#spacearsonist’s ocs

[shadowofwar-goober]

The Shaman and the Bard Ch. 18- A Small Distraction

None of them enjoyed the lessons the Mystics forced them through. They weren't taught how to explore their given nature or abilities but they managed to find their own ways of doing so, even if it were uncomfortable at times.

xxx

The Mystics were obsessed with necromancy and raising the dead. Hûra couldn’t stand their chants, the feeling of something being forcibly torn away from… something or somewhere, the ultimate end where a cold and blue body begins to twitch and shake off its death stiffness… Hûra could never look at the gasping or convulsing bodies for long. 

Disturbed

Trapped

Agony 

Hûra didn’t care to be reprimanded. How could they do this…? Couldn’t they feel this sadness, this pain, this… He didn’t even know how to articulate all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Why was he forced to learn… this? Hûra has no interest in necromancy! He doesn’t know if he even has a talent for raising the dead! He hoped not… Why can’t he just have his bones? This feels like torture, both on his part and the part of the unfortunate dead that are bound to this mortal plane once more, against their will… 

His brothers seemed to share a similar sentiment. Skoth was more vocal about this than Hûra was, to his surprise. Hûra didn’t know that the Feral boy had a connection to the otherside like that… Then again, he never really had the opportunity to ask. Skoth was visibly upset as he joined the three of them, eyes inflamed and tears threatening to fall down his cold cheeks as he angrily threw himself in between the lot of them. 

“-can’t do it no more, lads… I fuckin’ CAN’T-!” Skoth covered his face with the palms of his hands and sucked in a harsh breath. 

Hûra was still taken aback by how easily his brothers bridge the gap between their persons but it was by no means a bad thing. Mogg patted Skoth on the arm and Fûbar pulled his sleeve out from underneath his shortest brother’s body. Hûra awkwardly reached for him but hesitated several times. What if it’s not okay to-? Mogg noticed his struggle and grabbed his wrist with his other hand and placed his hand on Skoth’s leg. Hûra awkwardly patted his leg as his brother struggled to calm his raging emotions. 

“‘s the lesson again, right? Or was it the water?” They all cringed a little, even Fûbar. The water- Hûra found himself shivering uncontrollably in spite of finding the cold winds on their own not nearly as biting as they were months ago. Was it months ago…? Skoth’s voice was muffled under his hands as he spoke. 

“-sson…” Ah. 

It was no surprise. The day they started their lessons Skoth hated it. But when they realized that he had a gift for communing with the dead in spite of his best efforts to hide it? He’s been miserable daily ever since. 

They know he has the gift but his refusal to work with them has all his instructors on the verge of either killing him, themselves, for ‘wasting the gift their Lord bestowed upon him’ or ‘reeducating him’, which was something the four of them had never heard of but scared them all (Skoth especially) enough that he now puts in the bare minimum effort to his studies so that their tudors and elders won’t grow weary of him. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it…” Skoth removed his hands from his face and hugged himself. No one pointed out that he was crying and only Mogg nodded in agreement. 

“‘s all good, brother. We understand.” 

They did. Training with the Mystics was miserable for them all but Skoth had it the worst. The four of them sat in melancholy for a while, uncertain of how to break the silence. Hûra’s crows sat on a nearby tree and looked down at the four pups, some croaking softly while most sat in silence. Skoth looked up at them, glad to see beasts in this forsaken place but also feeling nostalgic and homesick. 

He missed the warmth of Nurnen… 

The silence shifted from strained and awkward to something more comfortable. Skoth was on the verge of tears but no longer having any expectations on his shoulders allowed him to finally calm the disgust and pain that seized his entire being whenever he was forced into what he would call ‘blasphemous lesson’. If any Mystic heard him say such a thing, none of the boys would doubt that he would be executed or worse... But there was truth in it. They all knew it- could feel it, even if they all didn’t possess such a gift as Skoth’s. 

“Mmm… Maybe Hûra or Mogg could teach us something interesting?” This was Fûbar’s go to attempt to distract them all from whatever was upsetting them. Let’s learn something we actually want to learn. Hûra and Mogg both nodded, with Mogg gesturing to Hûra and giving him the go ahead to start. 

“O-Oh! Yes.. Let’s see…” 

He has shown them a few things, told them when he first realized he was different from his other littermates, and how his gifts began to manifest… Hûra removed the patchwork sack that contained his favourite set of hell hawk bones from his side and carefully opened them. Skoth sat up and leaned over to look in the little pouch. He’s seen the bones before, but he struggled to recognize the worth that Hûra saw in them. 

“Why them?” It took Hûra a moment to tear his eyes away from the little greyish-black bones that resided within. He blinked, then furrowed his brows.

“Why not them?” He was as surprised as Skoth by his answer. It felt so natural, yet hearing it sounded so odd. Hûra didn’t know how else to answer that question. Why not them? He didn’t know if it could have been anything else… Skoth pondered on this for a moment before he shrugged. 

“Fair ‘nough, I suppose.” He wasn’t displeased with this answer. Skoth understood as well as the rest of them that sometimes there is no satisfying answer. He didn’t always know why he thought the things he thought or did the things that he did and he wouldn’t expect his brothers to know this about himself or themselves, either. 

“It was like a pull… “ Hûra shrugged too, but he continued on anyway.

“Like my body moved on its own…” He felt the bones move in the back, bumping and moving against one another, his fingers itching to cast them out and onto the rocky ground.

“...but it wasn’t bad. It felt… right. Like it was going to happen no matter what, but it wasn’t scary.” Hûra didn’t know if it made any sense to them, but it did to him. Mogg nodded, as did Skoth. Fûbar hummed thoughtfully as Hûra’s grip on the sack tightened. 

“Yeah, I think I get it… Sort of…” Skoth murmured under his breath. He was focused on Hûra’s hands. Skoth didn’t know why but there was something about the way Hûra moved his fingers that was eye-catching… He was delicate but purposeful in his movements. He was like the elders but Skoth didn’t feel sick whenever he watched him… 

“C’mon! Don’t leave us waiting! Give us a reading!” Mogg encouraged him, shifting in place excitedly as he started at his hands. Mogg raised an eyebrow in surprise as Hûra handed him the sack.

“Cast them.” He took it with a funny look on his face. This was a first. Hûra hasn’t asked any of them to do this before! Mogg wasn’t bothered by it but he was curious. 

“Yeah? How do I-?” He lost track of what he was going to say as he looked back up at Hûra. 

He can be so intense at times… It was almost creepy how Hûra could go from his usual, attentive self to nearly unaware of his surroundings, much like how Fûbar typically is. Almost creepy… but not quite. Hûra was focused to a degree that Mogg was intimately familiar with. He once thought he was a freak for it, but upon learning that others experienced it too, Mogg was relieved to find out that he wasn’t alone. 

“There is no wrong way… You simply…” Hûra gestured for him to dump the bones out. 

O-kay… 

Mogg did what he’s seen Hûra do so many times before. He jostled them in the pouch a few times before tipping over its contents. Mogg didn’t pour it all out at once, a little nervous that he would damage the thin bones in some way, but Hûra didn’t reprimand him so he figured he was doing okay. 

They clattered to the ground and landed every which way. How does he see anything in this…? Mogg was torn between looking at the bones and Hûra’s face. 

They’re so small… He didn’t realize how tiny and delicate those hawks were, given how nasty their attitudes usually are. They almost appeared to be hollow, like a bird’s, with how they clattered so lightly against the ground. Which way is the right way to look at them? Mogg couldn’t help but to wonder. 

Hûra’s pupils dilated from their usual constricted slits the moment that Mogg had casted them onto the ground. Time slowed for him in the brief moment it took them to find their final resting place. He couldn’t hear their clattering, only the quiet sound of his breath, of his heart, calm and at peace… 

His brothers looked at him, then between themselves. Should they speak? They could break his concentration… Though-

“Uh-” Skoth was about to ask him what he saw, but Hûra drawing in a slow, deep breath caught his tongue between his teeth.

“Fluttering, a flock

Spooked and scattered

Some leading, others not

Following, blinded by blinding

Rivers of heat, never cooling

In the depths where

A dreamless slumber lies

Waiting for a call

Lulling it from 

Slumber under the Earth…” 

Hûra pulled away as if offended by something. His eyes came back into focus and his hands immediately went to his face. The crude markings on his face- ones that his brothers always knew him to have- were smeared and smudged by his palms as they went to his temples. Skoth and Mogg were at a loss for words, simply sitting back as they looked at the bones then back at their brother’s distressed expression. Hûra blinked once, then twice then-

“I… feel ill…” He quickly stood and stumbled away, hand over his mouth and his stomach clutched. Before either could get up, Fûbar was already standing and at Hûra’’s side. Mogg and Skoth quickly followed.

“What is it, Hûra?” It was unusual for Fûbar to sound so concerned… Hûra didn’t like it. He simply shook his head and swallowed his sick. 

“N-Noth- Nothing. I… suppose I was simply unprepared…” He tried to laugh but it came out more as a cough than a chuckle. None of his brother’s believed him. Mogg frowned as Skoth anxiously picked at his broken nails. 

“Was… that all, brother?” Hûra’s eyes nearly went wide, but he managed to keep his face neutral. 

“Yes… it was. I apologize, sometimes things aren’t clear.” There was no need to apologize for such a thing. Hûra knew this and he knew that they were not judging him, rather, they were concerned for his sake.

“No need, brother… No need…” 

Again, tension settled between the four of them. It wasn’t Hûra’s intention to cause discomfort between them, but he couldn’t fight the unease that had settled within him. The guilt…

“Is it only me that occasionally becomes ill from this? How embarrassing…” Hûra finally managed a laugh. Mogg shrugged a little and chuckled too. 

“Nah, I do too… But only some of the time.” Fûbar nodded. 

“I don’t get sick but I do become disquieted when I am disturbed.” Skoth scoffed. 

“And you know I get pissed when I’m forced to do what I don’t wanna do.” Hûra smiled a little. 

The burden was shifted from his shoulders. Again the air was cleared and they returned to where they were seated. Hûra didn’t wait before he quickly disrupted the bones’ positions as he scooped them back into the patchwork sack he had sewn for them. He didn’t like what he saw and instead of questioning him again, his brothers let it go. Hûra tried to push it from his mind but it wouldn’t leave him in peace.

Even long after they had rejoined the clan during the evening’s dinner and they had settled in for the night, what he saw left him in a state so severe that even the draught that he was given nightly did nothing to soothe the churning of his stomach or the twisting of his thoughts. 

Hûra didn’t understand what he saw. The black soot of Orodruin was unmistakable, even to he that has never been to the region of Gorgoroth. The heat of the mountain’s fire was intense, as was the dread that blanketed the scene. Hûra didn’t understand what was there but it wasn’t the source of his uncertainty and his discomfort.

No, it was two uruks that caught his attention. One with black hair and unusual eyes, the other a red head that didn’t belong… The thought alone of those two in peril had Hûra’s heart seizing and his stomach dropping to his feet, though he didn’t even recognize who they even were… 

This vision continued to haunt him long after the casting had taken place. It didn’t occupy the entirety of his mind nor did it consume him, but Hûra’s mind would occasionally wander back to that scene and fear would seize him all over again. He never dared to share this with anyone, even his own brothers. There was no fear of rejection or judgement, but to Hûra, it felt wrong to share, even if he couldn’t place why…

The days continued on as did their lessons. Interest in his abilities grew but he was never tutored for them, specifically. He was given a name, not a title but nonetheless a word for what he was. Osteomancer… It was the only thing his elders have given him that gave him a sense of pride and belonging, like he was finally being seen for what he was and not for what they wanted him to be. 

If they wouldn’t tutor him then he would teach himself. But Hûra knew that he wasn’t alone. In spite of that reading, he continued to explore his capabilities with his brothers, just as they did the same with him. It gave them all something to look forward to throughout their long days of dreadful chants and ice cold waters that chilled them to the bone. 

