Grunash the Shaman
The stench was always the first thing he noticed. Foul and fetid, and through countless years of exposure, it still assaulted him the same way. It flowed as a river through the trees, and, like a winding stream, was as easy to follow as well.
With his great bulk he pushed aside the brush and low hanging branches, clearing a path to the source of the smell. Standing on his hind legs, a full nine feet off the ground, Grunash surveyed the inky darkness of the cave entrance and the ground between him and the cave for indications of the nightmare’s activity. Rocky and devoid of life, signs were meagre. His sense of smell worked best, so he lowered his nose to the ground and took a long sniff.
Nothing new. It had been a while since any monstrosities had tested his vigilance. That usually meant the creatures who dwelt within had developed some new approach to circumvent him. He would have to watch closely to discern the truth of the matter.
It was then that he sensed something else entering his guarded domain – not nearby, but far away from the Abhor’s cave. Silently, he shuffled off to investigate.
……..
He found his quarry an hour or so later, on a winding trail he had not taken in decades. A dense forest of shadowy trees made it difficult for him to follow the scent as it steadily descended into a more secluded grotto. Rounding a bend, he spied the source of the disturbance to his senses: two elves, one male sitting cross legged on a bunched up cloak on the ground, another, a female, facing him and sitting in his lap. They seemed to be in trance and paid him no notice as he squatted down on his haunches to observe the intruders.
Using his third eye, he saw the drama of his race’s creation being played out in spirit as Father War entered Great Mother repeatedly. The Great Mother’s avatar was hovering over the female elf, while Father War dominated the aura of the male.
It was ages since Grunash had smelled sex, spiritual or otherwise. The tableau and scent brought back heated memories of violence and passion, the two being naturally intertwined in his orcish nature. This recollection spurred a healing in his ancient soul and, for the first time in years, he remembered his true name: Grunash, First Shaman of the Orcish nation.
Eventually, both elves gave a muffled cry, a few moments after which the female rose gracefully, expelling a stream of pearly fluid from her sex. The male adjusted himself and rose as well. Coming back to his senses, Grunash realised that during his reverie he had shed his spiritual animal embodiment and recovered his orcish form in addition to knowledge of his name.
It had been ages since the great bear had remembered he was more than a brute creature. Tears of relief, the color of blood, drew lines down the ancient shaman’s face.
…………………..
Eleanor was first to notice the figure seated on the edge of the grotto. He was clearly an orc but grizzled with age and battle scars. His face was pierced in several places above his prominent canines. A great headdress of bones, feathers, fur and sticks sat on his thick brow. His leather clothing barely covered a myriad of mystical tattoos, some of which seemed to take on life and move of their own volition across his body.
Although not shy about her nakedness, Eleanor did not easily share the private moments she spent with her Soulbound and she blushed as she turned to adjust her dress. Through her embarrassment, she perceived the insistent drumming that had guided her steps since she entered the shadow realm seemed to be coming from the orc in front of her.
Gathering her dignity, Eleanor curtsied in the formal style favored by the Etharch’s court when dealing with foreign dignitaries. “Warborn,” she said, in fluent orcish and using the elves’ ancient name for his race. “We have received a prophecy filled with dire warnings about this realm. In the spirit of the treaty between our two peoples, I request both your help and guidance as my Soulbound and I counter this threat.”
It took some moments for Grunash to comprehend the words Eleanor was speaking as it had been some time since he had spoken with other sentient beings or released his shamanic totem form. When the she-elf’s meaning became clear, Grunash grunted and flashed his canines, an act of both greeting and respect among orcs.
“Bloodless one,” he drew his claws through the dirt of the ground, clearly marking the distance between himself and the elf. “I will honor the ancient boundaries drawn by the chieftains of mine and yours.”
Eleanor lifted an eyebrow quizzically and glanced back at Peridur. He nodded encouragingly. “We seek a dark and magical pool deep within this realm,” she said. “Do you have knowledge of such a thing?”
“Why should I tell a bloodless elf and her mate such things, even if I do,” the orc rumbled. “Your kind have no stomach for this task, as my people discovered long ago.”
Peridur stepped forward. “Honored Warborn, first among your race in power and perception, it is true what you say. We are not well made for this task, and you were selected many years ago by our people to stop the Abhors’ invasion of our dreams.”
