door frame so that he could look back over his shoulder. "Sveja, coming?"

She gave the Matron another bewildered look as he began to ascend the stairs. She stared for a moment longer before setting her tea down to rise and follow him. She paused just long enough for the Matron to pull the blanket up around her shoulders again. She offered a gentle sigh, and then watched her ward follow her teacher for a mid-night lesson.

[Sveja]

Failure and Despair
Apprentice No More - Part 3

Sveja followed Master Ashbite up the steps. She'd offered one last look back to the Matron, but knew her teacher's offer was not one to be refused. She took her time following him. He mounted each step with a sudden but grueling effort. He had been living with one leg for as long as any of his students could remember, and in her youth he was still notorious for the surprising speed at which he could move. But time and age had taken its toll, and each week the effort it took to climb the stairs seemed greater than it had been the week before. He struggled at last to the top step, allowing himself just enough pause to wipe the sweat from his brow before carrying on down the hallway. Perhaps it was the hour. Or perhaps the purpose -- but he was exhausted by the effort but refused to let it show.

"Come, come." He repeated, as if it were necessary to hurry her along. She trailed behind as they walked along the empty, quiet hall. The blanket draped over her shoulders dragged along the floor and she had every look of the wayward child, having grown up too fast to leave it all behind.

He ushered her into his familiar office. It was a large room, one of the largest available to any of the Company officers. Here he hosted students, sometimes full groups of them, to carry on lessons and instruction outside of normal class hours. Sveja's memory was filled with this room. She could recall almost every detail of its interior, and many of its occupant's possessions. The smell, a mixture of musty tomes, wood, old leather and sweat, was deeply familiar. He paused to hold the door for her. She hesitated but his glare hurried her along. He closed it behind them and moved onward toward his desk; his asymmetric stride carried him the few final paces to his destination.

Her attention turned briefly to a semi-separated seating area that sometimes served as a living room, in those rare moments he allowed himself to relax. More often it was the site of discussion, or games of strategy. There the Shogo board was set up and ready to play. How many hours had he schooled her, defeated her, and taught her that game? She had never won. And probably never would.

Her attention snapped back to him as he settled down into his chair with a grunt. The comfort of a challenge complete gave him a moment's respite before his usual chiding tone resumed, "Come. Sit, sit." He waved her on.

She followed as if an order. She did not dare move the chair itself. Instead she moved herself around it and seated herself with a motion of swift grace that did not disturb the chair itself.

He regarded her for a moment. A leather eye-patch covered his left eye. It was his bad side, he said. The one good eye held a piercing gaze. Students said it would cut right through a them, given the chance, and could read their dishonesty. There was no magic at work, but one would swear that eye peeled away layers of defense with the deftness of a scalpel.

Finally the old ork grunted, and blinked to break the gaze. "So. What is this about then?" His look was almost always the same when he asked a question: a certain confidence that made him appear to know the answer before he asked.

She seemed startled, giving a shake of her head that shook loose strands of hair that fell down the sides of her face - let down from the more aggressive style she'd worn during the day. "I don't know... it was the same nightmare." She always hated talking about it - and always had. As if anyone would enjoyed sharing their greatest failure and fears with others, even a trusted guardian. He nodded and drew a hand along his gray whiskers. "But you cannot think it a coincidence?"

Her gaze fell, eyes staring at the edge of the desk. It would do no good to lie, but the answer gnawed at her.

"You have had such a day, today too." He gestured with a rising hand, "they told me about what you found out there, with that elf. And how you all dealt with it so handily -a and bravely. It is what you have been longing for isn't it?"

There it was - just a momentary defensive reflex. But it was enough to give the game away.

"I see.." he stated. She did not quite nod, but moved to pull the blanket around her.

"It was nothing." She pulled her feet up, trying to fit her entire body in the cavity of the chair.

He turned back to her with a start, "Nothing? Nothing?" he repeated, a tinge of frustration in his voice as he almost rose from his seat, and probably would have if he were a whole ork. "You have been here for how many years now? Training for this. You have worked to become a warrior day after day - night after night - week after week. And all for what? Isn't this what you wanted? To confront such dangers head on? To become one of the greatest warriors the Kaer has ever known?"

She lowered her head. Her hands rested up on her raised knee, her face now hiding behind a flimsy blanket fort.