Together they made life not only bearable but something to look forward to. It might not be much to others but for the four of them it was more than they ever had…

@space-arsonist, @boozy-dwarf, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @dirtymeanuruk

#middle earth shadow of war #middle earth shadow of mordor #shadow of war #lotr #my ocs #uruk ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #bone readings #visions of the future #Hûra is trying his best

[mara-xx217]

It’s an interesting situation that @space-arsonist and I have found ourselves in. Somehow we’ve managed to not only create a family tree with our OCs, but also made biological twins cousins 😂

@sinick @elvenmoans @boozy-dwarf

#spacearsonist’s OCs #my OCs #one Oc is both a grandfather to one twin and a great grandfather to the other 😂 #and there’s an uncle that’s nearly a 1000 years younger than his nephews #uncle is a loose term but too funny to not use #sweet Jesus what have we done #that’s hilarious

[shadowofwar-goober]

A Typical Argument (Takra and Gogat)

Takra and Hûra belong to me and Gogat belongs to SpaceArsonist.

xxx

   “We don’t need it!” 

   “Maybe you don’t. But I do!”

   They always had something to argue about, especially when they were out in the markets. Takra was a Marauder at heart and it never ceased to piss Gogat off. He was so acquainted with having next to nothing on his person that having the capability to have something, literally anything at all felt like a slight to his entire being. 

   To have something more was to be bad. Wrong. Greed and self indulgence was a crime against the mind as it was against the soul. Takra wasn’t a terrible uruk but Gogat could see past this difference in logic and work understanding. And Takra was much the same to him. 

   It was such a silly thing to become so heated over. It was only some cloth… Simple, largely unremarkable and unadorned with anything eye-catching or unique. But it was something. It was unneeded and the thought of buying anything- even food or medicine when it was something he should be hunting and creating himself- was ghastly. Takra bought it anyways, ignoring how Gogat stomped after her and refused to engage any further in their monthly market outing. 

   “I don’t understand what your problem is!” Takra snapped at him. Here we go again… 

   “How many times do I gotta tell you?! It’s unneeded! What’s the point in buying things we don’t fucking need?! We have enough- more than enough- as is-!” Takra turned to face him. 

   “So what?! Why do have a fucking stick up your ass over me buying YOU something?! Look at your clothing-!” Takra gestured vaguely to the tattered, black acolyte robes he still wore, despite being a free uruk for nearly an entire year now. Gogat swat her hand away, annoyed. 

   “There ain’t nothing wrong with what I’m wearing! It’s covering everything important so why do you care?! A-Are you-?!” 

   Embarrassed? Ashamed? Hate to be associated with the likes of him?

   “Gogat! You deserve something better! Why do you do this to yourself?!” Gogat crossed his arms, an uncomfortable feeling pooling in his gut. 

   “D-Don’t- You wouldn’t understand! You can’t-“ Takra followed his gaze, refusing to allow Gogat to disconnect from the conversation. 

   “Why? Because I’m not him?” Gogat winced at the tone of her voice. 

   It was always a source of arguments and frustration between the two of them. Takra isn’t Hûra, that much is true. But what angers her is that she doesn’t need to be him to understand what the pup has gone through. Because- Well… because she-

   “Just because someone told you you don’t deserve anything doesn’t make it true.” He cringes again. 

   There she goes, digging in deep and not allowing it to die in silence. Gogat shrugged, tired of arguing. Takra doesn’t relent. 

   “What makes them right? Gogat- Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She snapped. He threw his hands up, exasperated. 

   “WHAT?! Objects are petty and unnecessary! They distract! They are- are-“ 

   “Oh fuck off already! Do you seriously believe that bullshit-“ Now Gogat was the one to snap. 

   “YES I actually fucking believe that ‘bullshit’! So what?! What makes you so high and fucking mighty to judge ME-?!” 

   “I should be asking you that! Who fucking decided that was right and everything else was ‘wrong’?!” Gogat spluttered. Who decided…? 

   “That- I- W-Well- What About you?! Why are you ‘right’?! Huh?! Who decided that-?!” 

   “I decided that, you fucking idiot!”

   Gogat fell silent as angry tears threatened to fall from Takra’s eyes. She didn’t back down, no, instead she walked closer- and closer- until Gogat made himself small against the trunk of a tree. 

   “I didn’t have shit when I was your age. Don’t you- Don’t YOU dare tell ME what I can and can’t have.” Takra raised her hand but it fell to her side before Gogat knew what she was about to do with it. 

  “I decide what I can and can’t have. I do. ME. No one else! Don’t fucking tell me about the shitty rules the Mystics set up for you- I already know all about it. Do you seriously think that’s unique to you and only you?” Takra’s voice cracked a little and Gogat hung his head. He felt sick to his stomach. 

   “Just shut the fuck up and say ‘thank you’ when someone gets you something. Throw it away or whatever the fuck else you’d want to do with it. Just shut up and keep your bullshit to yourself.”  

   The way back to camp was spent in tense silence. No other words were exchanged for the rest of the night. What else was there to say?

@space-arsonist, @boozy-dwarf, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @dirtymeanuruk

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #uruk ocs #my ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #arguments #hurt feelings #differences between marauders and mystics #toxic upbringings

[shadowofwar-goober]

Masterlist

General Posts

Thinking about Blood Brothers

Graffiti in RotK

Sleep Schedules and other Schedules

In Service of the Witch King

The Uruks that Closely Serve Saruon

Old Mystic Colours

Cheeky Thoughts on Twin Uruks x Tark (NSFW)

A Feral Husband

Uruks and Their Scars (w/Fic)

If Hûra was in SoW

If Takra was in SoW

Thinking About Dire Caragors

Ship Prompts w/Hûra and Takra

Hûra and His Crows

Difference Between New-Age and Old-Way Necromancers

One Off Fics

Souring of Bonds

Hûra and Takra: Bone Casting

Twin Uruks x Tark (NSFW)

Moonlight- Hûra x Takra

Mâku, No, not THAT one...

A Typical Argument (for space-arsonist)

A Chance Meeting (for dirtymeanuruk)

New Piercing (for space-arsonist)

The Gondorians of Mordor (on going)

P.1- For Gondor!

P.2- The Last Ranger of the Black Gate

P.3 Retreat

P.4 Report

The Shaman and the Bard (on going)

P.1- Birth

P.2- Taken In

P.3- The Start of Training

P.4- It was an accident-

P.5- Feathers and Bones

P.6- Changing Times

P.7- Sold

P.8- Udûn's Aftermath

P.9- Making some Fun

P.10 Coughs, Flowers and Names

P.11 Nothing Left

P.12 When You Don’t Match Your Purpose

P.13 Brothers, Always

P.14 For Gorfel

P.15 New Home

P.16 Change for the Better

P.17 Prayers and Draughts

P. 18 A Small Distraction

P. 19 To Khagukhôr

Memes

'MacDonald's! MacDonald's! MacDonald's!'

Depressed/Edgy/Dumb-ass Meme

#lotr #lotr return of the king #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #orcs #uruks #uruk hai #head canons #fics #ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #masterlist

[shadowofwar-goober]

Gogat's First Piercing (OC Fic)

Gogat belongs to @space-arsonist and Hûra and Tarka are mine!

xxx

Gogat’s lips were sore, but there was a smug satisfaction in the little revenge that he plotted against his father.

Their disagreements aren’t so uncommon they never happen, but they aren’t a daily occurrence. This time he’s found himself rather annoyed with father’s disapproval of his time away from his training as a shaman. He is practicing, of course! It’s just so hard to focus on it as much as he demands! So Gogat stormed off and, to his surprise, his father did not pursue him this time. 

Aggravating his father wasn’t the only reason why he went and pierced his lips- twice, of course-, his mother played a pivotal role in this as well. Not as a means to annoy her, rather it was for the opposite reason. 

  He always admired how his mother never cared for what others thought of her appearance. She did as she pleased, how and when she pleased. It was something he, personally, struggled with and something he believes she had assisted him with. 

Just like his father- 

Gogat loved them both, of course, but sometimes he just wanted to piss them off. Because he could and he knew, deep down, they wouldn’t detest or hate him, though it always remained a lingering fear. 

Hûra’s initial reaction was a surprised double take, as though he nearly doubled what he was seeing. Gogat couldn’t help but to be both excited and terrified, wondering what it was his father was thinking. Would he scold him? Reprimand him? Maybe he will-

“Hmm… It rather suits you, no? Just like your mother and as handsome as ever…” His father cupped his cheek in his hand and smiled, gently caressing his cheek with his thumb. 

Oh…. 

Gogat’s face heated up and he found himself leaning down into his father’s touch. Being compared to Takra, his mother was a grand compliment, considering the manner in which he parted with his father earlier that day and his intention to annoy him with his petty acts of rebellion. 

It felt good, though. Not only his father’s compliment, but the act of going out and simply doing something because he could. It wasn’t easy- not yet- but he felt a surge of confidence upon hearing his father's words. Gogat could feel the pride and adoration in his voice and see it in his eyes… 

He rushed off to go show his mother his new piercings. 

It took Takra a moment to notice, but she gasped as Gogat rushed over to her, clearly excited. A grin spreads across her lips as she shifts from foot to foot with her hands clasped.

“Ooohh-! Is that what I think it is?! Did you finally do it, my my boy?!” She beamed up at him as he sheepishly stumbled to a halt before her while rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Y-Yeah… I-“ Again, heat roses to his cheeks as Takra excitedly made a grabbing motion towards him. She wanted him to lean down so she could have a better look… Gogat obliged her and leaned down, his ears burning slightly as her soft hands cupped the sides of his face. 

“Did you go to the lad I suggested? It looks good, Gogat! Done right, too!” Takra gently squished his cheeks, which caused him to smile then giggle as she rested his forehead against his own. 

“So handsome…” Gogat smiled too, which caused his mother to smile even wider. Both burst out into giggles and he wrapped his arms around her body and hugged her tight. 

“Hmmm…. You just need a few more and we’d nearly be matching! I think some in your ears would suit you well! Maybe here, and here, and here-“ Gogat laughed and flinched away from the ticklish feeling of his mother’s fingers tapping at the shell of his ear. 

He held her tighter, burying his face into her hair. He loved them both so much….

@sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf, @dirtymeanuruk

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #my ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #just something a little cute

[shadowofwar-goober]

Conversations Between Clan Members 2

Warnings for mentions of past trauma and unhealthy behaviors and poor self esteem

“I’ve always been a fuck up.” His grandfather said it like it was a fact. His grandfather, who helped fuel the rebellion against the Dark Lord, who is the most famous poet in all of Mordor, said he was a fuck up. A fuck up…

“I’m a fuck up with fool’s luck, I guess, heh…” Tired…

Takra rests his temple on top of Feldûsh’s head. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Only placed his hand on top of his grandfather’s and squeezed.

“Hûra really does bring the best out of everyone around him. You know? He- Before, I… Heh- I was nothing but a selfish, pathetic, piece of shit that only cared about himself. Maybe… I still am-“

“You’re not.” Feldûsh couldn’t stand to hear it anymore. Takra laughs. Not bitter or malicious, but soft. Genuine.

“Yes I am, child. I am. I’m not very responsible, am I?” Feldûsh trips on his own tongue. N-No… but- Neither is he…

“I- …” He falters. His face falls. Everything falls.

“…did you know I was sold to the Marauders when I was a pup?” Feldûsh nods. Anxiety pools in his gut.

“Ha… Yeah… I guess it’s good they did, in the end. Would’ve died in fucking nowhere, Udûn, if they didn’t. Died young.” Takra trails off. Thinking. Remembering.

“…they made us do some fucked up shit to survive.”