“But much knowledge was lost to time, and no one now remembers why only you could wield the spirit weapon forged by my ancestors. Please, can you tell us more?”
“Have your kind so fallen in ignorance as to forget their greatest warrior, Aelthic?” Grunash sneered. “And if so, do orcs rule the lands from sea to mountain as we should?”
“We have not forgotten so much as lost to the ravages of time and grief,” Peridur retorted. “Many sages have left for our ancient home over the sea. And your kind does not fare much better. It is a time of human dominion.”
Dejection was evident on the orc’s face. “Our races were meant to contend for eternity, or so we thought the gods had decreed, when they sent elves for our young warriors to test themselves against.”
Eleanor and Peridur exchanged glances at this before Peridur continued. “Indeed, you have always been worthy adversaries, Warborn. But long ago our two races cooperated against a more dire threat,” Peridur said. “Please, can you tell us why your race was chosen to wield the spirit weapon of Aelthic?”
Grunash glanced down at the long jeweled dagger in his belt before drawing it forth. The elves realised that, in their hands, it would qualify as a sword, but not so for the brooding orc who held it. The blade glittered with silvery light and a large red gemstone shone from the hilt guard as the orc threw it at Peridur’s feet.
“Awaken the Auroch’s Bane, if you can, elf,” he intoned.
Peridur picked up the sword, marvelling at the ancient elven craftsmanship, now beyond the ken of his people. Concentrating, he tried to discover the artifact’s hidden power. An elusive yet powerful presence lived within it, that much he could clearly discern, but in no way could he get that presence to engage with him.
“You’re too bloodless to do it, aren’t you,” Grunash bared his teeth. “Aelthic was an elf of rare passion, which gave rise to his fearsome prowess in battle. We honor him even among our own heroes. Only another such as he can call forth his spirit, and they are rare among your folk.”
Handing the weapon back, Peridur said, “I can see now why the alliance was needed, our craft and your passion. How does the spirit weapon work, and why do you still stand guard here in this realm? The scribes wrote that you were to return long ago.”
“And how long ago was that? Time has no meaning in this place. I have maintained my sacred watch because I can kill the monstrosities, but more come forth in an endless stream from the pool of blood,” Grunash said with a grimace. “I can’t close the portal alone and thus my labors continue.” Tremors ran up his body as rage and despair fought within him.
“Take us to this portal,” Eleanor said. “The Soulbound will help you find a way.”
“Can you really, she elf? Make not a promise you can’t keep, or I’ll skin and roast you both.” Grunash ran his long green tongue across his fangs. “Just the thought makes me salivate.”
“Warborn, Peridur and I will close the portal and free you from your ancient burden, or die in the attempt,” Eleanor replied grimly.
The fearless shaman stood then for a while, gazing at the elves and weighing in his mind whether they were up to the task. They exuded a confidence and closeness that offset their slight appearance. To Grunash’s spirit eyes, the elves’ bright auras were wound about each other in impossibly complex patterns. Taken altogether, the pair were far more than they appeared to be.
It was the discovery of their spiritual strength that made up the shaman’s mind. “I have been fighting the creatures so long, I have nothing left to lose,” Grunash said. “We shall make the attempt. But first, we will go to my camp to rest and plan.”
Eleanor smiled. “Lead on, we have tarried here long enough,” she said. “Is it far?”
Grunash yawned in acknowledgment, showing the elf the tender inner part of his throat, though he realized the importance of the movement would be lost on a weakling such as she. “Too far for claws, not paws,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said. “I don’t understand.”
The red mist of impatience bloomed in Grunash’s mind, but he carefully pushed it away. After all, the Bloodless could not help their ignorance and like an unblooded youngling, they must be led to the simple and obvious knowledge of the tribe.
“We must be as one with our animal selves,” he enunciated each word and spread his sharpened claws wide, mimicking a creature prowling across the battlefield.
Eleanor took a step back, allowing Peridur a chance at communication with the shaman. “We have no animal selves,” Peridur said, holding up his unscarred hands as evidence.
