Skirmish (Fangdarr): Desperate
Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.
Exhaustion dropped Fangdarr to his knees in the middle of the wood. He had no idea where he was anymore. All he had cared about was running from the snickering ogre that had stripped him of his only companion. The orc scoffed to himself as he realized the falseness of that thought. My ‘friend’. Panting to recover from his sprint, Fangdarr fell to the ground and onto his back. Now that he was alone, he couldn’t stop the flow of tears any longer.
Grating negativity chipped away at him. I’ll be alone forever, he thought. Fangdarr shut his eyes tightly in sorrow in a feeble attempt to shut out reality. It was no use. As he opened them once more, all had remained the same. The woods seemed to voice comfort, showing that no matter his troubles, all would remain the same. The birds would sing, the leaves would rustle, and the trees would continue in their path upward. But, in that moment, the metaphoric lesson was lost on the distraught orc. For he only wished to let the pain linger.
I wish Bitrayuul were here.
Memories of his childhood next to his half-blooded kin crept in. At first, they were pleasant remembrances of his youth. How they played together, hunted together. They were inseparable. Then even those fond recollections turned sour as the reality set in. That’s all they were. Memories. Flickering illusions of a time long since passed. Even Bitrayuul had gone from him, leaving him to solitude.
Am I so terrible?
Fangdarr wept beneath the shade of the trees. His thoughts turned from negative to dangerous as he pondered the validity of his existence. What is the point? Everyone has left. Mother, Bitrayuul, Tormag, Gub. This is my life now, to be turned away and left behind by all I meet. What purpose do I serve? He stared up at the canopies and the light that pierced through between the overlapping branches. As the orc sniffled, he could hear only the sound of his own display of emotions through the wood. Growling in anger at that echo of vulnerability, Fangdarr pulled himself up to his rear and forced away his tears. It did not drive away his anguish, but it masked his sorrow beneath a false visage of stern determination.
Agh! Why are you so weak?! he cursed himself as his teeth grit together. Get up, you fool!
Rising to his feet, Fangdarr turned to look in each direction to get his bearings. He forgot how exhausted he was, though, and nearly toppled over as soon as he was up. His outward snarl defiantly disputed his lack of energy and forced himself to remain upright. The mask that he had donned to hide his vulnerability had to work on even himself, he knew. Fangdarr pushed away the depressing thoughts that sought to cripple him. He needed to run. From those feelings and thoughts, as well as those who abandoned him.
As his powerful legs trampled through the wood, the orc allowed the pain in his calves to blind him to the clawed grip of sorrow. All he could feel was that stinging sensation in his legs as they carried him swiftly forward. For as long as he ran, he would not feel the agonizing plague that he knew waited for him.
Onward he sprinted. It seemed as if half the day was spent pushing himself past his limit. Fangdarr knew if he stopped he would collapse as his legs screamed in searing pain. Still, he pounded forward. He had no destination in mind, only forward. He growled aloud, scaring the nearby forest critters back into their holes. The outbursts drove away all living creatures, bringing a dreadful silence to the forest. There were no songs by the birds. No chittering of critters. Even the wind had halted at his presence, it seemed. There was only the sound of his lumbering footfalls and the growl of pain passing through his lips.
As he rushed onward, his foot caught an exposed root, launching him forward in a stumble. Fangdarr slid along the dirt, scraping the skin on his face, arms, and torso. Blinded from the impact, the orc opened his eyes and quickly realized his mistake. Desperately, he tried to scramble back to his feet but his legs refused to function. He started to panic, knowing too well that he needed to run to keep his thoughts at bay. But every time he tried to stand, he crashed to the ground.
Grabbing his head with both hands, Fangdarr slammed his eyes shut and began muttering to himself in terror. Need to run. Can’t think. Run. Run. Run. His fingers dug into his skull as he tried to think of a way to escape his sorrow. He could feel it creeping up his spine once more. Thoughts of his abandonment started to sink in, no longer driven away by physical pain.
Fangdarr was desperate. His eyes were getting wider with fear as that sinking feeling grew more evident. Pulling Driktarr from his back, the orc held out the blade in front of him. I need to. It needs to stop. I need to . . .
His gaze fell upon the sharpened edge and traced its curve. He reinforced his grip on the weapon and turned the blade toward himself. The twisting and poisonous feeling in his mind was beginning to set in, reminding him that time was short before sorrow once more claimed him. He looked at the blade and knew he did not want to spiral down into agonizing depression any longer.
“I need to,” Fangdarr muttered as he drove the axe blade toward his own chest.