The Boar pt. II

"The casualties of the many doesn't outweigh the extinction of us all." - Crimson Horde Chieftain 'The Lion'

Index
The Boar pt. I - Champions of Fire and Vine

The Boar pt. III - XXX

Ozoma Ash and the Exaltation of Life
A floating igneous bell, black and worn from the elements over generations resounded throughout the village. It hung ominously over a large thermal vent that continuously spewed flames. The Boar came out to see the noise that was rarely heard once a year in times of peace but in these dire times, resounded much more frequently. Everyone respected its beckon and emerged from their huts, many of which now permanently empty. The Boar noticed that this evening, even more domiciles were becoming dark within their windows, a solemn contrast to the golden age of their tribe when real estate was fought for and their numbers prolific. Those that did remain standing looked tired with aching limbs begrudgingly carried bodies to meet around the flame vent. As loved ones passed away, the slack had to be picked up. Roles were now shared and it was common to find crafters hunting and gatherers as soldiers for more hours in a day than ever before.

As the single strike of the bell resounded for minutes, all were in attendance well before it finished. Deathly silent, out of respect for this sacred artifact, no one spoke or made noise as strained to hear any residual echoes over the subtle breath of those around them. Their tribal chieftain The Lion stood before with a dour expression, observing all of those within his community that looked to him for guidance in all matters and grieved within his large heart for the losses they had suffered together as a tribe.

"These are dire times."

His deep and wise voice carried over the crowd with no contest to the nodding faces around him. Almost everyone had lost immediate family members and if any were luckily to say they hadn't, they feared that it was only a matter of time.

Standing next to him, Elder Blue-Ring looked equally saddened, her expression that of an executioner commanded to hang innocent men. With reaching hands, four of her eight limbs were also wrought of stone, and levitated beside her. Heatproof, they grasped the underside of the volcanic bell as the tribe around her feared the worst. Now inverted, the rim of it faced skyward causing commotion among the tribes people. Mothers screamed clutching their young and the elderly wept at this motion. The Boar himself felt his heart turn and likewise, a single tear rolled down his face as their grim future began to play out in his mind.

A tale of times long past is told to all of the tribe at a young age. The story tells of when their igneus bell of council was turned to a volcanic cauldron of rage and acts as a lesson in the importance of character and not losing one's self to bloodlust. It tells of a Crimson Horde chieftain hundreds of years ago who was convinced by an elder that an elixir he was formulating would give their warriors a ferocity and strength these jungles had never seen. While the promise of power held true and their warriors manifested the ability to slice axe through tree trunk and intimidate opponents with echoing shout, they lost the ability to sleep. Never failing in their energy levels, madness ended them before fatigue ever could. Many recounts are expressed of what could become of a warrior afflicted with the elixir. Some over consumed food trying to restore their minds but instead flooded their organs while other stories tell of a warrior that turned on their own people, many lives lost protecting their own kind. It was not uncommon for some to run into the bordering treelines and never return.

"This is a volatile period in the history of our tribe and the events before us are the axiom of our survival. Reviving the use of the Ozoma Ash rage elixir will allow us as a tribe passage once again to a time of peace. We all know that those who drink will be the saviours of our people albeit deliberate martyrs for our future. We will not demand that anyone takes this sacrifice upon their shoulders but rather ask that anyone seeing the plight of our wider family feels within themself to be the difference, step forward and become the avatar of destruction for the Crimson Horde." The Lion looked over the crowd who shifted horrified at the prospect and while none looked eager to sacrifice themself for their tribe, each looked around them hoping others would.

The Boar looked around also. He wasn't hoping for a saviour like the others, he instead looked at each of the faces and thanked The Powers that every personality and asset to this tribe was still present. He wondered how many more losses he could bear to hear of and knowing that his chance to put himself in the line of fire was right now, he would not evade the task.

Stepping forward, The Boar was met with a thankful albeit sorrowful look from The Lion, always seen as a flagship for their tribe. The Boar was considered a surrogate child by their chieftain and knowing what was about to happen brought on more pain to The Lion than could he anticipated. Looking up at his father figure and noticing the tears in his eyes, The Boar turned so as to keep his composure. Using this shift of position to address the crowd, The Boar made his statement.

"I love the thrill of combat. I love the rush of battle and the vigor of my adversaries. I love to bring this tribe acclaim and glory by my actions. Above all things however I love each of you and your longevity gives me purpose. I will take this mantle for our survival. Sing songs of me, celebrate our traditions, fight, dance, and proliferate. Do all of these things as revelry in what it is to live! Exalt the honour of being alive!"

Four more stood and came forward on his words. Friends and loved ones that he knew from childhood. He felt guilt at their sacrifice but knew they were strong of character and would not step forward unless they felt as he did. Each of them were handed stone cups, small versions of the cauldron that billowed an acrid smoke. Inside it, the bright orange crystals born of volcanic fumes were melting, the rim of the pot still rife with them despite the broth welling. With cups dipped, the volatile brew spun softly belying its effects.

As the five of them looked out to those they hoped to save, he took one deep mental snapshot to take in all he cared for, ever single person he called dear. All except one. He wished he could tell Layla of his choice and what it meant to him. He hoped she would understand. Raising his vessel, he drank the concoction. It stung and burned his throat as molten crystal would be expected. Feeling like searing lava with a lower viscosity, it sloshed down into his stomach and the shock opened his airways ushering it into his lungs. Almost immediately, his vision became hazy but in his last few moments of sight, he saw a figure in the distant foliage donned in distinct tight black leathers, gilded in sheenvine.