Grunash was abashed on behalf of the clueless creatures. “All have animal selves,” he said. As Peridur opened his mouth to deny it once more, the shaman reached into a pouch at his hip. With a gesture and a word of power, he threw the contents of the sack over the elves. As the powder covered them, the Soulbound took the shape of two enormous wolves, one white and the other grey.
Grunting to himself in satisfaction, Grunash stretched in both body and spirit, easily shifting into the mammoth bear shape that he favored. He bared his teeth at the wolflings and turned, swiftly disappearing into the shadows.
Eleanor and Peridur allowed themselves a moment of shock at their transformation, then, as easily as if they had been born to the bodies they now wore, they soundlessly followed the shaman deeper into the darkness.
The Shaman’s Hut
They travelled for miles, first back up the trail from where the shaman had initially descended, but then diverted onto a path leading higher yet between two small peaks. A stream ran next to the path, the first water the elves had seen in the shadow realm. Eleanor couldn’t resist pushing her snout into the stream’s dark surface, seeking the bright energy of the fish she imagined that dwelt within it. To her disappointment, the stream was empty of all life and left a vaguely unpleasant odor of ashes in her nose.
Within a glade in the forest of shadow trees, the elves discovered the source of the stream in a small lake nestled between the peaks on either side. Next to it was a large round hut of sturdy timbers, faced in mud plaster, and roofed over in a thick thatch.
The bear came to a halt, surveying his home for intruders, before leading the Soulbound down to the hut. As he did so, Grunash transformed back into his orcish form and walked the final few steps to the doorway, which was covered by a heavy rug of woven reeds.
Behind him, the elves transformed as well. On the outer wall of the hut, they saw furrows running from top to bottom in many places. The overall appearance was one of neglect and decay. Eleanor and Pelegrin shared a look of concern.
“I have not maintained this safe space as I should,” Grunash said, holding the reeds aside for the elves to enter. “It is long since I held my true form and the great bear cares nothing for its cave.”
Indeed, the hut was in poor repair. A firepit sat cold and empty in the middle of the space. A large bed on one side had clearly not been used in some time, while next to it furs and bedding were wadded up on the floor- appropriate for a bear, not an orc. Various implements lay strewn in the area and a table was turned onto its side. Jammed into the roof timbers was the fresh carcass of what might have once been a deer.
Sharing the work between them, the Soulbound and shaman quickly cleansed the hut and started a roaring fire in the pit, which slowly dissipated the damp and lingering gloom. In the light of the flickering flames, Eleanor discovered bones inset into the floor, which had been covered by rubbish until their recent efforts. The strangely segmented and ivory remains were shaped to depict a bear’s head with its mouth open in a ferocious roar. There were thousands of bones and Eleanor found herself idly wondering how many creatures Grunash had vanquished to create it.
The venison roasted on a makeshift spit made from a long branch, while the orc set out berries and nuts which he had collected from an overgrown garden patch behind the hut. “There should be mead,” Grunash said by way of apology, as they sat around the fire and ate their meal. The elves each had the stump of a tree, while the shaman sat on the floor in the center of the bear face made of bones. “And songs and tales and contests of strength. That would be a proper welcome among my people.”
“Do you remember your clan well, or has time and ages spent in your spirit form stolen the memories from you?” Eleanor asked.
“I recall them well enough, she-elf. We were strong and proud, and I was their leader in all ways of the spirit,” Grunash thumped his chest at the memory. “I taught our young the old traditions, and the tales of Father War and his blood-filled dreams for us.”
As Grunash spoke, Eleanor reached into her pocket and withdrew the dark candle of Nym the Healer. With a whispered word, she lit the candle and put her ear close to its flame. The song the smokeless flame now sang into her consciousness was different from the notes it had used to heal her injuries in the healer’s cottage. Without being aware she was doing so, Eleanor began to sing softly.
Though she did not know it, the song was a potent healing invocation of memory and lost love. The melody passed into Grunash and his thoughts moved from remembrances of his tribe to something much more personal and intimate.
He glanced furtively at Peridur. “I remember a handsome elf, swift and strong, a match for any orc in his fierceness.” The shaman took out the spirit weapon and gazed into the gem, his eyes blank as they remembered another time.
