text: (On mobile, sorry for formatting) Gnurl is an Orc who lived in a village that was raided and burned to nothing before he had memories. I, Gnurl, grew up adopted into a clergy, where all the minority races were treated fairly, and as equals. The Headmistress was an Elf, Yanda, and the Headmaster was a Dwarf, Hadrod. In my youth, before 9, there were a dozen orcs. So I grew with knowledge of my culture and of the orc deities. The clergy did not only encourage us to worship fervently, but also showed us how to connect to our favored deities in ways only the most devout shamans of our ancestors could. One of the orc, Jughog, was so attuned that by the age of 14(he was the oldest of us found after the raid) he could earn favor from "Beshaba" the Trickster Goddess. After being called on as one of her Blackfingers, Jughog grabbed a dagger and claimed to receive orders to assassinate the Head Dwarf. Jughog was killed in this attempt. Tossed into the courtyard after the alarms awoke the whole school, we all were present for Jughogs demise. As he hit the ground 3 stories below, I saw his ribs ripped through skin out the side of his body. A mangled cage of bones. Gathering all his remaining strength, Jughog reached and half pointed at the sky, opened his mouth and no sound came out. He didn't manage a single breath before collapsing in his own blood. Our orc family had its first of several rifts at that time. 5 of my brothers and sisters left, led by Sharog, our 13 year old Matriarch. When we learned of Sharog's death a few years later, we were told she was ambushed. She had her throat slit before she could let a warning cry. She died without last words. A few years later, when I was 16, one of the human students, Uther, killed Yan, an orc, in a training exercise. Crushed his chest with a well placed warhammer blow. The self crafted armor Yan made never stood a chance against this blacksmiths son. Yan didn't have a dignified death, no brave last words. I dont think he had a chance to have a last thought. It was sad for me, but it was unintentional. They were training and they were also brothers. We are all family at the Clergy. Yan was a skilled fighter, and the youngest of us orcs. I did not feel rage or anger like some of my kin, just sadness. Anger came later, but I was told that some anger was healthy. But my orc kin, they wanted blood. Two of them openly challenged Uther to a fight in the training courtyard the next day. They didn't wait for a response before charging him. Uther fought them both. He first raised his warhammer, deflected 2 blows from Durg, then backstepped to force Durg to overextended and step forward. While looking at his own feet, the first orc took one of Uther's overhead Blessed Smites. Decapitation on contact. Durg went limp and slammed hard into the ground. He was dead. Xugar dashed to Durg's dropped sword, grabbed it on the roll and raised both in defense high above his head to deflect the second mighty Uther blow. Those swords snapped in half towards Xugar's face and chest. Uther's warhammer kept the momentum and caved Xugar's head into his chest cavity. More orcs dead and no last words. I was silent and sad, but also proud of my brother, Uther. A great feat for a human to take on two orcs and win unscathed. Uther and his warhammer came out on top again and again over the years. He was the best of us. All but one of the orcs moved passed these unfortunate events. Another left the school. By time I was 26, and a few insignificant quibbles later, of the dozen orcs, only Yroh and myself remained at the clergy. Yroh had been studying with an elven woman called Ava for many years. They were both quite skilled Clerics, many years ahead of my own studies. Ava was a master of the classic mace and tower shield, and has been on the front lines many times when having to defend our home from raids and beasts. She is also a master blacksmith having learned from her husband, Uther. Uther was quickly a top the ranks of all the students of our class. A master of Divine Smites and Blessed Strikes only farther complimented by the weapons he's forged. His skill as a fighter has allowed him to speak with, "Marodin" the Dwarven god of the Forge, on many occasions and has been instructed and trained by "Marodin" himself. At the age of 30 he married Ava. Later that same year, Uther had to set off on a diplomatic meeting as our representative for our region of our local kingdom/hierarchy. A request for aid as we have been threatened by show of force. Our land is to be attacked by a medium sized goblin army, and they bring whelplings with them. They would overrun our school in hours. Our clergy has 40 teachers and students combined, including infants. Only two days notice we were given by messengers, little time to ask for an army. Ava and Yroh were a part of the defensive force. I was a merchant and expert wolf rider. Opris, my wolf, and I would travel for trade, carry messages to other towns in