"But something wasn't right. Was it? Something is bothering you." He grunted in frustration and settled back into his chair to ponder.

She'd told herself she wouldn't cry. Warriors do not cry. Heroes do not cry. It was a deep sadness rooted in sympathy for the greatest of all suffering. She knew what it was to suffer at the hands of a Horror. The unease and uncertainty that accompanied the crippling loss. It crept along the nerves like slinking shadows. Dark tendrils wrapped the heart, and snuffed the spirit. The doubt douse joy. The sadness seized hope. When reliving those moments there was nothing to the world but regret and fear. But it was not her alone, now the same terrors gripped a poor girl. Where was she now? Lonely and isolated in a darkened Blood Guard cell? Was she still alive? Was she suffering? The lamentation was impossible to resist, and emotion burst forth with shudders of helplessness.

The blankets which shielded her eyes from the outside world muffled the sound, but couldn't obscure it.

The old ork rolled his eyes, and drew a hand to his forehead. He often had found the girl's particular manner particularly frustrating. Most orks would be shaking in the throes of Greeah, their body startign to shake as their heart rose to resist his words with every instinct. It was an urge to rise to their own defense. But this one had proven infuriatingly impervious to the approach. She'd be a master of shpita because of it, though that ruined half the fun. He drew a hand down his face, breathing a sigh that carried away some of the building tension.

He turned his attention back to her with a practiced calm, "Well? I do, in fact, have all night. Though I should have brought some of that tea."

She remained mostly still while she withdrew into her own world and wept. He waited patiently. The wait gave him time to reflect on a memory of an earlier time:

"Tell me, child." He had asked her during one of their afternoon extra sessions. "What would you say that working with animals has taught you?"

She had almost laughed, it was an unexpected question. Why would he suddenly be interested in animals?

But he was serious, and waited expectantly for the answer.

"Sir. Many things, I have learned many things."

"Very well," he nodded, "think for a moment and tell me which you think is the most important."

Her look of amusement vanished and she soon buried herself deep in thought. At moments like these she knew he would wait for an answer. Better to have thought through what she would say, rather than simply blurt out an easier to reach answer in the interest of time. No, when he asked something like this the purpose was to make her think. And so she would think. She weighed the thoughts: how the animals helped her learn about herself. How caring for them instilled a sense of purpose and success. How it created and a place for her in life. How they taught responsibility, humility and diligence.

But none of these were here answer: "Patience." She stood a little taller, as if at attention, as she delivered the answer.

He turned away from her, arms crossed as he stroked his chin. "Explain."

She took in a breath, and then began. The exact words were lost to him now, but the basic concept was simple enough: animal's worked and learned at their own speed. You could push them harder, you could try to use force. But ultimately they would only learn, and only accomplish what you wished them to, if you kept working at it until it was done. They would frustrate you. They would try you, and test you. Without patience and the will to achieve your goal, no amount of effort or force would coerce the animal into leaning or accepting its training.

He was glad he had turned. Because, facing away from her, he smiled. Still, he allowed what passed for a glowing assessment: "Very good." He did turn then, taking on his most authoritative expression: "Remember that lesson well. For you will need it."

And how badly he wanted that tea right now. He too had long ago learned the value of patience: students and children, she might realize eventually, were not all that much different in that regard.

Here, his patience was rewarded with answer at last. It came with a ragged breath, and in the quiet of a muffled voice. "There was a little girl there."

"Hmmm?" He asked, genuinely.

"A little girl. There. Today. With the monsters."

"Ah..." it started to come together, pieces at least. "Tell me about her."

Sveja stuttered, but did her best. "She was young. Just a few years old. She must have been part of one of the family. I know not if she had parents there, but she was with them before they became monsters. And now... that Blood Guard has, and you know what they will do."

He nodded, fighting back a sigh. He knew well indeed, another tragedy to pile atop the growing heap in the Kaer. "Dark days..." he muttered just under his breath.

"I am sorry." He said, with an unusual hint of care. "It is not your fault, though."

She lifted her head in a hurry at that, bringing her tear-stained face to light. "Maybe. Maybe not. But how different am I...?"
To her it was a lightning-bolt of admission. An inner truth unleashed after an impossible struggle to hold it in. She had seen herself in that girl all afternoon. And had been unable to let it go all evening, or all night.