“Long were the hours we spent together, testing ourselves against faster and stronger foes. Each conquest served to convince ourselves, young fools that we were, that we were untouchable, perhaps immortal. And that was our downfall,” Grunash said, frowning into the brightly glowing gem. “For one creature walked the lands and was mightier than the two of us combined. The mythical auroch, patriarch of the woods, was always on Aelthic’s mind.”
The orc looked up from the weapon into the eyes of the Soulbound who were both closely attending to his every word. “Understand, bloodless ones,” he said. “The beast was no beast, but a lord of the forest, a god even. It was everything we had imagined ourselves to be, but, in the end, were not.”
Eleanor’s song continued unabated into the room, softening the edges of the hut’s interior so that all within the space acquired a dream-like quality. Through her recitation of Nym’s healing song, the elf was creating a place where fantasies from the past could come alive and walk hand-in-hand with the living.
Grunash ran a single claw along the knife’s edge. He was unsurprised to find it yet retained its edge. “Aelthic always wanted to prove himself to me, and so one day he stole out to pursue his obsession,” he continued. “Ah, but that last night together! That I shall never forget.”
The elves glanced at each other, feeling like intruders in Grunash’s private reverie. As their eyes met, Eleanor’s song changed more than the place where they sat. The hypnotic notes flowed from her mouth to Peridur’s physical form and his body began to change.
Eleanor studied her Soulbound, curious as to the nature of the transformation that was taking place. He was still clearly an elf, but far taller than her lover. His hair darkened from Peridur’s auburn locks to a blackness that was reminiscent of the night sky. As his hair changed, so too did his skin, moving from Peridur’s pale features to a dark and weathered aspect, the face of a mighty warrior and hunter who spent the majority of his time outside beneath the punishing sun and wind.
Most startlingly of all, Peridur’s eyes changed from his natural brown to silver eyes that seemed to hold starlight within themselves. Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat when she saw those eyes for they, beyond the other physical changes the song had wrought, were the key to the person who stood before her. Those silver eyes had gazed upon a world far younger than the one that existed now, and the soul behind those eyes had loved the orc who remained in so much emotional pain without him.
Though he could not see the physical changes in himself, Peridur was aware of them through the soul connection he shared with his Soulbound. His eyebrow rose in unspoken communication and Eleanor nodded in recognition, careful to not disturb the magic that her song had wrought by continuing to sing its healing strains into the air.
Rising slowly, Peridur approached the orc until he was standing quietly next to him. Reaching out his hand, the elf gently caressed the shaman’s neck. The movement raised tears in the shaman’s eyes which fell into the orc’s lap, but he did not pull away, seeming to be comforted by the touch.
Embodying the long-dead love of a fierce orc warrior is not what Peridur had imagined when he set out on this adventure, but it was clear that ages of loneliness and loss had worn down the once-proud shaman who had almost completely lost his mind to the shadow realm before their arrival. Wanting to help, the elf sat down next to the orc, who, though he towered over him even sitting, leaned against Peridur.
“Aelthic,” Grunash spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Why did you leave me? How I have missed you.”
Peridur put his arm around the shaman and pulled him closer while stroking his back. In time, the orc’s breathing first settled, then became more laboured. “The smell of you. I remember now,” Grunash said with a new intensity in his voice.
The orc tensed against Peridur and in the orc’s lap a clear sign of his arousal appeared, revealing the intimate nature of his relationship to Aelthic. The closeness of Peridur and the magic of Eleanor’s song had reconnected Grunash to his lost lover.
Thinking it was good that the orc continued the process of connecting to his past, Peridur reached under the leather covering that Grunash wore around his waist. What he found there matched the orc in proportion and his hand barely fit around it. In his grasp, it lurched and grew thicker and harder.
The orc gave a muffled cry at Peridur’s touch. As the elf’s hand caressed him, he breathed harder and faster. Finally, he lay back on the floor, allowing his stiff member to escape from its inadequate covering.
Peridur and Eleanor looked at the rigid member, ten inches long, lined with throbbing veins and surmounted by an angry purple and bulbous head. It leaked slightly and more so as Peridur worked the shaft.
Moving onto his knees next to the shaman, Peridur tickled the sensitive spot under the head of the orc’s cock. This caused an immediate tightening of his ball sack, which drew up to his groin. Peridur’s other hand massaged under the sack in time to his motion on the head of the cock.