Feldûsh only ever caught bits and pieces of his elders’ lives before Sauron’s fall. Slaves- He’s seen. Heard. He…

“It was all about money for the Marauders. Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t have it all bad. I just didn’t. It- it was…” He hesitated. The silence was tense.

“It was still fucked up. I think I can accept that. I think…” Takra whispered the last words.

Feldûsh’s heart jumped into his throat. “W-Wh-“ He stopped himself. Takra answered anyways.

“They made the money threshold too high. You know? Just- …too damn high…” He turned his head so Feldûsh couldn’t see his face.

“Couldn’t make enough money to stay. Couldn’t do… normal things. Work wasn’t enough. Not enough jobs, not enough hours in the day or night.”

Then-?

“You know where this is going, right?” Please don’t make me say it outright. Feldûsh… feeling sick, he thought he knew. But-

“I- I-“

Takra sighed and sat upright, pulling his grandson closer so he was laying across his lap. His fingers twitched and his palms sweated.

“We had to prostitute ourselves to meet demands.”

He wasn’t sure if he heard right. Blood pounded in Feldûsh’s ears and he felt… he felt faint.

“I- you- What?” He looked up, but his grandfather wouldn’t meet his eye.

“A lot of us did what he had to to stay in the company. Being good at our ‘normal’ jobs wasn’t enough. Heh- No, it was always about money, in the end…”

He was silent. He- He knew what happened to his other grandfather. And-

“I didn’t mind it after a while though.”

Feldûsh balked. “What?!” He couldn’t stop himself. Takra laughed, but it wasn’t genuine this time. Nervous.

“Yeah, when it comes to hardship in life, you either learn to like what’s happening, or you hate it enough that you have the strength to do something about it.”

Takra coughed. Fake.

“I didn’t get that strength on my own. I was content with being… that. With drowning in drink and with others… in misery and hate and pseudo love…” He closed his eyes.

“Hûra had that strength. He got away from his misery. He did it with his own hands. His own will. Me? No, not me. Even with him, it took me…” Takra sighed, body sagging against the headboard.

“…too long. Maybe I haven’t even got there yet… Not completely.”

Feldûsh was quiet. It… cut to his core. Not there yet. Not there yet…? He couldn’t see his grandfather as weak. As a fuck up. No, he couldn’t. He, Feldûsh- he was a fuck up. He didn’t meet any of the expectations placed on him. He doesn’t measure up to his… prestigious family in the slightest. Yet…

“But how is that true? You’re- you are so important grandpa… You’re… you!” He really was a child again. Takra laughed. Genuine this time.

“I think you understand better than you care to realize. I wanna talk about the family. Your father, grandfather, uncle, sister.” Feldûsh held his breath.

He was scared of being compared to the rest of the clan. Not good enough… Eltoril is good enough. Everyone else? Backbones of the community. Of the country. How could he, a total fuck up, even be compared to them? He’ll allow it though. He respects his grandfather too much to be combative.

No matter how much he wishes to be…

@space-arsonist @sinick @elvenmoans

#Lotr #shadow of war #middle earth shadow of war #urukhai #my OCs #spacearsonist’s ocs #uruk clan #psst trauma #unhealthy coping mechanisms #denial #struggling to self accept #low self image #mature discussion

[shadowofwar-goober]

Conversations Between Clan Members 1

An uruk grandfather has a mature discussion with his grandson about life and change.

“Come here lad.” Takra pats the edge of the bed. Feldûsh shifts awkwardly.

“It’s…” He can’t look at his grandfather. Takra smiles.

“Feldûsh. It’s eating you alive. You know that I already know. Come here…” Takra shifts over, beckoning Feldûsh to his side. He acquiesces.

“Now, I’ve got something to- No no, closer! You know I won’t bite!” He laughs as he yanks his grandson closer. Feldûsh relaxes a little and smiles to himself as he settles against Takra’s side.

“You’re terrified.” The smile falls from Feldûsh’s face.

“No shit I’m terrified… I- I don’t-“

“‘Don’t know what the fuck you’re doing?’”

“…yeah.” He can’t look up. Takra mercifully doesn’t stare a hole into him.

“Feldûsh… I understand you better than you may realize. I’ve known you since you were a wee thing. Tiny. Since you started to grow into your own self… We’re so alike, it scares the shit out of me.”

It does take Feldûsh off guard. Yes, they have their similarities. Perhaps too much… But it scares him? He waits for him to continue quietly.

“There’s one thing that’s known about me, and that’s I’m a shit influence on the little ones. Yeah, I know! Rude, right?! Well… they’re right. I am a horrible influence. And if they thought I was shit with you and your sister, then they’d be appalled with how I was with your father.”

His father…?

“H-Huh…? But… Father has always-?” Takra chuckles.

“‘Said I was the best dad ever?’ Yeah… No. No, not at all. I was waaay better with you and your siblings.” The chuckle trails off to something… off. Awkward. Uncertain.

He couldn’t believe it. Feldûsh thought hard on what he was just told. Terrible? He was terrible? Even with him and his sister, he wasn’t bad or anything right?

Right…?

“W- Wha-?” He clears his throat. “What do you mean, gramps? I don’t-“ Takra drums his fingers on Feldûsh’s arm while wiggling his foot. A nervous habit.

“Uh… it’s kind of a long story… But I think you need to hear it. From me. Not from Gogat or even Hûra…” He looks down at him. Feldûsh feels… small. But not intimidated. Like he’s a child again, but not that he’s being condescended to.

“Y-Yeah… We got time, r-right…?” Takra shrugs.

“We’ll make time.”

Feldûsh settles properly into Takra’s side. When’s the last time he’s done this…? He must have been a teen. It’s been too long… He has missed his grandfather. Talking to him, being close to him, learning from him… Feldûsh is curious as to how Takra could think himself as ‘worse with his father’. So he cranes his neck and looks up at him, waiting for him to begin speaking.

Truly like he’s a child again…

@space-arsonist @sinick @elvenmoans

#Lotr #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #urukhai #my OCs #spacearsonist’s OCs #uruk clans #uruk families #familial relationships #growth and maturity

[shadowofwar-goober]

Hûra and His Creban

Hûra LOVES his crows and his crows LOVE him. He often found himself hiding away from his clan. In those times, he would watch the crows and bats flying in and out of the caves of Cirith Ungol.

Hûra never had access to much food as a young pup, but when a crow was eyeing up the piece of bread he had stolen for himself, he didn't hesitate to break a piece of it off and offered it to the crow.

That was the day he made his first friend.

That little crow took what was offered and flew away. Hûra was saddened but understood. She was hungry... Maybe she had babies to care for?

She came back with her family.

He named that first crow Ghâsh, which means fire. She could be loud, she wanted all of his attention and she could be spitefully mean to those that cross her or her kin. Hûra loved her very much and there was never another that was like her.

Some things about Hûra's crows:

He names them all and he (and later Takra and Gogat) can tell them all apart and remembers all their names

They know how to speak (or mimic how uruks/humans sound)

They know tricks (some are simple like spin in a circle, jump up, speak- and others are more involved like steal something shiny, piss off the warchief, take a bloke's eye out, and spy for me)

Hûra sent a few off to watch over Takra when they separated as pups

The crows love to be pet and love to cuddle

They will try to groom him and he can't (and never has) say no

An ethical source of feathers

They keep him company when he is lonely

They alert him to unknown presences

Some other random things:

Hûra's first successful hunt was a crow in Cirith Ungol. The bones from that bird were his first tools in his specific divination field, Osteomancy. He keep it's feathers too

His brother, Norûk's, first child was named Ghâsh.

Hûra is known as "the Marrow Seer", but he's also known as "the Bone Shaman" and "the Crow Shaman"

Gogat (@space-arsonist's OC and Hûra's son) once nearly tortured a crebain to death when trying to acquire feathers for a... personal project. That crow lived and Hûra's crows tortured him back for months

Hûra's grandson, Feldûsh (Gogat's son), sails with a few crows, one of which he and the family affectionately call "his girlfriend"

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @dirtymeanuruk, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf

#lotr #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #uruk ocs #my ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #crows for life #boy was raised by birds #they were always there for him #they become a staple of their clan #bastard birds (affectionate) #their feathers are incorporated into Hûra and Takra's wardrobe btw

[shadowofwar-goober]

My and @space-arsonist’s OCs

#shadow of war #middle earth shadow of war #urukhai #uruk OCs #my OCs #spacearsonist’s ocs #slight update because HOW COULD I FORGET THAT DEPRESSED THOT MÂKU #everyone else is self explanatory

[shadowofwar-goober]

Why You Don't Get Between a Caragor and Their Pup (SoW OC Fic)

The first strike took him off guard. The subsequent blows he could easily counter. When three other blokes jumped in to help their mate, Hûra was knocked off his feet when two kicked his legs out from underneath him while the other two tackled him to the ground.

“Hold ‘em still-!”He almost bit his tongue in half as Hûra elbowed him underneath his jaw.

As he breaks free of the initial hold placed on him, he is pinned once more. His vision blackens briefly as a fist connects with his nose. A white-hot ache blooms between his eyes as blood streams down his chin.

"Ain't so tough when yer not hidin' in the shadows, ain't ya, coward!" One laughs as he kicks the uruk in the ribs.

Hûra curses himself for being so careless. Especially now-!

"Ya think ya can murder our captain an' just get a way with it?!"

Another kick.

"Who the fuck do ya think ya are?!"

Another punch.

Hûra's fingers brush against his hidden dagger. All four uruks take turns in kicking and punching him. A well-placed kick to the ribs leaves him winded and open for just long enough for his blade to be wrenched from its sheath and pointed at his bare throat.

"You assassin types are all the same! Weak, cowardly! Can't handle yerself in a true fight, can ya?!"

Hûra's eyes flickered between his attackers. This is the perfect moment to turn the tides in my favour.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four-

He makes eye contact with a familiar set of mismatched eyes.

Gogat was frozen in fear. His mentor- his savor- was being savagely beaten in front of him and all he could do was collapse to the ground in shock.

When his eyes met with Hûra's already swelling and bruised ones the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes finally fell free down his face.

He was pathetic. No, worse than pathetic. Gogat watched Hûra's face change in an instant. His heart lurched in his chest when one of those vagrants stole his dagger and Gogat couldn't stop himself from crying out in terror as it was drawn towards his mentor's throat.

Their heads snapped in his direction.

"Who the fuck-?!"

Hûra crushed his windpipe between his claws.

Any and all careful plotting and patience was cast aside the moment his charge cried out in distress. Hûra can take a beating- a vicious one- but the moment Gogat made his pain known he couldn't care less what would happen to himself.

Gogat was the only one that mattered in this exact moment.

The surge of protective strength that Hûra received was almost dizzying. He felt like he wasn't fully in control of himself. The way he moved, all the pain that he felt before, everything felt as though it was done by another. He was merely a causal observer to it all.

Bodies piled up and though he was still covered in blood there was only one thing that was on his mind.

Gogat...

A brief moment of clarity struck him as he sunk to his knees before the lad. What if he's terrified of him now? Scared that he will suffer a similar fate? Hûra gulped down several mouthfuls of air before he attempted to speak.

"G-Gogat-"

The young uruk latched onto his neck with his skinny arms, wailing as his shock evaporated into overwhelming relief.

"U-UH-'M SO-ORR-RY-Y-!"

Pain constricted Hûra's breath as Gogat squeezed his ribs, but he didn't dare to show any outward discomfort. He held Gogat tightly, pulling him closer as the lad trembled and apologized over and over again.

No, he has nothing to apologize for. The fault is all Hûra's... Perhaps later, after he has calmed down and helped his mentor with his wounds, would Gogat listen and believe that none of this was his fault. None of it...

Hûra should be the one apologizing...

#middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #lotr #uruk ocs #my oc #spacearsonist’s ocs #tw for violence #tw beating #gogat is baby #Hûra goes feral whenever his family is in danger

[mara-xx217]

Night Terrors (SoW fic)

Gogat is tiring to care for, but Hûra isn't anywhere near ready to give up, not even when he gets... violent.