"Different?" He asked, somewhat perplexed. An unusual circumstance for a man who knew all the answers. She continued with an almost hysteric energy, "How am I different from her? And why am I still here, but she will not be allowed to? If the Horrors got to her, might they have done the same to me?"

A look of surprise crossed his features, visible for only a moment before it faded. "I see..." he said slowly, his voice again filled with an unusual sympathy. "And that is why your heart returns to the nightmare. Yes, of course."

She nodded, diverting her gaze as she calmed. She'd let it out now and distinctly did not want to talk about it. But he'd force it out of her one way or another.

"I was just like her that night. I do not think I will ever know what really happened. But I was there. I opened a door. Then they were all gone. Taken from me, so quickly. And the Guards, they must have let me live. Or, I guess... maybe they forgot I was even there... I don't know."

He lowered his eyes as well. Even a sturdy heart broke when it long pondered the fate the world had offered this girl. His deep voice, scuffed by a rasp that grew more pronounced with age, offered what little wisdom he could: "Perhaps you were lucky. Perhaps it was meant to be that way. Neither you nor I can say what the Blood Guard should do. These are dark times. The darkest we have ever known, and we all fear what will become of us. All I know is that you are here. In that, your path is different from the girls." He looked back to her, "And that makes me wonder, child, what you will do? What will you do with your chance?"

Her head made an audible clunk as it fell back against the chair. Where his voice had held unexpected commiseration, the final question cut it away with the abruptness of a hangman's noose. She snapped in exasperation, perched at the precipice of crisis.

"What will I do?! What will I -do-?!" she yelled in a tone of rising agitation.

"Maybe I will just go and fail some more? It seems to be what I do best.

I fail my family. They are dead, but for my opening that door.

May that I have never been born, my brother would be a strong and brave Ork. Maybe he'd be a real warrior, unlike me. Or maybe, better yet, a gentle farmer, like father.

I fail the Company. They are the only ones that would give me a home - the ones that gave me a family again. I will never be the Warrior they want, or that they deserve. They gain nothing by what they have given me. And how can I possibly make it up to everyone? Just look at this...

And how many times have I failed you?

I fail your lessons.

I fail to fit in. I never made the friends you wanted me to.

I never become the leader you wanted.

I never became wise, or smart like you.

And no one seems to realize it, but I even failed at the Tournament!
I am only here because an elf did not want a spot in the Company. At least he'd have earned it.

I fail the Shaman. I lack the courage to push others to remember our ways. Her lessons are as hard as yours. How can I understand what the spirits are telling me when I cannot barely imagine the world they tell me of. I cannot understand it, and I don't know that I ever will.

And now, well, maybe I will fail the Kaer. It seems about right.
Just how can I be trusted any more than that girl? Maybe I'll open the door to the Horrors again? Maybe that Blood Guard should come here and carry me off too."

She slumped down in her chair. The frantic, nervous energy that had been built up for so long within her had come pouring forth through the broken dam. Feelings long held, but rarely if ever expressed poured through without thought or further reflection. The effort left her drained, if relieved. The weight of so much failure, and pretending it had not been so, was always too heavy to bear.

Her shoulders sagged as her head fell back forward. She began to tear again at the memory of her parents.

"And, of course I fail my father... he would never approve of what I would become."

With the emotional gates already thrown open, she simply cried. "Mom, dad.. I just want to make you proud..."


This was not his element. But he was patient. And he knew he had not the strength to bottle this back up within her. Indeed, it all had to come out and better here than back in the dormitory. Better here than in the class room or training field. Better here, damn it all, than in the heated pitch of battle he knew would come to her one way or another. He waited and listened while stewing in the growing impatience of his impotence.

When her voice grew weak and silent he gave her a few more minutes alone with her thoughts. Wishing, even moreso, that he had brought that blasted tea with him.

After the long silence he tried to buoy her up, "To make your parents proud: there may be no higher goal than that. I daresay you may strive your whole life and still wonder if you have met it. I know I never did. But I think you have a much better chance. That said, if I had to guess I would think you have made them very proud."

"You have become quite the young woman, and they would see you for all you are." His voice swelled and raised up his body, "Well, at the very least, you make me proud."

He had never used such words before, and the way they rung in her ears brought her tears to a pause. Slowly she looked back up to him, even more distraught now than she had been earlier.

