Hernkull decided not to wake the others for their watches, taking the full burden of the night watch upon herself. She settled by the trees at the edge of the clearing, her keen night vision rendering the firelight unnecessary. The jungle’s song resonated deeply with her shaman heart—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the gentle hum of insects. The night was uneventful, but the magic of the jungle enveloped her, offering a serene contrast to the day’s challenges.

  As the fire died down to embers, she banked it for the morning, knowing the warmth wasn’t needed in the mild night air. Her senses were attuned to every subtle shift in the environment, feeling the pulse of the land beneath her feet. The ancient spirits of the forest whispered to her, their presence a comforting reminder of her roots and the strength she drew from them.

  The hours passed, and Hernkull remained vigilant, her eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of danger. Yet, the night remained peaceful, allowing her a rare moment of tranquility. She entered into a state of heightened awareness, where her physical and mental bodies were both alert, yet at peace. The embers of the fire glowed softly, casting a gentle light that danced with the shadows. Hernkull’s mind wandered, drifting back to thoughts of her mother.

  She had been born in the rugged mountains of the Trollspine Range, raised by her Orc mother after being abandoned by her human father. Growing up among Orcs had not been easy. Hernkull had faced constant bullying from the full-blooded Orcs, their harsh treatment forcing her to learn to fight from a young age. It was in this crucible of adversity that she honed her combat skills and resilience, developing the determination that would define her.

  Her mother, Kullash, the village druid, had played a significant role in shaping Hernkull’s abilities and character. From an early age, Hernkull was trained not only in the ways of the warrior but also in the ancient druidic arts. Kullash taught her to respect and harness the power of nature, to understand the creatures of the wild, and to identify the herbs and plants that could heal or harm. Hernkull learned to track animals, forage for food, and use the land’s resources wisely. Under her mother’s guidance, she developed a deep connection to the natural world, learning to blend her physical prowess with the wisdom of the druidic arts.

  One memory stood out above all others—the night of her rite of passage. On the eve of Hernkull’s 16th birthday, the air in the Trollspine Range was thick with anticipation. The village, nestled in a secluded valley surrounded by towering peaks and dense forests, was quiet in the fading light of the day. Hernkull, nearly 7 feet tall with green skin and ivory tusks, had grown strong and resilient under her mother’s guidance. Kullash, revered for her wisdom and deep connection to nature, had passed on many of her secrets to Hernkull.

  As the sun set, casting long shadows over the village, Hernkull and Kullash prepared for a quiet celebration. Kullash had gathered herbs and flowers to create a special brew, a tradition for marking significant milestones. Though Hernkull was a fierce warrior, she felt a rare sense of peace in these moments with her mother. They sat by the fire, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on their faces.

  “Tonight, you become a true warrior,” Kullash said, her voice soft but firm. “You have the strength of the mountains and the wisdom of the forest. Remember, my child, that true power lies not just in your muscles, but in your heart and mind.”

  Hernkull nodded, a swell of pride and love for her mother filling her chest. But that tranquility was shattered by a sudden, bone-chilling roar.

  Mountain trolls, massive and brutal, descended upon the village in a night raid. Known for their savagery, the trolls attacked with swift, merciless force. Hernkull sprang to her feet, her great axe in hand, ready to defend her home. Kullash, too, stood tall, her eyes blazing with determination.

  The sun was sinking low on the horizon, its light staining the sky a deep red as Hernkull stood, her back to the village, her great axe raised high. The roar of the trolls echoed in the air, a sound like thunder crashing across the mountain range. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm of the battle a steady drum in her ears. The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and the acrid stench of troll flesh. The night was alive with the sounds of war, and Hernkull was at the center of it, her muscles straining with every swing of her axe.

  The trolls had come out of nowhere, a horde of monstrous, hulking beasts that seemed to grow larger with every passing second. Their massive forms lumbered through the village gates, their eyes gleaming with malice. Hernkull had barely had time to react before the first of them was upon her, its great claws slashing through the air with terrifying speed. She had barely raised her axe in time to block the strike, the force of the blow reverberating through her arms.

  Her feet slid in the mud as she planted herself, feeling the weight of the battle bear down on her. The trolls were relentless, and no matter how many she felled, more seemed to take their place. The village was being torn apart, its walls shattered, its homes burning. Hernkull’s heart ached with each passing moment, but there was no time to mourn. She had been trained for this, and she would not fail her people.

  With a mighty roar, she swung her axe, cleaving through the air with a force that could split stone. The blade met the troll’s chest with a sickening thud, and the creature howled in pain as it staggered back. But Hernkull was already moving, her feet carrying her forward as she pressed the attack. Her muscles burned with each swing, but she did not falter. Her great axe became an extension of her will, a deadly instrument of destruction.

  The trolls fought back with savage fury, their claws and teeth raking through the air, but Hernkull was faster, more precise. She dodged, ducked, and weaved, each movement fluid and deadly. Her heart raced as she struck again and again, her axe biting deep into the trolls’ thick hides. But the battle was far from over.

