Vraul

Day of Reckoning

After many months of harnessing his combat skills in the arena against his own kin, Vraul awoke within the floor of his tent to find his father standing up nearby, uttering to him, "It's time", as he offered Vraul a hand getting to his feet. Seeing his son's confused face, Soran reminded Vraul that he was now not only of age but of experience to finally prove himself worthy of being an orc - it was time for his Om'riggor. Hearing of these tales and minor details in the past, Vraul arrogantly smirked at his father, claiming that it would be no challenge. Scoffing at his son, Soran reminded Vraul that he was to wear no protective gear nor bring any provisions, and he was also only allowed one weapon for the kill.

The weight of this burden showed on Vraul's face right then, and Soran smacked his son in the shoulder and ordered him to follow. The two mounted up on their wolves, and darted towards the center of Nagrand. After about an hour of traveling throughout the lands, Soran demanded Vraul to slow down and halt, and then dismount from his wolf. Soran then ordered Vraul's wolf to follow him as he began to pace away from his son. Vraul shouted out in confusion, believing that his Om'riggor would involve slaying a mighty Frostwolf within Frostfire Ridge. Soran peered over his shoulder, angrily glaring at Vraul, and uttered that there was no time to waste, as the spirits spoke of war coming soon and that Vraul needed to get his challenge done then and there. Holding his hand up to silence any of Vraul's further questions, Soran and the two wolves then raced out of the horizon, leaving Vraul alone to track his kill.

It was many days of searching for the perfect kill, gazing in hiding at many possible animals he would seek as prey. The sun had risen and set without a proper decision. Finding himself nearly to the brink of exhaustion, Vraul began eating upon the berries of the land. After these had failed to stem his hunger, he then began taking down numerous small animals, doing his best to prepare them upon fires without directing too much attention towards his whereabouts.

Finally, after waiting so long and suffering greatly in the wilds, he managed to set his sights on a particularly large talbuk, one with an amber coat that he believed would give him a great enough challenge to succeed in the eyes of the elders. Though it was no Frostwolf as he wished, he remembered tales of other clans and their Om'riggors involving talbuks, and this one would do nicely. Carefully approaching the beast, Vraul attempted to take the talbuk by surprise, as he worked to use his massive frame against the tremendous foe. Managing to get it to the floor, Vraul prepared the final strike. Just as he raised his axe, the talbuk scurried up and off. By pure primal instinct, Vraul leapt forward and sliced into the hind legs of the beast, hoping to slow its pace. Seeing it fall over onto its knees, Vraul once again charged forward, and attempted to take the talbuk by the neck. It struggled and wrestled with him fiercely, and after a few moments, one of its horns managed to pierce Vraul's arm. Roaring in pain, Vraul sent his knee straight for the talbuk's gut before twisting and falling face down onto the grassy dirt in angst, his axe nearly coming close to decapitating him as it fell over his head in front of him onto the ground.

Gripping his axe firmly, Vraul stood back up, his knees and elbows covered in dirt and grass and blood. Scouting the rising talbuk once more, Vraul raced back to his foe at it managed to stand back up, and he raised his axe with a howl. The talbuk attempted to attack Vraul with its front hooves, but fell forward quickly due to its injury. As it did, its massive neck collided with the swipe of Vraul's axe, and the Talbuk fell to the ground lifeless. Heaving in pain and exhaustion, Vraul knelt down towards the talbuk's wound, and began painting his face with its blood. By nightfall, he had turned the talbuk into savory, charred meat - and this particular talbuk was especially flavorful.

After the sun rose up and he finally felt that his job was complete, Vraul made the long way back towards home to the cheers of his brethren. One of the elder shaman came to him and swiped his fingers across Vraul's face, after which he placed them in his mouth to verify the kill. After a few moments of grunts and questionable faces, the shaman declared Vraul victorious in his Om'riggor, and the orcs held a mighty celebration that night. Vraul enjoyed this party in a daze as the results of his challenge took a toll on his health, and he found himself slumped over on the ground near the fire midway through, to the laughter of his clanbrothers.