Warnings: Mentions of Self-Harm, Shitty Coping Mechanisms, Guilt and Self-Hatred, Nightmares/Night Terrors and Sleep Deprivation

   Resting was a new source of anxiety for both of them. Gogat’s restlessness slowly increased over the months that he traveled with Hûra Marrow Seer, though this was no fault of the shaman or in any way connected to his actions. No, of course it wasn’t him! It was… The fault was Gogat’s and Gogat’s alone.

   As it always is…

   The fear, the nightmares he suffered were as debilitating as they were terrifying. What if his new Master finally sees him for what he is…? A fuck up. That’s all he was- all he’ll ever be- a massive, useless fuck up that no one wants or even needs… Gogat can see it all over Hûra’s face; he’s annoyed. Disappointed. He hates him… Just like-

   Merely thinking about any of this makes Gogat pick up his feet and put as much distance between him and Hûra Marrow Seer as he can without appearing as though he’s abandoning him. Because he would never! Not ever… Just enough so his Master wouldn’t hear his pathetic sobs or his child-like outbursts of rage as he breaks his knuckles and his brittle nails on the trunks of any trees unfortunate enough to be in his line of sight during such moments of weakness.

   Another moment of what should be rest, another fit of writhing and whimpering and whining that steadily evolves into Gogat screaming and clawing at nothing- sometimes himself, even. Hûra couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand it and he couldn’t stand to sit idly aside while this- while his lad fought for his life where he was alone and vulnerable and scared. Unafraid of the pup’s thrashing, Hûra grabs his wrists and begins to maneuver closer to him. 

    Gogat put up a fight. He always did whenever Hûra tried to wake him or prevent him from hurting himself. This time Hûra didn’t mind if he would be the one hurt. And he was. Two deep gashes on his chin, three elongated scratches on his left forearm, and three more much smaller on his right hand… they sting, but nearly as much as his eyes as he fought back his tears. It didn’t hurt, not really, anyways. Not as much as seeing such a young uruk struggling in what should be the most peaceful and self-intimate moments in one’s existence: sleep… 

   His violence is explosive, but always short lived. Gogat soon falls into restless, but immobile sleep. It was exhausting. Hûra was exhausted. His grip on the lad’s wrists slacks and his eyes flicker to his bruised knuckles. Out abusing trees again… and not taking care of himself while he’s at it. Hûra can’t be annoyed with Gogat. How many times have I broken my own hands in similar fits of rage and anguish? Too many. Lucky that his medical supplies are within arms reach… and that Ibranniz has decided to lounge across the pup’s legs. She always brings him comfort… us both, really. Hûra must reward her for being so gentle later…

   Gogat is awake before Hûra is able to even bring wrapping his fresh wounds. Perhaps it’s the nearness between them, but the lad is stunned silent. Then his eyes drift down to the shaman’s bloodied chin. And then his eyes were cast down as tangible shame and guilt choked him up from the inside. Gogat wished to crawl away- to not be so close- for he was ashamed and he was afraid. What will happen to him? How will he be punished…? It sent chills down his spine. Never, not once had he ever dreamed of laying hands on his Mast- on his previous Master. And him- Hûra? No, he cannot believe he would do something so- something so… so-…!

   He flinched as Hûra wiped away a stray tear that fell from his cheek with the length of his sleeve. Soft. Gentle. …soft? Gogat couldn’t believe it. No… it’s not real. He isn’t being comforted now, of all times. Not after he’s… Not now- Not… 

   “How are your hands, Gogat? You needn’t hide such things from me… I, too, was once that explosive and volatile pup that you are now. It will pass. It will get better.”

   He sagged in his elder’s arms. What…? His heart jumped into his throat and his blood pounded in his ears. That wasn’t- He wasn’t supposed to do that! He- He should have…! What? What should Hûra have done? Gogat doesn’t even know anymore. He’s boneless, like a pup fresh out of the vat and in the shaman’s lap with his caragor resting her chin on his lanky shins. He’s- He is just tired. And disappointed in himself. But… 

   Is it truly possible that Hûra was once like him, of all uruks? Would he lie to Gogat? His eyes drift to the older uruk’s face, and he looks down and smiles at him. It’s tired- exhausted, actually- but… he’s not angry…? Hûra gently smooths down Gogat’s hair. The lad wants to cry but bottles it up. He’s a fool, he’s an embarrassment and he’s an absolute bastard. He’s done enough damage for one night… He’ll- He’ll stay awake so Master can get some rest… Gogat pets Ibranniz on her velveteen nose. The bandaging on his knuckles is tight, but grounding.    I won’t sleep. I won’t fuck up anymore… I can’t fuck it up. Not this. Not this…

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf

#middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #ocs #my ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #hurt/confort

[shadowofwar-goober]

Conversations Between Clan Members 3

“Have you noticed the differences between us all?”

Feldûsh didn’t want to answer, so he shrugged. He was a little numb by the shocking revelation that just unfolded before him. Takra- his grandfather… he really…?

“You and me? Even Gogat- were all pretty similar. And Eltoril is similar to Lûga. Hûra, Norûk, his wife and Ar- Beka? They are similar to one another.”

Well… Yeah? It felt obvious.

“Hûra is smart. He’s smart in a practical way and an emotional way. As are Ar- Beka’s children.” Hmm…

“Now, your sister and father, Lûga? Smart in a practical way. But emotionally? Not so much… Not malicious, just… They don’t get it like others do.” Huh. He’s right…

“And us? Me, you and your father, Gogat? Smart emotionally- mostly- but practically? Eh… no. We’re dumber than a sack of hammers, wouldn’t you agree?”

“…I- well- Yeah? Y-Yeah…” They are similar. They are…

“You don’t sound so sure.” Feldûsh winces.

“I- it’s not that… I just- It’s a lot to take in, I guess…” Takra hums and nods.

“Yeah, I know pup. But it’s important you understand this: no matter our similarities or differences, we simply are. Do you think that because Eltoril is a bit rough emotionally, that she’s a bad mother?”

Feldûsh was caught off guard by the question. “N-No! Of course not!” It came out without a thought. She wasn’t a bad parent! She’s at least there…

“Her child wishes she was closer, you know?“

…oh.

“And Lûga? Didn’t you wish he was more… understanding with how connected you are to the spiritual world? Like Gogat and Hùra is?“

…oh shit.

“I-I did… I do…”

“Is he a bad father-?”

“NO!”

Feldûsh sits up, shaking. Takra had twisted a nerve.

“Don’t- Don't say-“

“Why? You’re saying the same about yourself.” Feldûsh gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

“What about you?! You’ve said- Y-You’ve done-!” His breath catches in his throat.

“…didn’t you say you were shit with my father? That you were somehow worse with him? How? I really would like to know.” Takra smiles.

“So you acknowledge that I was shit with you as well, then?”

“…”

“Yeah, I was worse with Gogat, if you can believe it.” He continues on as though Feldûsh hasn’t gravely insulted him and how he raised him.

Feldûsh isn’t sure if he does believe it. He isn’t sure… what he believes right now. Takra- granddad…

No, he wasn’t a good influence. He wasn’t… all bad though. And his fathers-

Feldûsh’s stomach twists into knots. Even insinuating that either was a poor father makes rage burst forth inside of him. Did he mean what he said, though…?

His eyes burned and his throat constricted. Was he trying to hurt his grandfather for the sake of it? To protect his father’s honour? Because he’s right…?

Feldûsh did wish Lûga understood more. That he wasn’t so… scared of a shaman’s work. He really did… But he isn’t a terrible father for this. He’s never blamed any of them for their abilities. Never.

He had to sit upright and cross his arms to retain some of his dignity, lest he burst into tears. He wanted to hear what he had to say. Wanted to understand… just- Feldûsh just wants to understand his grandfather.

Though he worries he may not be able to…

@space-arsonist @sinick @elvenmoans

#Lotr #shadow of war #middle earth shadow of war #urukhai #orcs #my OCs #spacearsonist’s ocs #familial drama

[shadowofwar-goober]

Conversations Between Clan Members 4

  The final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the drama~

 “When Hûra brought Gogat to me- Shit, he hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me!” His nonchalant attitude began to irk Feldûsh, but he held his tongue. It was nearly enough to completely dampen the revelation that his father wasn’t attached to both of their hips from their first meeting. 

   “Yeah? Dad hated you? Why?” The question was half hearted. 

   “He was jealous of mine and Hûra’s relationship.” 

   Huh- 

   “Bullshit.” 

   Takra raises a brow. 

   “Oh? And how do you know that for certain?” Feldûsh grits his teeth.

   “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” He snapped. 

   “Have you ever asked your father about any of this?” 

   Wha-? 

   “Why would I?! Don’t change the subject! How do you know he was- what- ‘jealous’ of your relationship with him?!?” 

   “Feldûsh.” A warning. 

   “He would cling to Hûra any time I was near. Gogat was attached to his hip and terrified that Hûra would abandon him should he- ahh…- should he ‘not’ be good enough for Hûra’s standards.” 

   Feldûsh couldn’t imagine his father to be anything but how he is now. Confident. A bit thick. Still smart where it counts. Wise. Caring and gentle-

   “He’d spit and hiss at me all the time. If looks could kill… Yeah, I’d be dead a thousand times over. No exaggeration for once.” Takra looked down, thoughtfully. 

   “At first, I didn’t really care. Just thought Hûra would help him enough then send him on his way, like always.” Feldûsh jumped. 

   “What? You… hoped Hûra would send him away?!” It angered him. Severely. 

   “Well… yeah? He hated me, remember? And honestly… I didn’t like him very much either. Didn’t like how he always tried to hog my husband, you see? Thought he was a little homewrecker, if I’m to be honest…” Feldûsh grabbed the front of his grandfather’s shirt, pulling him forwards. 

   “DON’T- how dare you say that about him?!? You’re son-!” 

   “Feldûsh. You fucking idiot. Look at this from my perspective at the time. How would YOU feel if your girlfriends brought a man home that was all over them and who was a little bastard to YOU. Wouldn’t YOU be at least a little pissed off?”

   …

   “…yeah…” 

   “Then why are you getting fucking pissy with me then? You need to check your attitude, boy. And maybe your ears, too. Because I don’t think you’re listening to me.”

   He set his jaw and remained silent. Feldûsh was angry, but he saw the point being made. Begrudgingly. 

   “Yeah, I thought he was a homewrecker. For a long time. And it stayed hostile. Until one day, Hûra made us spend some ‘quality time’ together.”

   He chuckled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. 

   “Gogat was pissed, but he always listened to Hûra. Which pissed me off. But I always listen to him, too, so we were at an impasse. So I took him with me to a market. For that ‘quality time’.” 

   A market…

   “I’d known him for- eh- three months? He hasn’t said a word to me. Not a single word. That day though? I think we talked all damn day. Most of the night, too, actually.” 

   “Wha-? Really?” Feldûsh thinks he vaguely remembers his father speaking fondly of Takra taking him to markets when he was younger. When they both were. 

   “Yeah. It was… it was like a different uruk was with me instead of that annoying little bastard that got under my skin. He was talkative- wouldn’t shut up, really-, he knew his shit and we actually made quite the team. Me and your father. Still do.” 

   There was a fondness in his voice. Completely different from the distaste that was present when remembering him as a ‘homewrecker’. 

   “But- uh- Heh, yeah… it didn’t last. He went back to being a pest. But… hmm- I started to understand him more, I guess.” 

   “…yeah?” 

   “Yeah. And it kept up. Kept taking him out, kept getting close, but… he’d get distant again. And… it hurt me.” Feldûsh blinked. 

   “It… hurt? Why? I thought you didn’t really like him… and him you?” It didn’t seem right. They are so close… How did it change?

