Fresh Start

Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

Living on the native reserve, Marcus Hayward always found solace in the peaceful embrace of nature and the tight-knit community that treated him like family. The reserve served as a sanctuary from the outside world's craziness, where they cherished traditions and held the land in high regard. Marcus spent his days as a park ranger, guiding visitors through the wilderness and ensuring the preservation of the breathtaking natural beauty he held dear.

One fateful autumn evening, everything took a tragic turn. Marcus was driving home from a community gathering, the cool air rushing in through the open windows of his trusty old truck. The night sky sparkled with twinkling stars, and the scent of pine trees filled the air. He hummed a tune, feeling content and at peace with his life.

But in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Out of nowhere, a deer leaped onto the road, its eyes wide with fear. Marcus swerved to avoid it, his truck skidding on the gravel. The world spun around him, and he felt the sickening sensation of the vehicle flipping. Metal crunched and glass shattered as the truck rolled down an embankment. Marcus's vision blurred, and pain shot through his body. His last conscious thought was a desperate wish to see his loved ones once more.

Darkness engulfed him, and for a moment, there was nothing.

Then, a strange sensation enveloped him. Marcus felt his soul being pulled, as if by an invisible force. He was no longer trapped in his broken body; instead, he found himself floating in a vast, otherworldly space. Colors and lights swirled around him, and he experienced a weightless sensation. He tried to make sense of what was happening, but his thoughts were fragmented and disoriented.

The pulling grew stronger, guiding him through a tunnel of radiant light. Marcus felt a mix of fear and curiosity. Where was he being taken? What awaited him on the other side?

He emerged in a brand new world, unlike anything he had ever known. His destination came into view: a small, primitive village nestled within a dense forest. As he drew nearer, he caught sight of the inhabitants—towering, green-skinned creatures with fierce expressions and tusks. Orcs.

Marcus's soul was irresistibly drawn towards a humble hut at the village's edge. Inside, a tiny orc child peacefully slumbered in a simple crib. The pulling sensation intensified, and Marcus sensed himself merging with the child's body. He fought against it, but the force was overwhelming.

With a final surge, Marcus's soul merged with the young orc boy. The world came into sharp focus, and he felt the warmth of a blanket wrapped around him. He tried to move, to speak, but his body felt foreign and feeble.

He had been reincarnated as an orc. A young orc boy named Goruk.

Marcus, now known as Goruk, blinked his eyes open and saw the world through new eyes. Confusion and fear gripped him, but a strange sense of acceptance began to settle in. He was no longer Marcus Hayward, the park ranger from the native reserve. He was Goruk, a young orc in a strange and primitive world.

Goruk's first memories in his new body were all about warmth and safety. His mother, a strong yet gentle orc named Mogara, cradled him in her massive arms. Mogara was quite a sight, with broad shoulders and deep-set eyes that softened whenever she looked at him. As she held Goruk, she noticed something peculiar—a strange birthmark on his chest, just above his heart. It was shaped like an arrow, pointing upwards, a symbol she had never seen before.

Mogara became concerned and furrowed her brow. She gently traced the outline of the birthmark with her finger, and Goruk started to cry. His wails filled the cozy hut, bouncing off the wooden walls. Mogara instinctively began to swaddle him, her rough hands moving with surprising tenderness. She rocked him back and forth, murmuring soothing words in the orcish language. Gradually, his cries subsided, and he gazed up at her with wide, curious eyes.

"There, there, my little Goruk," she whispered. "You're safe with me."

As she continued to comfort him, the door of the hut swung open, and Goruk's father entered. His name was Thorgak, a skilled and brave hunter. Thorgak wasn't the most accomplished hunter in the tribe, but he earned respect and admiration for his strength and determination. He effortlessly slung a large boar over his shoulder, as if it weighed nothing.

Thorgak placed the boar down and approached Mogara and Goruk with a smile, revealing his sharp, tusk-like teeth. He gently stroked Goruk's cheek and asked in his deep, resonant voice, "How's our little warrior doing?"