He offered a side-eye. "I know its not your father's pride. But you should know you're no failure."

"Besides," he started into one of his lectures, "What is failure? We all fail." He stroked his whiskers. "You should know that as well as anyone when you look at me." She blinked back tears, looking confused through bleary eyes.

"You?" He nodded, "Yeah. You know. Only got one leg and one eye. I wasn't born this way."

"Yeah... but... you..."

He grunted in anger. He felt a touch of bile rising in his belly. There was nothing he liked talking about less. "Yeah. I know, I won. I have told you before."

She blinked some more. He had, at least parts of the story. How he had once been a great duelist, at least for a non-adept. How he had earned rank and respect within the Black Company. But how one day he had been challenged to a duel by a Blood Guardsman. He was a fool to accept, but he had not yet turned away a challenge and felt obliged to accept. "I won." He said, "But at what cost? There were many ways that fight could have ended. And we did not find one of the better ones. A waste of blood on every side. He had already taken my eye. And the wound to my leg would have killed me. He did not have to die. It was a failure for all of us."

She let her gaze fall again. He was going to talk for a while, she could tell.

"Not the first time, either. Nor the last time. We all fail. And then we fail again. All being a failure means is that we have lived. One might say success defines our legend, but it doesn't define who we are. What makes us, defines us, and sets us apart from others are our failures and how we deal with them. Whether we surrender to despair." He offered a knowing look. "Or whether we learn from our mistakes, and fight on."

"I have known you for years now. Ever since you were a wee child. And I have not known you to be one to give up. I have seen you when you had no idea what you were doing. I have watched you struggle, fall, and get back up to try again. And again. And again." He nodded to himself. He knew that these efforts were not coincidence. It was a method of teaching, and with the seriousness that he took his guardianship of this child, it had been a matter of extremes for her. "Challenge after challenge, you rose to face them, struggled and then got back up again,"

He waved his hand. "So what's all this then?"

"You don't think you make us proud? You're right that you're no Warrior. Not like you mean, anyway. But neither am I. Neither are most of us. We don't need their old books, and their endless techniques. You're no Cavalry either are you. And that's what really gets at you, I know. You want to be like the old legends you hear. Bound to a mount that moves like lightning under your feet. But what I see here is the first member of the Company to claim and ride a Dire Wolf in over a hundred years. You know how long they've considered getting rid of the breed? Too dangerous. Too fierce. To wild. And no Cavalryman has come by to claim them. Now what do you think the others see when you come out riding on that beast? You think they see a failure? Do you think they mock you because you don't carry the 'Warrior Spirit'?" He laughed.

"No. You scare the hell out of them. You have your ways, and you know these beasts as well as anyone. And hell, if you don't fight like them. That makes you ferocious in a way the that makes Cavalry and Warriors uneasy. No, they don't know what to make of you, but they respect you. That's no failure."

He thought back to all of the challenges he had placed in her path. He frequently conspired to make these situations as difficult as possible. He paired her with partners and groups of those known to be opposed to Ork traditionalism. They represented the new wave of the Black Company, and didn't appreciate those who hearkened back to its roots. He had intentionally kept her away from her friends and those he thought inclined to her. He made things difficult; he increased the challenge. It made her work and kept her from getting too comfortable. It had raised her up. It had toughened her. But he regretted too, for this had been no easy life. It had been necessary. It had been the best way to prepare her for the greater challenges to come. It had been, hadn't it?

"No, when they see you they see a young woman to respect. And some, I think, will follow, if you allowed them. But that is up to you."

She stared at him, the tears had quieted.

"The path to self-master is long and challenging. It is one you must chose to walk, and it cannot be walked for you. The old Shaman and I have done our best to bring you to its start. But the rest is up up to you."

She nodded understandingly. He drew a hand to his heart, "What you call failure is strength, if you allow it to be. It is only weakness if you allow it to consume you."

He kept his eye on her, and allowed an uneasy silence to hang between them.

"I know you do not want to answer. But I will ask again, because it is something that you must decide for yourself. You stand here, alone in this Kaer. You have survived terror. You have risen through determination. You have shown effort. You have shown talent. You have shown heart. And now, what will you do with all that?"