   “I guess I saw more of me in him than I liked…” Takra shrugged. 

   “Hard to put into words. Gogat… was so desperate to belong and to be remembered that it made me face some things about myself I didn’t want to acknowledge I guess. Like looking into a mirror. Clear and completely devastating.” He was lost in thought for a moment. As was Feldûsh. 

   “I thought I’d done a lot of growing. Asked Hûra why he was so intent on helping this pup. And… Heh… Damn it and damn him for always being better and better.” Feldûsh furrowed his brows. 

   “He wanted to do the right thing. Right his past wrongs. Thought Gogat was… fated to meet us. Was sure of it. I laughed in his face. But on the inside, I was about to panic. Because I knew he was right.” 

   “How?” 

   “A feeling. Gut feeling. Gogat… what a pest… He’d wormed his way into my heart. Into both of our hearts. Dunno, Feldûsh. Don’t know how to say… it’s- a deep bond that formed over many, many years. And many hardships. And tears. And blood. And long nights and many, many fuck ups along the way.” 

   “Too many fights. Drank too much with him. Smoked too much pipeweed. Didn’t moderate any. Fought too much… Hûra cried when we came back late one night. That’s when we started to shape up. A little… Not responsible at all.” Takra sounded disappointed with himself. Feldûsh thought for a moment. 

   He did those things with him, too. But he mostly watched over him. They made Hûra cry. They made him cry… Feldûsh visibly sagged. 

   “Why are you telling me this…? What’s- What's the point…?“ Takra sighed. 

   “You really are your father’s son, you know that? And my grandson, for that matter.” He shook his head. 

   “Feldûsh, I’m tell you that we all are fuck ups in our own ways. You think we’re perfect? Your father can’t always hear or see like we do. And your other father can’t sleep laying down, just like Hûra, who still can’t go to the meat market without either having a panic attack or a dry heaving fit. Eltoril has her problems with her children, as do we with our sons. And just as you do with your own. Stop putting us up on a pedestal, out of reach. We’re your family you fucking idiot. We love you and we’re proud of you. Always. Don’t hide us away like this. Especially from your own family…” 

   His grandfather’s voice trailed off. He looked away as his eyes began to water. Feldûsh scooted closer and wrapped his arms around his neck.

   “I- I-“ Takra hugged him back. 

   “I’m a fuck up too. It’s okay, Feldûsh. I don’t know what the future will hold, but please don’t do this anymore. Your children will hate you. And you’re pushing us all away like we’re cruel to you.” His breath catches in his throat. 

   “… are we..?” Feldûsh shakes his head, eyes stinging. 

   “NO! No no no NO! Never! …never… I just…” He sniffles, resting his cheek on his grandfather’s shoulder. 

   “…I'm nowhere good enough…” Takra shakes his head, tightening his grip around him. 

   “Not true. Not true, Feldûsh not true at all… You try so hard-“ 

   “…not enough-“

   “Bullshit.”

   “…” 

   “You are enough. You’ve fucked up. Do something about it. Make it right because it’s the right thing to do, and expect to be spit in the face in return. They have a right to be angry. We all have a right to be angry. You’re an adult. A father. It’s time to act like one.” 

   He’s right. He’s so right… Feldûsh fights back tears. 

   “Stop holding back. You need to take responsibility, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. We’re all here to support you. But only you can do what’s right. Don’t forget that…” 

   Feldûsh broke into a sob. He was scared. He still is scared. But he’s not alone. His grandfather- Takra- he’s… His father… both of them, and even Hûra… 

   He’s distanced himself from them. Made it out like they are legends and not the uruks that raised him. That played with him in the dirt. That let him sneak out and smoke pipeweed and drink and do dumb shit as a kid. As a teen. That they didn’t do those things, too… that they never fucked up once in their lives. 

   It’s not true. They were always honest, but shielded him from the ugly truth of the world. From their trauma. He… What has he done…? So much damage has been done… He needs to be honest and make it right. Expect to be spit in the face… He deserves it. But as terrified as he is, he will do it. Maybe he needs to build up his courage, but he will. For his family. His clan. All of them… 

   “T-There’s one other thing…” 

   Feldûsh swallows a hiccup. 

   “Hûra- Heh- he gives the best advice, y-you know? Know what he said when we were young? When I was a real fuck up?” 

   Feldûsh looked up at his grandfather. 

   “If you want to love me, then you need to love yourself first.”

   Takra smiled and wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

   “Best advice ever given to me. Love yourself, Feldûsh. You’re worth it. And others are deserving of your love, too…”

@space-arsonist @sinick @elvenmoans

#lotr #shadow of war #middle earth shadow of war #urukhai #uruk ocs #my ocs #spacearsonist’s ocs #familial drama #closure

[shadowofwar-goober]

The Shaman and the Bard Ch. 19- To Khagukhôr

Hûra hasn't left his new clan for months, maybe years so when he was informed that he would be leaving for several months, he could only feel apprehension and dread as he wondered what exactly his Mystic elders wanted of him. Though it wasn't the only thing that Hûra dreaded, as traveling with the lead elder's favourite, Zog, was leading the caravan to the fort and Hûra didn't know if he could stand a weeks worth of travel around the uruk, let alone months of working side by side...

Warnings: Manipulation, Idk if what's going on between Zog and Hûra is Workplace Harassment or Bullying, Some Graphic Descriptions, Vomiting

xxx

Hûra stood uncomfortably before the Mystic elders. Most of them he had become… acquainted with long after he was brought to Seregost though there was one that he recognized from the day that he was sold to them in Cirith Ungol. Of them all, Hûra feared him the most, knowing that he was the one that picked him up and that he was the one that decided that his worth was only a few kegs of grog… He kept his head down and picked at his fingernails, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the elder looked him up and down. 

“Whatever is the matter, my boy? Stand up straight so we can look at you.” He tilted Hûra’s chin up so he would face them. His orange-red eyes darted between them all, uncertain of where exactly he should look. 

Instead of saying anything, Hûra held his tongue. As much as he wanted to ask why he was there, he feared punishment for speaking out of turn. Much like the Dark tribe, the Mystics ran on fear and if the young didn’t fear the old then the balance of the clan would be ruined. Or that is what the elders believe. The elder released Hûra’s chin, stepping back so the younger uruk was standing alone before the five of them. Hûra’s off white robes didn’t fit his thin frame very well. He was on the skinny side from never getting the rations he needed to grow but he had already grown used to having little to eat. He had to keep shrugging his shoulders to prevent his robes from slipping off his body. 

“Do you know why we have called for you?” The elder’s voice was smooth but there was a hint of something sinister underneath his pleasant demeanor. Hûra could never place it and it made his skin crawl.

“No sir…” Hûra shook his head. His braided hair fell over one of his shoulders and he shrugged it off. He picked at his sore, cracked lips with his teeth.

“Do not fear, you are not in any trouble.” Hûra looked up at him, watching as he walked over to the hearth where a fire was burning hotly. The building where the elders reside is the warmest place in the covenant but most of the young pups and novice and intermediate necromancers weren’t allowed inside unless they were invited. Hûra was barely novice so it was very unusual that he was allowed in, much less requested by name from one of the highest ranking elders in the clan.

“Kûga- '' Another elder looked over to the hearth, looking slightly annoyed, if not completely aggravated, to be called in for a meeting before a mere pup. Kûga looked over to him, smiling slightly.

“What? Do you doubt the choice I have made?” Choice? What choice? The elder that spoke up closed his mouth and set his jaw. He crossed his arms and glared at Hûra as though he had done something to offend him.

“Hûra, I believe that we haven’t been terribly fair to you since you have become a part of our clan.” Kûga had taken Hûra completely aback. What…? Did- Did he really mean that? Hûra carefully watched the elder’s expression and body language, keeping his face purposefully blank as he did so. 

“What do you mean, sir?” Hûra blinked as Kûga turned to face him fully, hands behind his back. Hûra didn’t waver as he stepped closer to him but he did prepare himself for a possible strike. It wouldn’t be the first time that it would happen for little reason and it wouldn’t be the last if it were the case. To his surprise, Kûga neither struck him nor invaded his personal space, though he did tower over the pup, making him feel small and anxious.

“You are a very gifted young uruk, Hûra. True, you may not be a gifted necromancer…” Kûga took a step closer and Hûra held his breath, almost flinching as the elder placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment from the boy, Hûra knowing full well that the Mystic prized necromancy over all other practices. He was still ambivalent towards the elder, not certain as to what the purpose of this meeting was. 

“...but you are a gifted osteomancer.” Kûga squeezed Hûra’s shoulder, his sharp nails digging into his skin. Hûra didn’t waver as he spoke though his heart did start pounding in his chest upon hearing the compliment. He knew better than to let it get to him but still he couldn’t help but to bask in the praise at least a little bit. 

“And as a gifted osteomancer, it would be wrong to deprive you of your birth right.” Kûga released his shoulder and brought his arm back to his side. Hûra’s eyes followed his arm, feeling more on edge after so many nice things being said to him. There is something for the elders to gain by flattering him and Hûra wasn’t sure exactly what that would be. Did they want him to read his bones for them, or was it something else? Hûra said nothing, waiting for his elder to continue. 

“We have all decided-” Kûga gestured to the older uruks around him. They all looked annoyed to a degree, some more so than others and even more looking dispassionate about the situation. Hûra doubted very much they had anything to do with this ‘decision’ but still he kept silent.

“-that you would benefit from some more… exploratory lessons.” Hûra was genuinely taken aback and unable to stay silent any longer.

“Excuse me, sir?” He blinked rapidly, struggling to keep his heart at bay. Kûga almost seemed pleased with this reaction, something that greatly set Hûra on edge. 

“There is a group of experienced necromancers that will be traveling to Khagukhôr. You know where that is, yes?” Hûra nodded hesitantly. 

“The… great fortress of Seregost.” Kûga nodded.

“And… who is the overlord of Khagukhôr?” Hûra blinked blankly and Kûga stared at him expectantly. 

“I do not know, sir.” The elder quirked a brow.

“Oh? Is that so?” Hûra stared back at him, unwavering and unflinching. 

“Yes, sir. I have never been taught who the overlord of the region is.” Hûra wasn’t lying when saying this. He blinked again as Kûga’s gaze lingered on him for an uncomfortable amount of time. When he still didn’t flinch he nodded and relaxed his posture. 

“Very well. Your peers will inform you on this on your journey to the stronghold. Be sure to mind them well and treat them with the respect you show to us, your true elders.”

“Yes sir.”

Hûra was sweating by the time he was dismissed. It was easy to cover up, as he was so close to the fire and he was unaccustomed to the warmth it provided but he greatly disliked how Kûga kept a close eye on him up until he closed the door behind him. Hûra didn’t dislike lying, especially to elders, but what he truly disliked was being grilled by an elder that seemed to know much more than he let on. 

Did he know that Hûra knew? How would he know that Hûra was a chronic eavesdropper, especially with how careful he was? Hûra didn’t believe that Kûga knew outright that he had a tendency to snoop but he likely didn’t trust him due to his origins in the Dark tribe. What if he chose him for that very reason? Hûra had to stop his thoughts from spiraling out of control. He hasn’t felt any excitement from the announcement that he would be traveling outside of the covenant for the first time in… what? Months? A year? Longer? Hûra couldn’t feel anything other than lingering dread and anxiety from the entire ordeal, though, his brothers would be the ones to make up for his lack of enthusiasm. 

“You’re leavin’ the covenant, brother! Why do you look so fuckin’ miserable for?!” Skoth was playfully shaking and pushing Hûra, who couldn’t look more worried and uncertain if he put genuine effort into it. 

“I-I don’t- OOF-!” Hûra was cut off as Mogg wrapped his arms around Hûra’s neck from behind.

“Can you at least try to be excited for this?! It looks like you’re starting to move up in the world-!”