our region, keep an eye on the outer rims of our territory, or just run when I needed to get away. I was one of the best Orc merchants in our region. Always had the potential to conversate on common ground for a better barter, never intimidate. Opris, however... I had left the school 2 days before the goblins arrived and was unaware of the pending attack. These times out riding Opris in open fields has allowed me to attune with storms and winds. To feel the world breathe around me. I've learned to channel subtleties in air currents. Today, during a meditation session, I felt a sharp pain enter through my chest. This pain quickly dulled and was replaced by a great amount of pressure. Like gas. Beyond that of gas. It needed to escape immediately. I rushed to release this force from my chest, and as I did it was with intense sensations like if both scalding dragon's fire and a frozen Lich's chilling howl were in both lungs simultaneously. As I hit my knees in pain, in what I thought was surely my last breath, i went to cry out my final words, any words. Nothing from my lungs. Instead, a surge of white-purple lightning shot from my left hand into the sky. I was sure my hand was gone, just a stump, maybe not even any arm left. But it was there, visually throbbing, almost a third larger than it should be, but intact. It hurt, but was not a distracting pain. Nothing to focus on, just there. Wow, that expirence was brief, exhilarating, maybe only 5 seconds. After a brief minute on my knee, I was invigorated with elation and urge myself to get up and return home. Excited to tell my teachers and Yroh that I was a Stormcaller! Maybe half a day rides away was home. After gathering camp we get a late start, take a little longer to water Opris for the run ahead. We rode hard to beat the dusk. A long days travel, but Opris does this everyday. The sky normally orange from sunset was a dark maroon filled with black rolling smoke. Fires? At home? Opris picked up the pace. Once we were a mile away we saw the seige, and I heard the anguish of war. I cast everything off Opris that wasn't needed to kill those savages invading my home, and Opris heard my cries to make haste. By time we arrived it was late into the fight. We lost our main doors, dozens of goblins killed and even three trolls slain. With many of our clergy having been slain, I felt a lump of panic in my throat. We charged through the splintered doors and down the main garden of the school yard. I see four goblins and two friends. Ava and Yroh. As I close the gap I see Yroh is dead, pinned upright against a hedgerow of bushes. Spears left through him, his silver flanged mace gripped tight in bloodied hand. My eyes struggle to find focus though sweat and tears. I cry out in a guttural instinctual rage and call forth lightning from my left arm. I struck 2 goblins near Ava in a single blast as she bashed the skull of a third. Opris leaped to Ava's right side and slammed the forth goblin into the stone wall of the main building. I let out a stuttered cry as this pain overwhelmed my chest. This time it was unfamiliar, and I was ready for this new blessing of the gods to pass through my hands. Whimpering, I took aim at the nearest troll when my vision failed me. My legs had no strength to keep me standing. No burst of lightning, no force to shake the earth. My eyes focused on the blackness and thickness of the blood on the spear tip that is coming through my chest. I feel a small goblin foot on my back. I hear Ava call out, but her swears of vengeance on my behalf are just shrill shrieks that don't have any meaning. Why does she always have to panic in elvish? This piercing force, its back. I try to rise to my knee and focus on my aim, but I know its just another spear. In my final moments I accept death, and I shape my mouth to call out my final words. My tounge wet with blood wants to say goodbye to Ava, or to curse this goblin. To cry out for Yanda, the Headmistress, was what I knew I really wanted. Just a man wanting his mother. Yet with spears in my chest I have no words to say, and I laugh in my head as I recall that every orc I've watched die doesn't get last words. In my death I reach a courtyard. I am approached by "Avandra" the Goddess of Second chances, and she asks if I was satisfied with my time on earth? I quickly opened my mouth but quickly bit my tounge not wanting to offend a Goddess. I was not satisfied, I was young and wanted to keep my school safe, to travel with my wolf. And to kill goblins. I told "Avandra" that I was unhappy with my death but understood that I am dead. She laughs and remarks that she can undo my death, and give me a second chance. If I wanted to continue living, all I had to do was ask to continue my life, and say "thank you". After being granted another chance, Gnurl takes an inhale and thanks "Avandra". In what is just a blip, just another inhale after his words escape his tounge, 700 years after being killed, Gnurl awakens.