She was still this time: no shaking in frustration and anger. She remembered a breathing exercise. Closing her eyes, she drew in deep calming breaths that flowed through her throat and chest. Uncertainty and doubt were pushed away. An answer came to life deep within her heart. It grew steadily with each breath, rising with determination: "I will fight."

He nodded, but his expression turned grave, "Child. Our hour grows dark - I grow old. And there are things I must tell you while we still have time."

And now, she was listening.

[Sveja]

Tranko - The Old Boar-
Apprentice No More - Part 4

"Ah.. where to begin.." the old Ork mused to himself. "I suppose, I would like to continue."

He turned to face her, pulling his arm up so that his elbows rested on the desk. He tried to look relaxed, but his broad shoulders were taut with strain. He did not care for autobiography, but this was a time for sharing the deeper lessons of his own life in a way he had rarely allowed himself.

"Let us return to my failure - as you know, I may have been the 'victor' of my final duel, but I emerged from it a shattered man. The surgeons claimed that even the most powerful healing magic they could offer would not restore the function of my leg. Nor, they feared, would it stem the tide of an infection that could kill me. To be honest, I barely remember. I just awoke to a new reality. A new life in which everything I had previously loved, dreamed of or cared about was lost.

"By then I didn’t have a family left. My own father was already dead. And my mother had long ceased caring." He lifted his eye to gaze at Sveja for a moment - he would not dare suggest that there were worse fates for one's parents than death, but he'd argue that negligence and alienation rivaled it at least.

"All I had ever known was the desire to be a great warrior. Taught by my father, I followed the Old Boar on this path. He, the Passion of course, is known by many ways. The stories my father told he always spoke of him as a mighty boar: fearless and obstinate. 'Juu' was a name our ancestors carried for him from our time in the Eastern lands. Here in Barsaive, he is Thystonius. Or, in Or'zat, Tranko.

"Regardless of the name one uses, everyone knows that he thrills to challenge and test strength. He loves contests of might, and anything that gets the blood flowing in competition." The old Ork leaned back, examining an oddly shaped rock sitting on his desk that he regularly used as a paper weight.

"Names are important, they say. Sometimes I have wondered if you see a different version of the Passion depending upon which name you call upon. What knowledge we have preserved from the old days suggest that Juu the Boar, in the East, was known as a destructive lover of war and battle. And that is the image I learned from my father. One might wrestle for exercise and fun, but it held lesser meaning to Juu than the clash of steel and blade."

He held up the stone for Sveja's inspection and allowed her to take it from him to examine. She had seen it many times before but it had suddenly taken on unexpectd importance and she treated it with a new veneration.

"My father said that stone came from a statue built to the Passion in the lands of the East. Apparently it was destroyed during a siege, and our ancestors thought that was a good sign. They collected and kept many such pieces in the hope that they'd encourage his presence and blessing. Perhaps that is part of what kept them so strong for so long. But here, of course, underneath the Tylon Mountains we have no need of such talismans, eh?"

He chuckled, adding a shake of his head. "They say here we are closer to the Passions here than anywhere else in the world. And, of course, we Orks are closer to the Passions than any other people. So you'd think we feel them in everything we do?" He looked up and turned his head, looking expectantly toward the ceiling. "No, nothing?"

Sveja still examined the stone, while he brought his gaze back level to her. "But they are there. We do feel them, don’t we. They pull and tug at our hearts, and fill us with fire when the time is right. They may not always answer, but they are never far from us - do not forget that,"

"Now, back to the story, when I was young I followed in my father's footsteps. I took the Boar as my own focus in life and I thought to live to his ideal. I would be a mighty warrior, a fighter without comparison. I would take on ever challenge. I would win every battle. And if I weren't that, well, I would die in the attempt. We Orks live our lives with energy and passion, for we never know when they will end, and we know they will not allow us to linger long. That is not our fate, as Orks, hmm? So the Boar has always come naturally to us. Maybe it is just becuasae we traveled for so long, but I feel that whatever they may say of Blork, I think its obvious which Passion is closest to our hearts. And he gives us the ability to achieve more than we can ever imagine possible."

He stroked his whiskers, and accepted the fragment of stone back from his student.

"You know the saying: 'better to die on your feet!' Well and good enough, I suppose. But then what does a young Ork do when he finds he only has one foot?"

The way he posed the question drew a look of sudden sympathy from the girl.