“Don’t say that…”

“What?! Why?!” Hûra understood why Mogg and Skoth were happy for him but Hûra couldn’t feel anything other than sheer dread at the thought of catching that elder’s eye. He’s sure his brothers would understand why he feels this way if he explained it to them… but he doesn’t have any solid reason as to why he is paranoid. Not yet, anyway… 

“I-I just- Ah, I don’t know…” Hûra was losing steam and he allowed his shoulders to sag. Mogg was leaning over him and nearly laying on top of his back, pouting as he looked at Hûra from the corners of his eyes. 

“...I will be fine, Mogg. Don’t worry.” Hûra smiled a little, but it was a little disingenuous. They all certainly noticed this but they let it go. Hûra didn’t want to sour the mood but he couldn’t hide his anxieties well, either. 

“Why’re you goin’ out there? What’d they want with you?” Skoth rocked back and forth on the rock he was seated on. The wind was cold and he found it difficult to sit still even warm and satisfied. Hûra shrugged a little, chewing on one of his nails nervously. 

“They said… something about my osteomancy.” This piqued their interests. The Mystics only cared for necromancers for the most part. For them to show interest in anything else was unusual and never without particular, if not totally nefarious, reasons. 

“Really? ‘s weird…” Mogg rested his chin on Hûra’s shoulder thoughtfully. Skoth nodded in agreement. The four of them were trapped in an uneasy silence until Fûbar spoke up.

“...perhaps it is for monetary reasons.” The three of them turn to face him, a little surprised but not towards the wisdom of his words, merely the suddenness of his observation. 

“Y-Yeah… That makes sense…” Mogg sucked on his teeth and released Hûra. Hûra sighed softly as his shoulders sagged.

Of course it was only because they could get something out of him… 

It was difficult not to be sour over this revelation. Hûra was already feeling dread since Kûga was the one that decided he was to go to Khagukhôr with more experienced necromancers. Not only that, Hûra was almost certain that he knew who would be the one to lead this group to the fortress, and if he was right, it would mean that the next few weeks of his life would be hell. Or at least a different variant of hell than it already was. 

The dark black robe that wa\s slipped over his head by an older Mystic was nearly two sizes too big for him but he was shoved out of the way regardless. Hûra was surprised that they would allow him to wear the garb of an experienced Mystic, that they would want someone like him to be associated with their colours but maybe it was for yet another reason that was beyond his understanding. There was surely a grander scheme at play, though Hûra was largely ignorant to this at least for now. He knew to keep quiet and to simply follow whatever course of action was dictated for him by his superiors but it would be difficult, given that he was placed in charge. 

“Hmph-” Yellow-green eyes glare at Hûra as he walks towards a group of uruks slightly older than he is. 

They are all dressed in black, as he is, though their robes fit them much better and it’s clear that they were fitted to them specifically, unlike Hûra’s, whose robes were clearly loaned to him by a likely unwilling or ignorant uruk. Standing side by side with these older uruks, Hûra was close to many of them in height, some were taller than he was, some were shorter, their rank was apparent due to both their robes and the haughty air that was about them all as they turned their noses up at him with a sneer. 

“So the little misfit finally decides to grace us with his presence.” There was no mistaking that voice for anyone else. It was grating on the ears and Hûra was already frowning and on edge from it. 

Zog… 

“If I had it my way, we would have left you and been a quarter of the way to Khagukhôr already.” He narrowed his eyes at Hûra.

“Dimwit.” 

Hûra hopes that Zog’s face sticks on that stupid expression for the rest of his life. He was simply insufferable. Zog thinks he’s the greatest gift that has ever graced the land of Mordor but he was just like the rest of the Mystics that are in too deep, only he actually seems to believe the shrakh that he and that serpent Kûga spouts about during every morning and evening congregation. 

The other Mystics snickered at Hûra as his ears began to darken. Some things always remain the same, even if the faces and voices mocking him are different. He only swallowed thickly and exhaled through his nose. Hûra set his jaw and stared at Zog expectantly, who merely glared right back at him.

Zog was unpleasant on the eyes, sharp, yellow eyes set into sharp, angular features that didn’t compliment a single aspect of himself. He was free of any scarring on his face or his hands, unlike Hûra and his own brothers, who all had lived hard lives before being sold to the Mystics. Zog was a favorite since birth and this was evident in how he addresses others and carries himself. His hair was well kept and shiny red though interlaced with heavy greying, always in a neat braid and tied with a fine, black fabric far nicer than Hûra has ever dreamed of having himself. Zog’s robes weren’t like the ones that Hûra wore, clearly new and tailored specifically for him and his abnormally long torso and thin, scrawny frame. It wasn’t threadbare nor was it patched together, almost as nice as the robes the elders, themselves, wear on a daily basis. He looked down at Hûra from behind his flattened nose, diverting his attention from the younger uruks to the other, older ones. 

“If there are no more lollygaggers then we will take our leave.” 

Unlike the other, older uruks, Hûra was responsible for his own pack. He carried it over his shoulders with little effort, as he had very little to take with him. Everything he owned was long since confiscated from him and everything he did take was loaned to him, not actually his own, personal belongings. They were all expected to ride on caragor back, Hûra included. The other uruks had fine beasts of varying sizes but similar heath states, other than Zog, of course, who had a beast that was dark of pelt and that had thick, wooly fur and a broad back. It was a handsome beast, unlike Hûra’s, who was a tiny, scrawny thing that had patchy fur and a wheeze that was accompanied by the occasional wet cough. Hûra knew all these beasts moderately well, since he and his brothers, especially Skoth, often spent time in and around the caragor pens as a means to both pass the time and to stay out of trouble. His Feral brother had been complaining about the beast’s ailing health for months but it was all discarded, just like everything else they had ever tried telling their seniors. The other uruks thought this to be a great slight to Hûra, that his vanity was as deep and rich as theirs was but unbeknownst to them, the beast recognized him and perked up as Hûra offered his hand for it to sniff. 

“Here, take my pack-” Hûra flinched and fumbled as a bag was tossed towards him. He scowled and nudged it away with his foot.

“I won’t carry it.” The older uruk stared at him, almost shocked that he dared to speak to him at all, let alone to back talk to him. 

“What did you just say?” Hûra made a face.

“I will not carry it nor will the beast.” His caragor was already winded and trembling from effort and he wasn’t even upon its back. The uruk again looked at Hûra, still surprised but visibly annoyed. 

“You will take it.” Hûra curled his lip in irritation. 

“If you do not take it back up, it will be left behind.” And with that, he climbed a top of his beast, careful to not put too much strain onto it at once and brought it to heel as it shifted awkwardly. Hûra made his way to the other Mystics that were already mounted onto their beasts, leaving behind the older uruk staring dumbly at the caragor’s dry and cracked feet as it hobbled away.

If they expected Hûra and his beast to carry all of their packs, they were mistaken. It would be physically possible and surely they knew this… It wouldn’t prevent the lot of them from becoming irritated with Hûra for denying them a chance to haze him but Hûra didn’t really care. He had to knot his fingers into his beast’s balding mane and hold on tightly to its sides with his legs as it trembled underneath his weight. The other uruks and caragors inched away from him and looked disgusted at the pathetic creature underneath him. 

“Are you quite finished yet, dimwit?” Zog sneered at Hûra. He wasn’t even the one that was the last to join the group… Hûra kept his face neutral and relaxed his grip on the beast’s mangy hair, lest he accidentally rip out the little that remained on its withers. 

“The journey to Khagukhôr will be arduous but we will not stop should one of you fall behind.” The way Zog stared at him made Hûra’s blood boil. He didn’t waver from Zog’s gaze and the older uruk didn’t take his eyes off of him as he continued to speak. 

“We will arrive within the week.” Hûra narrowed his eyes.

This poor beast will be pushed to the brink of death… Hûra patted it on the side of its neck and it lifted its head at the contact. Without saying another word, Zog kicked his beast in the side and it took off at a brisk pace. All the Mystics followed Zog, pushing ahead of Hûra and his struggling beast. He expected that they would force him to the back but he was surprised they made him the last link in their caravan. The uruk that tried to force his bag onto Hûra glared at him as he passed him, spitting as others followed at his heels. Hûra curled his lip and settled into the back of the line. 

His crows were the only true company that Hûra had during that long journey. And the caragor, of course. It was such an ugly little thing but Hûra preferred it over any of these uruks without a doubt. They pretended as though he didn’t exist, leaving him out of their discussions and not answering any of his questions whenever he posed them.

“What do you think I am? A vatkeeper? I will not be your wetnurse, dimwit!” And when Hûra asked him what a ‘wetnurse’ was, Zog curled his lip at him and shoved him out of the way.

Full of shrakh bastard…

A week has never felt so long and grueling… Even in the harsh, wet chill of Cirith Ungol, Hûra was able to entertain himself and find at least a fleeting measure of comfort in her caves but here, surrounded by Mystics that couldn’t give less of a damn about him? It was difficult… He didn’t have his brothers at his side, always making sure that he was okay, that he was eating enough ,that he was sleeping in spite of not taking the draught that made them all sleep long and deep at night, that he wasn’t sad and that he smiled at least once throughout the day… All Hûra had were his crows and the caragor and even then, the other Mystics found reason to be gravely annoyed with Hûra. 

“Stop-! Stop it-!” One of his seniors, Flogg, seemed to particularly hate the crows that followed them throughout their journey. While they all swatted the birds away and occasionally threw something at them, Flogg became more and more incensed as the crows slowly began to realize that most of the Mystics generally bluffed when they tried to do them harm. 

Not Flogg, though.

He had his spear in hand and he was contemplating on which bird looked to be the easiest target. To say he was shocked when Hûra grabbed the butt of his spear and yanked it out of his hand would be an understatement. The pup had been a wallflower since he arrived in Seregost those few years ago and he had never spoken out against anyone in the clan, especially those that held even a trace of power in their grasp. But now? He threw Flogg’s spear to the ground, gritting his teeth and glaring at him with enough intensity to make the older uruk shrink away before he had the mind to square his shoulders against his junior. 

“Do not lay a finger on my crows!” Hûra’s tone dripped with venom and he took a step towards the older uruk. Older… but not bigger. Hûra had grown substantially since his arrival in Seregost and he stood taller than many in their Mystic clan and this was true for Flogg as well. When standing straight, he could only look at Hûra’s neckline and even then, when he wishes, the younger uruk could make himself even bigger and more intimidating from the sheer weight of his gaze alone.

“W-Wha-? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, pup-!” Flogg’s body twitched as Hûra leaned over him.

“Don’t fucking touch my crows.” 

They were less than a day’s ride from Khagukhôr but they were all ready to tear each other’s heads off. Or, at least it was Hûra wanting to maul his companions to death and vice versa. They couldn’t stand each other as it was and tempers were running higher than ever, especially now that Hûra was no longer feeling pressured to behave in a docile fashion since his precious crows were threatened. 

“They are just fucking birds! Pests-!” Flogg raised an arm and Hûra swatted it away before he had the opportunity to strike first. 

“They are mine-!” Hûra was grabbed from behind and pulled backwards onto the ground.

“Shut the fuck up you dimwits!” Zog brushed his hand on his cloak as though touching Hûra was offensive and dirty. He looked disgusted at not just Hûra, but Flogg as well. 

“Have you forgotten that the crebain are precious servants to our Dark Lord.” Hûra growled under his breath and locked his jaw. 

Not his flock-

“And have you-” Zog turned to look at Hûra, still seated on the ground with his arm pulled over his mouth to hide the growing aggression that was becoming apparent on his face. 

“-forgotten your place as a junior and a novice?” Zog narrowed his eyes and Hûra glared up at him. When he tried to rise to his feet, Zog shoved him back down with the flat of his boot.

“Well?” Hûra narrowed his eyes.

“I have not forgotten.” Zog lowers his foot.

“Good.”

