Inferno Within (1 Viewer)

TheCreatorT

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A noticeable difference had come over the chief the last few septs. Instead of spending his time experimenting with alchemy, raising new plants, or training new animals more and more of his free time was spent training. That was not to say he was neglecting his duties; he was still actively part of his sons' lives and ran the tribe as best as he could, but whenever he had time alone it was spent in front of one of the many training dummies on the island, the sounds of staff, sword, and shield hitting the wood ever increasing with speed and strength.

Yet his training had changed. Before he had always acted slow, defensive, even methodical like as if he was looking for an opening. Even if it was a dummy, it helped trained patience. Now, however, instead of an analyzing gaze there were eyes of malice trained on the targets, set on destroying whatever laid in front of Vultog. Each strike was fueled by anger and hatred, shown by the fact that at the end of training the dummy was either so damaged it could no longer be used or the wood used as support had been splintered. And when Vultog had finished with his current dummy, he simply moved on to the next, repeating the process until something else called his attention.

The last tsel had taken its tole on the orc. On a cosmic scale, his goddess had fallen. With Foli's trickery, Sterk had become an agent of chaos against her will and was using her divine army to conquer the realms of the multiverse. There was still no signs or hints of how to free her, despite Vultog's best attempts, and he was concerned more orcs would fall to Foli as they saw their creator join her. Even beyond this, there was another issue at hand that challenged Vultog's roots of faith. With the more he learned of the gods, of the history of the old world, and the nature of his world there was an overarching theme that the gods did not care for mortal kind and only saw them as tools. Vultog would not one to simply be used, and he wanted answers from the gods, Sterk above all.

Then there was the issue of his fellow mortals. Once more he had felt justice for his kin slip away from him and the weight of the injustices against them. Yuna was left unpunished, and as always the Luk'Mali were free to roam without consequence. He had secured equality for greenskins in both the Reiklands and Folset, but even so there were many who still looked down upon them, seeing them as equal to monsters. He wanted someone to answer for their crimes against his kin, and the chance he had was now gone.

Finally, there was his wife, which hurt most of all. Vultog and his sons still loved each other and he was proud of their accomplishments but with Umaroth he barely got even a glance out of her. Even when she did speak to him it was never a confession of love, never personal, never even a greeting. Instead it was always criticism, disappointment. Did she want to leave! Did she want him to leave! He thought they had solved their issues but no. So long had passed since they shared a bed together that Vultog had almost forgot her touch, much less any sort of affection. Umaroth was always his flame and he loved her. He'd fight the gods for her, but now doubt was crawling into his heart that she shared those feelings.

Vultog had always had a anger inside him ever since Rohalast, but what kept it at bay and allowed him to form Mundas'Ranaz was his friends and loved ones. Now he felt betrayal, he felt as if he was not heard. His rage had turned into an inferno, and it was ready to light the world ablaze.

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...if it were not for those he still had left. He still had his tribe who were loyal and followed him into countless battles who he had a duty to serve alongside his duties to Avel and the Reiklands. He had friends that cared and he had his children who he'd move mountains for. And of course his many animal friends who came to his comfort and calmed him when times were worse. As much as he wanted to lash out, he held it back for them. Yet family and honor had limits, and his strength was waning.
 

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