"This Ork responded with, I am sorry to say, despair. I became distraught. Everything I had hoped for and dreamed of was gone. I would never achieve what I set out to. I would never again rise to face an opponent with the rage and fire of the Boar filling my heart. I would never again know the taste of battle. And what then would become of me? I had no other talent to offer. The only home I had to return to was this Company, and what good was I now to them? A maimed cripple, and probably a drunk. Certainly they would turn me out sooner or later and then I would have no home at all."

He nodded, while continuing to stroke his whiskers and stare at the fragment. "And so I fell. I am not afraid to admit that to you. I was despondent and hopeless. I rose late, I gave up my routine, I enjoyed my drink, and I squandered all the money I had. In short, I went about the work of killing myself as painlessly as possible. And I have no doubt that is what would have happened to me, if it were not for him."

"Him?" Sveja asked with a tentative voice that hesitated to be heard.

Master Ashbite nodded. "Yes. Him." He looked her in the eye, and then returned his gaze to the fragment.

"I did not understand how I could have been cursed with such a fate. It seemed so cruel and unfair: to never again be able to face the song of battle again. To never feel the blood rise as I charged into battle. To never again feel the heat of fire on my breath, and the drive of every muscle and nerve into whatever impossible challenge stood in my way. I was lost to the Boar. Lost to Tranko and Juu. It seemed there would be no more challenges for me, and lost in my drink, that seemed unfair."

"So there I found myself: late one morning settling down at my usual table. I am sure I had the first drink of the day in hand. By now not only my friends were avoiding me, but the others as well. I was just a hopeless drunk cripple, and remorselessly mean and morose I’m sure."

He turned the stone over in his hand, examining the other side.

"I was seated where I could see the door, and I watched a human walk through who I had never seen before. I thought that odd - not that we did not see humans in our quarter, there were many depending on the day, but I had never seen this one before. And I felt that I would have remembered one as strong as he was. He was mighty. And... brilliant. I have no other way to describe him."

She wanted to propose adding "sparkly" but thought better of it.

"But what I remember most was the way he was smiling. Just beaming, as if with pure joy and energy. He came through the door and immediately looked at me. I am not sure he even acknowledged the others there. I don't remember what I said as he approached, I just remember him standing there by the table and grinning at me.

" 'You!' he said in a voice that was as loud and clear as any I have ever heard. 'You are the one I am looking for!' "

"I remember insisting that he had the wrong Ork. No one was looking for me then.

" ‘It is you!' He insisted, 'I have come here to wrestle. And I cannot tell you just how much I have been looking forward to it.'"

"I laughed - I remember. Laughed, though the anger rose in me. I knew he must be mocking me. But, still, he simply exuded the same sense of joy - even as I felt the threat he posed. I am sure I told him he must be mistaken: for one cannot wrestle with only one leg.

"'And that is where you are wrong!' he announced as sure as the time of day."

Ashbite paused, and then outstretched his right hand, staring at it. "For there are many ways to wrestle. Then he took a seat in front of my, and put his elbow on the table, and offered his hand up to arm-wrestle me."

The old Ork blinked and gazed softly, lost in the telling.

"And that was when I started to feel it again. It was just a hint. But that zest for life was back. That desire to rise to the challenge. I followed his lead, and we locked hands. Soon others gathered around to watch and then to bet. And then we were in the midst of it."

He exhaled sharply, and shook his head as his hand formed a fist. "And was he ever strong. I have never felt a grip like it before. Not a troll. Maybe an Obsidiman, but they are usually worried about hurting others. No, this man was something else. But I was not about to just give up. I’d had enough of that lately. I felt the urge to fight and struggle rise in me. And I gave it everything I had. For minutes we went. Struggling, going back and forth but neither of us quite gaining the upper hand.

"And though this man was struggling much as I was, he never stopped looking pleased. He was happy - just happy for the sake of what we were doing.

"I am not ashamed to say that I eventually lost. I think any Namegiver would have lost. And you see, that was never the point. He knew that he would win, he was not there to test my strength. He was there to test my will. And to remind me that there was more to struggle than just fighting. He had to prove to me that although my body was broken, there were still challenges for me to face.