Zog leaves Hûra on the snow-covered ground, seething and gritting his teeth with enough force that he feared they would crack. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth, until he became steady once more. The crows now kept their distance but they did not abandon him like Flogg had wished them to. 

He still isn’t alone… 

Hûra already wished he was back in the covenant, with his brothers, where his crows could be at peace… Anger and shame burned his cheeks as they continued on caragor back, his beast beginning to struggle to the point that Hûra was nearly on the cusp of jumping off its back to save it the strain of his weight. 

It’s only a little further, right…? 

A rancid smell hit Hûra’s nose before they entered an uruk-hewn valley. He curled his lip as his nose twitched, the smell at first a possible carcass that has been long dead and on the side of the trail or in one of the many outposts that dotted the way to the stronghold, but when a light breeze suddenly picked up, Hûra instantly doubled over and began to gag.

“URK-”

He nearly fell off his caragor as he leaned over, vomiting up the little rations that he had for the remaining day’s trek. It was a swift onset that left him gagging and dry heaving even long after his stomach was emptied of its meager contents. Hûra’s traveling companions all turn on their beasts and stop, their faces all a mix of disgust and sympathetically nauseous as they watch the younger uruk struggle to right his position on his mangy caragor’s back.

“U-Ugh- O-Ouug-”

“What the fuck’s your problem?” One of the older members of their caravan asked as Hûra tried and failed to stop himself from gagging repeatedly.”

“S-Smeee- E-Ehhh-” Speaking was difficult and his stomach was now cramping involuntarily. Zog scowled at him and snapped at him when he didn’t collect himself quickly enough for his liking. 

“What’s that? Speak up! What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Hûra tried to pinch his nose but it did nothing to lessen the smell of fresh and decaying gore that assaulted his sense of smell. He could taste it in his mouth and Hûra’s eyes were watering as he spat a mouthful of sick onto the dirtied snow.

“...’ell. T-The… s-smell…” The uruks looked at him, annoyed and confused. Hûra was beginning to get annoyed, himself.

“...you lot cannot smell that?!” Hûra nearly forgot that his nose was special and a rarity in Mordor. Even if he could smell a carcass from over a mile away, surely something that overpowering couldn’t be missed, even to dull-noses like them. But they all looked around, some tasting the air intentionally, something that made Hûra’s body ache with disgust but Zog just stared at him with that aggravating look that he always wore.  

“What are you talking about? There is nothing on the wind!” Hûra couldn't stop his eyes from watering. 

“Yes, there is. What is in the surrounding outposts? The fortress? Death in all stages surrounds this place.” Hûra stated it as a fact because it was. He was never told who was the overlord of Khagukhôr, or what going-ons happened there or in any of the surrounding outposts. Whenever he asked, he was turned away and ridiculed for his ignorance, or his stupidity, rather. Zog’s face didn’t waver as he stared at Hûra, almost testing to see if he would doubt his own senses when a senior uruk tells him otherwise. When Hûra doesn’t back down, when he asks, again, what tribe was in control of the fortress Zog tells him curtly-

“Hoshgrish the Scar-Artist, of the Terror tribe holds Khagukhôr.” Ahh…

Yes, things make sense now.

Hûra has only heard terrible things about the Terrors, most of which have come from Mogg, having been born into the tribe. Perhaps most of it was due to his gift, hemomancy, and being surrounded by so much blood had him reeling, much like how Hûra reeled during and after dinner while he was surrounded by bones. Mogg, like him and his other brothers, weren’t typical uruks and they all struggled to fit into the roles that have already been defined for them since before they were born. A tribe so focused on pain and suffering, of others and oneself, made Hûra nauseous to even consider but now that he has truly caught a whiff of it?

He is dreading coming any closer to that dreaded fortress. 

“If you are quite finished with the… theatrics.” Zog’s voice cut through Hûra’s thoughts and grated on his already frayed nerves. Zog kicked his caragor’s side and the beast snarled as it turned on its heel. The other uruks were following suit, with only one Mystic allowing his gaze to linger on Hûra’s pained face before he turned around as well. 

“Hrmm…” 

Hûra had nothing left to vomit by the time they arrived at Khagukhôr’s gates. He had thought that the Terrors were in control of the fortress but Hûra wasn’t sure if they were still in control when he was summoned in front of his elders. Overlords change like the violent weather in Mordor and there’s no telling if this Hoshgrish has been in power very long at all, especially given that Zog and his gang was on their way to flatter him as a means to gain more power for the Mystics.

Gods, that fort-

To say it was garish would be an understatement. Hûra never fully believed Mogg whenever he told stories about the terrible living conditions under the Terrors and how utterly disgusting they were in keeping the dying and long dead on display in all manner and fashion of pain and suffering. The gates had scarcely closed behind him and already he was totally overwhelmed with the smell, sound and sight of torture. Hûra was on edge as the Mystics pulled their caragors to a halt. He did not know what he was expected to do after they arrived at the fortress. The elder, Kûga, merely said that this was an ‘exploratory lesson’, whatever that was supposed to mean. Zog and the older Mystics in his caravan all made a point to ignore any questions he posed, taking great pleasure in seeing him grow more and more uncomfortable as they drew closer to the fort. Now that they were at their intended destination, Hûra awkwardly followed their lead as they dismounted, standing beside his poor beast that was trembling so violently that he nearly thought it would keel over at a mildly strong breeze. 

“We are departing for the keep.” Zog’s tone was matter of fact and Hûra didn’t know if he was speaking to him directly or to the group as a whole. 

The other Mystics followed Zog as he walked away from his beasts, several uruks hurrying over to take them to their pens. All of them looked beyond annoyed and they glared at Hûra. Though… the more he observed him, the less he believed they were targeting him solely. They all made a face as they watched the black-clad Mystics walk away and they viewed Hûra with weary suspicion, being a stranger and one from a group that they had every right to be distrustful of anyone wearing the colours of Sauron’s devotees. 

“Not you, pup.” Hûra scowled.

“What.” He wasn’t asking. Hûra couldn’t demand anything of his seniors but it wouldn’t stop him from dancing along that thin line. Zog looked over his shoulder, not quite irate but he was bordering on incensed. 

“Do you seriously believe that someone like you would ever be welcomed inside the fortress proper?” Hûra’s face fell though he wasn’t quite frowning. He was annoyed but said nothing else.

“Go do whatever it is that ‘osteomancy’ requires of you. Play with carcasses or whatever the hell it is you do in your spare time.” Hûra could feel his blood rising in his neck. 

“You already know the reason for your presence. Just don’t forget that anything you collect is not yours but the covenant’s.” Hûra was left standing in the snowy, muddy entrance where the caragors still stood, some bristling slightly as strange uruks approached them while the sickly one that Hûra rode in on hobbled over to him and nudged him with his balding muzzle. Instead of feeling anger for being left behind, Hûra felt a small amount of relief. 

“Come-” He tapped his caragor on the nose and it followed on his heels, the other beasts filing in behind the others with a little sharp encouragement on Hûra’s part.

“Where?” One of the uruks that came to take the beasts looked a little surprised that Hûra was addressing him.

“E-Eh?” Hûra turned to look at him. Instantly, all of their faces became weary as they looked into his eyes, but they seemed to hesitate as they weren’t sure what he was asking of them.

“The beasts. Where do they go?” One of the uruk’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“I-It’s… I’ll show you-” Hûra nodded and waited for him to take the lead. He didn’t move immediately, but when Hûra remained silent and waiting, he awkwardly shuffled forward. Hûra followed behind him, flanked by the beasts that seemed to be more loyal to him than their original riders.

@space-arsonist, @elvenmoans, @sinick, @dirtymeanuruk, @boozy-dwarf

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of mordor #shadow of war #uruks #my ocs #some graphic description #vomiting #Zog and Hûra have something going on and it's toxic af #spacearsonist's oc

[mara-xx217]

Bonds Formed (SoW fic)

It started terribly, but it could turn into something special.

Warnings: Wounds and Wound Care, Delusions, Recreational Drug Use

    Fear is what gave him the courage to fight back, but fear is also what is now staying his hand. Gogat couldn’t keep what was real and what was imaginary in check. No matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t not see a terrible beast crouching just ahead and to the side of him. Gogat remembered all the stories that his clan would tell pups, as warnings to a possibly horrific fate of unending torment. The long, black hair, fair skin, piercing eyes and- oh shrakh- those claws… If that wasn’t an elf perched in front of him, then he didn’t know what was.

   The right side of Gogat’s face throbbed and ached. It was warm- somehow warmer than the rest of his feverish body- and every few seconds his eye would twitch painfully and uncontrollably. He was able to keep his mouth shut and hide his pain well enough, but that… elf has keen fucking sight and seemed to always know the moment that things were becoming unbearable for the uruk. Once again, he rose to his terrible height. Gogat’s heart dropped before skyrocketing between his ears. His eyes… oh shrakh! Gogat’s eyes were jumping between the elf’s and his claws… Fuck- those claws… C-Coming closer to his f-face…! 

   Again! He’s trying to shove something down his throat again!! It takes every fiber of Gogat’s being to clench his jaw shut and clumsily raise his arms in a pathetic attempt to fend off his attacker. So many different and terrible possibilities raced through his mind: was he being poisoned? he was, wasn’t he?! is he going to die? oh fuck is this fucking elf going to steal his breath?! He was already becoming lightheaded from holding his breath. There was a long and drawn out hiss that escaped from the elf’s maw as he sat back onto his haunches.

   “I-”

   “NO! You a-aren’t turning ME into an elf, y-you DAEMON!” 

   …

   …well, that was certainly something Hûra wasn’t expecting to hear today of all days. The fear was so poignant and frankly bizarre, he was at a loss of both words and actions. Turning him into an… elf…? He’s never heard something so ridiculous in his entire life! But… wait. That dialect… No, he simply misheard, or rather, heard something he wanted to hear. The lad was hysterical and could barely be understood. At this rate, he’s going to reopen his wounds… again. Hûra’s face dropped as he sighed once more. “I’m sorry, Gogat. I hope you can forgive me later…”

   He needed the pain relief; it wasn’t in question and it wasn’t debatable. Gogat was weak enough that Hûra had little trouble in fending off his feeble attempts in pushing him away and managed to pry his mouth open and place the herbal medicine deep enough down his throat that when he quickly removed his fingers, the lad had no choice but to swallow out of sheer reflex. An uneasy knot formed in his stomach as the pup coughed and immediately attempted to shove his own fingers down his throat to either dig out the “poison” or force himself to vomit. No amount of begging would make him stop, so Hûra firmly but gently grasped his arms and softly hushed him and pleaded for him to calm down. Whatever fight was in him quickly died, and Gogat began to quietly sob and shake. 

   The extensive care that he needed far exceeded beyond that of pure physical healing. There was a lot of damage, but it wasn’t right to say that the pup was wrong. He had moments of cluttered hysteria, seeing and hearing things that weren’t accurate to reality. Most of the delusions centered around Hûra, himself, being a perceived threat- usually an elf that wants to turn him into an… elf? Or that he wants to poison him. Or steal his breath. Truly odd things… It was exhausting to tend to him… but Gogat still had moments of lucidity, and in those moments, slowly but surely, Hûra was forming an unsteady bond with him, and the delusions became less and less violent, as well as Gogat’s reactions to them.

   Ibranniz had become rather close with the lad, taking to laying at his side or even on his person if he can handle the contact. She’s always a soothing presence, even to Hûra. And it’s no wonder that she’s attracted to him… Gogat was absentmindedly stroking her side as she lounged at his side. At first, he was terrified to touch her; not because she was a caragor, but because she was a dire. He at first did it in secret, scared of the scolding and inevitable punishment that he would receive. But… that punishment never came. And when he actually smiled when catching his caragor laying on top of Gogat? It did put him at ease, even just a little bit. In the haze of the pain of his face, there was another. Nausea and a deep rooted ache curled his toes and made writhing in pain nearly impossible. And with his now rapidly approaching headache on the horizon, Gogat felt like he was about to lose his fucking mind. And him smoking that pipeweed really wasn’t fucking helping at all. 