Mogara looked up at her mate and smiled. "He's strong, but he's been crying. He has a strange mark on his chest."

Thorgak peered down at the birthmark, his expression pensive. "It might be a sign," he said. "Our son is destined for something great."

Mogara nodded, though a sense of unease lingered. She laid Goruk down in his crib and turned her attention to the boar, deftly skinning and preparing it—a skill perfected over years of providing for her family.

Meanwhile, Goruk lay in his crib, observing the world with wide, curious eyes. He could already feel the sharpness of his teeth, a peculiar sensation that reminded him of his new nature. Orc babies were born with teeth, ready to devour the hearty meals their parents provided. As Mogara worked, she occasionally glanced over at her son to ensure his comfort.

Once the boar was skinned and the meat prepared, Mogara tore off a small piece and brought it over to Goruk. She held it to his mouth, and he instinctively bit down, relishing the rich taste of the meat. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted as Marcus, yet it filled him with a sense of vitality and strength.

Mogara and Thorgak watched him eat, their eyes shining with pride. "He's a true orc," Thorgak declared, his chest swelling with pride. "He'll grow up to be strong and brave."

Mogara nodded, her earlier worries fading away as she watched Goruk. "Yes," she agreed. "Someday, he'll become a great warrior."

As Goruk continued to gnaw on the meat, he felt an odd sense of contentment. His new life had just begun.

As Goruk kept chowing down, Mogara and Thorgak settled next to the fire, sharing a meal of freshly cooked boar. The warm glow from the flames danced on their faces, casting long shadows on the walls of their cozy hut. Thorgak ripped off a chunk of meat and chewed, lost in thought with a distant gaze.

"You hear about the village chief?" Thorgak started, speaking in a hushed and serious tone.

Mogara looked up, concern written all over her face. "I caught some whispers, but nothing concrete. What's going on?"

Thorgak let out a deep sigh, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. "The chief, old Orzug, has fallen sick. His age has finally caught up with him, and time is running out. But here's the real issue—he hasn't chosen a successor."

Mogara furrowed her brow. "What about his sons? Surely one of them is fit to lead."

Thorgak nodded, tearing off another piece of meat. "Yeah, that's where the trouble lies. His first son, Hargak, is the tribe's top hunter. He's skilled and respected, but his methods are ruthless. Many worry that his leadership would bring tough times upon us."

Mogara listened intently, her hands pausing their work. "And the second son?"

"The second son is Brulgar," Thorgak continued. "He's one of the strongest orcs in the tribe, unbeatable in combat. But he's got a fiery temper and would rule with an iron fist. While his strength is admired, people question his ability to lead wisely."

Mogara nodded slowly, taking in the information. "And the third son?"

"Ah, the third son is Durgan," Thorgak said. "He's a blacksmith, responsible for arming our hunters and warriors. He's not as physically strong or skilled in combat like his brothers, but he's got a sharp mind and is highly respected for his craftsmanship. However, many doubt his ability to lead during times of war."

The fire crackled as Thorgak paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "With Orzug's time running out, tensions are rising. Each son believes he's the rightful heir, and their supporters are getting louder. There's a real danger of a civil war breaking out once the chief passes."

Mogara's eyes widened in alarm. "A civil war would tear our tribe apart. What can we do to prevent it?"

Thorgak shook his head slowly. "I don't know. The council elders are trying to mediate, but the rivalry between the brothers runs deep. If Orzug doesn't name a successor before he goes, our tribe might face some dark times."

Mogara sighed, worry etched on her face. She glanced over at Goruk, who had finished eating and was now peacefully dozing off in his crib. "No matter what happens, we have to protect our family," she said softly.

Thorgak reached out and held her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We will, Mogara. We'll stand strong and face whatever comes our way. Our tribe has endured a lot, and we'll get through this too."

As the night grew darker and the fire burned low, the uncertain future weighed heavily on the family. Thorgak and Mogara held each other close, drawing strength from their love and bond.