"When my arm finally hit the table, that man did not go to celebrate but let out a great roar of excitement and offered an even greater smile. He congratulated me. And then he said something I will never forget: 'Remember, no matter what happens to you, there are always challenges waiting for you. It is the rising to the occasion, no matter its nature, that matters. Lose sight of that, and you lose yourself.' "

"He ignored the others around him and the celebrating of their gains and bemoaning their losses. He ignored every offer of drink and food, and never even acknowledged that they were there. He simply stood up, offered me one more look, and then turned about and went on his way. I never did see that man again.

The old Ork paused again to stroke his knuckles along wiry whiskers and reflect on his brush with greatness. His student gave voice to the obvious question, "And you think that was him? That was Tranko?"

He thought for a moment and then nodded in affirmation. "I do. Or at the very least one acting in his name. He wanted to remind me that he cares for far more than just battle. Our people call him Tranko - and to us he has always represented rising to the challenge. Usually physical challenge: he thrills to athletic competition, when every competitor pushes themselves to the limot for victory. But it is easy to become overly focused on that, and even easier to think only of fighting. I came to learn of value in challenges far broader than that.

"You see, when I left the bar that day I started to wonder just what it all meant. What I should do with such knowledge. I still could not return to my old position, I would never be able to fight again. All of that was lost to me. But it was only the next day when I noticed fresh Company recruits training in the yard. And I realized that challenges did indeed lay before me in life.

"I made the request of the Company to become one of their trainers, and of course they accepted, as you well know. And I have been here ever since. Putting every technique and effort I can into teaching everyone who comes through our doors. And it has been a greater challenge than I ever anticipated - "

He put on an amused, even impish smile. "- nothing is more challenging than obstinate and thick-headed students." He laughed while she blushed with embarrassment.

His mind briefly reminisced over the challenges he has faced and overcome in this chosen life. How he threw himself into the study of the art of war, and of the philosophy of both war and life. How he learned more about how to live, and how to teach others how to live, than he ever thought possible. He would neve have children of his own. No direct progency, but he would leave his mark on the Kaer and the generation he helped raise. And he had always had a feeling he’d fine a child of his own, eventually. Now she sat before him. Grown into a young woman. Flawed and troubled, yes, but so much that he’d hoped she’d be too.

"He was right after all - you see,” he continued, “there are many paths the Passions offer us. Some will tell you that the purpose of doing something is the achievement itself, having accomplished it with glory. One could say, victory itself is the reward. Another would propose that the wealth one achieves in victory is the purpose and goal. Another would say power, or the ability to humiliate those you do not like. Another simply revels in any excuse for celebration - and so on. But Tranko, the old Boar that he is, knows better than all of them. The purpose of doing something, is to make the effort to do it. Having done so we grow stronger, we grow wiser. We learn, and improve in every sense. Victory and defeat may shape our legends, but it is approaching them with purpose that determines who we are. The boar encourages us to be our best. It is not without risks... but everything worth anything - takes some risk. Isn't that right Sveja?"

She nodded, still recovering her composure.

"And that is a lesson I want you to understand.” He paused, then shook his head. “No, that I need you to understand. As much as anything I have ever taught you. For I have every reason to believe that you will be very great indeed, if you allow yourself to be. I am not saying you must dedicate your life to this way - though I think you would find purpose and greatness in it - but even if you do not, I hope you remember him in my heart. If my lessons I have meant anything - that they have prepared you to challenge yourself, and grow from the contest."

His voice and expression had risen to an uncharacteristic passion, and realizing himself he shrunk somewhat back to his usual self. He rarely spoke with such conviction: but on the rare occassion he allowed himself to delve so deep into his own devotion, he did so with an immense depth of passion.

She looked back, awkwardly biting her lower lip with some confusion, as modesty giving way to curiosity, "I understand, Master. It is not the first time you have spoken of the Boar. I think, really, you have taught us about him every day haven’t you? Just rarely with such passion."

He nodded with a grunt, looking a touch bashful now himself. “Yes. Well observed. Out of respect for the tenets of the Company, I cannot offer such endorsement officially. But you are n ot my student, Sveja, are you. And this is a lesson I chose to impart for reasons beyond the Company.”

She looked slightly unsure at that. Its true that he had been a father figure for her for so long. But he never acknowledged it himself. She could simply nod nervously in reply.

He turned the stone over one more time before setting it down. "And now there is another story we should discuss. This one you will find more personal, I think... "

[Sveja]

Thread for moving out of date stories I don't want to fully delete.