   “A-Ah- Um, s-sir…?” Oh fuck he’s gonna puke. Under different circumstances, Gogat wouldn’t dare to ask anything of Hûra; not only because he wasn’t in a position to do so, but because he was truly grateful to him despite the lingering fear he still feels towards him. Hûra was sitting far enough away that the smoke was barely noticeable, but even that was too much for Gogat who was already in the throes of withdrawal. Hûra turned his head, worry already knitting his brow as Gogat struggled to a seated position. 

   “What is it? Are you in pain?” Well… yeah? No shit… 

   “Urk… Uh- Hrmm… y-yeah but… I- uh, I’d- fucks sake- I need a s-smoke…” Gogat wiped his sweaty palms onto Ibranniz’s coat. She didn’t seem to mind much at all, though. The caragor is a grounding presence- one that he’s thankful for, given how he feels like he’s suffering from vertigo and that his head was about to fucking explode. He didn’t expect much- hell, he didn’t really expect anything at all- but to his surprise, Hûra got up without a word of complaint and offered him his pipe. His very own pipe… 

   “Go ahead, lad. Have your fill and worry not for me.” 

   Gogat didn’t think he heard him right. When the pipe wasn’t immediately retracted, he dumbly took it up between twitching and trembling fingers. The herb was still warm and smoldering in the pipe. Gogat focuses on it until his unbandaged eye stings and his injured one throbs with an intensity that nearly makes him swoon. This was his- was Hûra’s- own pipe, his own pipeweed… Yet he was giving it to Gogat. And then he smiled, gently placing his hand on the lad’s shoulder before stepping away, giving him some space. 

   He didn’t ask anything of Gogat, merely reminded him “Should you still not feel well, I shall give you something for your pain.” That is all. He… he just didn’t understand. How long has it been since he felt… this? Not since- N-Not since… 

   …

   It was sweet and light, but still somehow flavorful. Between tears and hiccuped sobs, Gogat’s trembling body and throbbing headache became less because of his withdrawals, and more from the overwhelming emotions he was feeling. He was wrong about this el- NO!- about this uruk. For the first time since he’s quite literally ran face first into this uruk, Gogat can see him with both clear eyes- er, eye?- and a clear mind:

   Hûra was no monster. His face was soft, but it had depth, weariness around the eyes. Around his soul… He could have left him to die- could have killed him outright! …but he didn’t. Hûra dealt with his shrakh and his outbursts and his attempts to maim him, and asked for nothing in return. “I want you better. That’s what you can do for me.” Even after he was finished, Gogat couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word. He is a coward, unable to look his elder in the eye and say “Thank you for saving my life, sir. What can I do to repay you?” He was scared of the answer, yet strangely enough Gogat was becoming more terrified of the prospect of parting ways with the shaman. 

   He must regain his strength and heal as quickly as possible. The longer his consciousness lingers, the more desperate his desire to earn his favour and somehow repay this debt, not out of obligation, but out of a want to strengthen the bond that was beginning to form between the two of them. Instead of speaking of when or how Gogat will go about his business alone, Hûra speaks as though he truly wishes for the lad to remain by his side!    Ibranniz has long since forced Gogat onto his back, pinning him in place without outright crushing him. Unfortunately for him, lamenting and bitching and moaning won’t rush along his healing, no matter how much he wishes it to be so. So he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the thrumming of his heart and the specks of hope that have begun to sprout somewhere in his chest. Both exhausted and wide awake, Gogat can’t stop his mind from racing with thoughts both fair and foul. Still, he hopes against hope that this time- this time- it would be different. That it would end- no, wait… He doesn’t want this to end. Not yet…

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf

#middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #uruk ocs #my oc #spacearsonist's oc #finally some angst with a happy ending

[mara-xx217]

First Meeting (SoW fic)

He literally tripped over the uruk that had the most impact on his former master's life. If that's not fate, then what is?

Gogat belongs to @space-arsonist and Hûra belongs to me :)

Warnings: Blood and Infected Injury, Trauma and PTSD, Emotional Turmoil, the Start of a Life-Long Relationship

   The rain was unexpected, but it aided in Hûra’s hunt. His movements were deafened and his scent wouldn’t carry on the wind nearly as well as when it was completely dry. He was lucky in regards to how well trained Ibranniz was in the art of the hunt; staying far enough away to not interfere, but remaining close enough to hear his commands should the need arise. As cold as he was becoming, Hûra managed to swallow his shivers and remained focused on the caragor in a small break in the underbrush. They were small, but not completely starved. Perhaps he wouldn’t get much from them, but he needed the furs… And he could always sell the… meat to some uruk, so nothing would go to waste. And the bones- ?!

   Going from a crouched position to flat on his face was more than a shock- actually, it was fucking terrifying- and Hûra couldn’t stop the startled yelp from escaping the back of his throat. The sudden noise caused the caragor to flee, but the shaman was far more preoccupied in what-or-whoever the fuck was pinning him down-! Hûra wasn’t expecting to be able to shake off his attacker- h-he was being attacked, wasn’t he?- with such ease. The brush was thick and tall enough to conceal them still as he clambered for the clearing. Whoever it was, they were a hell of a lot taller than he was, but… to be shaken off like that… Then he smelled it: blood, and a lot of it…

   Old blood and an infection setting in, to be exact. The downpour diluted the scent, but the fact that it was present at all must mean that this uruk is likely to drop dead at any moment. If he hasn’t already. Hûra had already risen to his full height. I-Is he dead…? He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or distured by this thought. No, I need to at least check… Hûra was certainly more interested in his own survival than he was a complete stranger’s, but… could he really live with himself leaving an uruk to die like this? In the cold and the rain, all alone…? If he is about to pass, then he doesn’t deserve to be alone… It wouldn’t be the first time he’s aided in an uruk’s passing, likely wouldn’t be the last, either. If he has a chance, then I’ll take him to- “A-Ahh…?”

   Hûra’s heart drops to his feet and he nearly loses his grip onto his bow as the unknown uruk clumsily rises to a seated position. It was like looking into a mirror of the past. As many years as it had been, Hûra would never forget the face of the one he had wronged the most in the entirety of his life: Zog the Eternal… But- Wait, no… No this isn’t Zog- of course this isn’t Zog! This uruk- this pup, Hûra reminds himself- is too young, too tall… too… light of a soul to be that necromancer. He was facing the shaman, but not looking at him. His mind was elsewhere, likely due to the raging fever he undoubtedly had from the infected wounds that covered the majority of the right side of his face. Scratches…? A caragor? Another uruk? They were deep, but oddly so, and angled as well. Then he noticed something. 

   This was an acolyte of Zog’s; the robes were a dead giveaway, as was the… stagnant air about him. Stagnant, but not rotted or fetid like any necromancer Hûra has had the displeasure to meet in his lifetime. He had heard that the necromancer had died for the final time, but it seems that those bastards are truly a pain in the ass to kill properly. Zog’s acolytes no doubt brought him back, so then why was this lad in the middle of nowhere? And with such a nasty wound to boot… Slowly Hûra placed his bow on his back. The pup didn’t react to any of his movements until he raised his hands in a take it easy gesture and took his first step forwards. 

   It happened in the span of a few heartbeats, but Hûra could clearly see the shift in the pup’s expression as it went from blank to twisted in blinding fear. The movement in his facial muscles causes a torrent of sour smelling blood to cascade down his face in a visible river in spite of the rain still pouring down. The sudden wave of terror that radiated off the acolyte was enough to catch Hûra completely off guard, so much so that he barely reacted when the other uruk jumped to his feet and tackled him to the ground. It wasn’t a scream, more like a wail, though it was guttural as though it came from the very depths of his soul. This was more than terror, more than survival, even. He wasn’t seeing Hûra but something, or someone else. For as weak as he was, Hûra could barely prevent the pup from clawing wildly at his face as he screamed and cried incoherently about… someone. He couldn’t understand a word he was saying, the pup was babbling so much. Though it wasn’t like Hûra was listening over the thrumming of his own heart in his ears as he flipped the taller uruk onto his back. With his wrists pinned above his head, he was left completely helpless. 

   Hûra hated this. He didn’t know if this pup saw him, or if he saw Zog, or perhaps someone else, even, regardless of who or what, he fully understood the emotions and the flighful fear that he was exhibiting. This uruk lost something precious to him, and it made him believe that he had lost the will to live. Yet he persisted. Not only persisted, but when presented with a perceived threat, fought for his life in spite of his injuries. He didn’t want to die, but he wasn’t sure how to pick up the pieces and continue to live, either. Hûra could easily kill this pup; whether by breaking his neck or ripping out his windpipe with his bare hands… No. He will do no such a thing. 

   He looks too much like Zog.

   He’s terrified of dying.

   I was like him once.

   I can’t let myself make the same mistake twice. 

   It was too easy to handle him into a different position. Hûra managed to pull him into a sitting position and slipped behind him, wrapping his arms around him so that the acolyte couldn’t harm himself or the shaman. Perhaps he couldn’t hear Hûra, but still he shushed him and quietly promised that he was safe and that no harm would befall him while in the shaman’s care. Soon enough the pup hung his head and cried, too exhausted to fight but still aware enough to feel fear. It was a mercy when he finally fell unconscious. Hûra was physically and emotionally exhausted, but his work was only just beginning. He called Ibranniz, who casually rose and stretched before sauntering over to her master. 

   “You heard that scuffle, and you didn’t even bother to check to see if I needed help? You truly are a tentative beast.” Hûra was only half sarcastic. She didn’t come running to his aid, which was extraordinary out of character for the beast. There has to be a reasoning behind it… Ibranniz was a… special beast. Being a dire caragor, she is proud and fiercely independent. She doesn’t choose her masters lightly, and she doesn’t do anything, or nothing at all, even, without some reasoning behind it. There are no such things as coincidences in life. It wasn’t mere chance that not only an acolyte of Zog would, quite literally, stumble upon Hûra of all uruks, but for Ibranniz to ignore a potential threat to his life. Nor for him to feel such a responsibility towards a pup he’s never met before… 

   She was a good girl, though. Ibranniz laid so Hûra could awkwardly lay the lanky uruk against her back as he slid in behind him. It wasn’t ideal, but he was too tall and too heavy to sit upright in front of Hûra. The bleeding had stalled, thankfully, so he shouldn’t bleed to death before Hûra has the chance to tend to his wounds. But this infection… Gods he has so much work ahead of him. Especially if this acolyte continues to put up a fight…    Damn, he wishes Takra was here with him. Perhaps if they come to an understanding, he can reunite with his khazdûrz and get this uruk proper medical treatment. Willing that he doesn’t try to take my face off again… Hûra held a firm hand on the acolyte’s back as Ibranniz kept her pace steady but quick. Maybe he wouldn’t allow Hûra to help him… But Hûra has to try. He can at least patch the pup up well enough and give him a better fighting chance at survival.

He’ll do as much as this uruk will allow, but it’s not like the shaman isn’t selfish in his need to help this pup. It’s true that he sees a young Zog in this uruk, though there’s nothing else in the way of similarities about him. The way he feels… Yes, Hûra needs to take steps in atoning for his past misdeeds. Maybe this will end up killing him, but it’s simply something he must do. Though Ibranniz’s lack of worry… No, Hûra doesn’t doubt his feelings. There’s something here, even if he can’t quite see its form yet. He feels it, and maybe she does too. He’s confident this is the right decision, no matter what the outcome may be.

@space-arsonist, @elvenmoans, @sinick, @boozy-dwarf

#middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #shadow of war #uruk oc #my oc #spacearsonist's oc #little bit of hurt #but it ends happily