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  A massive troll, easily twice the size of the others, charged at her from the side. Its eyes gleamed with hunger, and its jaws opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Hernkull’s breath caught in her throat as the beast barreled toward her, its club raised high. She had no time to think, no time to plan. She reacted on instinct, her body moving faster than her mind could keep up.

  She swung her axe with all her might, but the troll was too quick. It swatted her aside with a single swipe of its massive hand, sending Hernkull crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through her side, and for a moment, the world went black. She gasped for breath, her vision swimming as she struggled to rise. Blood oozed from the gash in her side, staining the ground beneath her. But she couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when her village was at risk.

  With a roar of defiance, she pushed herself to her feet, her axe still in her hand. The troll was upon her again, its club descending like a hammer. Hernkull ducked, rolling to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain, focusing only on the battle before her. The troll was fast, but Hernkull was faster.

  She lunged forward, her great axe sweeping through the air in a deadly arc. The blade struck the troll’s leg with a resounding crack, and the beast howled in pain. Hernkull pressed the attack, her axe biting into its flesh again and again. The troll staggered, its movements slowing as the blood poured from its wounds. But still, it did not fall.

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she fought with everything she had. The world around her seemed to blur, the sounds of the battle fading into a distant roar. Her body moved on its own, driven by the primal instinct to survive. She was a warrior, and she would not let this beast stand in her way.

  With a final, powerful swing, Hernkull drove her axe into the troll’s chest, the blade sinking deep into its heart. The creature let out a final, blood-curdling scream before collapsing to the ground, its massive body crashing to the earth with a thunderous boom. Hernkull stood over it, panting, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

  But there was no time to rest. The battle raged on around her, and she could feel the weight of her people’s lives pressing down on her. Her side ached, the blood from her wound staining her tunic, but she ignored it. She had to keep fighting.

  And then, through the chaos, she saw her.

  Kullash, her mother, the village shaman, stood at the heart of the battle, her arms raised to the sky as she called upon the power of the earth. Vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around the trolls’ legs and pulling them to the earth. The trolls howled in fury, but Kullash’s magic held them fast. Hernkull’s heart swelled with pride as she watched her mother fight, her power undeniable.

  But then, in the midst of the battle, something went wrong.

  A massive troll, larger than any they had faced before, broke through Kullash’s magic, its claws slashing through the air. It was too fast, too powerful. Hernkull’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the creature’s claws tear through her mother’s defenses, striking her down with a brutal blow. Kullash’s body crumpled to the ground, her magic faltering as the life drained from her eyes.

  Hernkull’s world shattered in that instant.

  Her mother. Her protector. Her mentor. Gone.

  A scream tore from Hernkull’s throat, raw and primal, as the rage of a thousand storms surged through her. She charged toward her mother, her great axe raised high, her body moving faster than it ever had before. She cut through the trolls with a fury that could only come from the depths of grief and rage. Her axe became a blur of motion, each strike a deadly blow that sent trolls crashing to the ground.

  The earth beneath her seemed to tremble as she fought, the very ground responding to her fury. She cleaved a path through the trolls, her great axe cutting through their ranks with ruthless efficiency. Her muscles burned, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she did not stop. She would not stop.

  Finally, she reached her mother’s side.

  Kullash lay motionless on the ground, her body battered and broken. Blood pooled around her, staining the earth beneath her. Hernkull’s heart twisted in her chest as she knelt beside her mother, her hands trembling as she cradled Kullash’s head in her lap.

  “No,” Hernkull whispered, her voice breaking. “No, please. Don’t leave me.”

  But there was no answer. Kullash’s eyes were closed, her body cold. Hernkull’s chest heaved with the weight of her grief, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. She had lost everything.

  And yet, in that moment, something inside her stirred. A fire, a spark, something that her mother had always known was there. Hernkull’s grief became a fire that burned in her chest, a fire that would not be extinguished. She would not let her mother’s death be in vain. She would carry on her legacy.

  With a final, sorrowful glance at her mother, Hernkull rose to her feet. The battle was not over. The trolls were still coming, and she would not stop until every last one of them had fallen.

  She swung her axe one last time, her muscles screaming in protest, but her spirit unbroken. The trolls fell before her, their bodies crashing to the ground as she cleaved through them with unrelenting fury. She fought with the strength of her mother’s spirit, her heart filled with the memory of Kullash’s love and teachings.

  And when the last troll had fallen, when the battle was finally over, Hernkull stood not alone in the silence of the battlefield but with the other last six warriors of their village. Her body was battered, her heart broken, but she was still standing. She had lost everything, but she had gained something too—something that would carry her forward into the future.

  Her mother’s spirit would live on in her, and as long as she breathed, Hernkull would fight to honor that legacy. She would never forget the lessons Kullash had taught her, and she would carry her mother’s strength in her heart for the rest of her days.

  When the first light of dawn broke, Hernkull stood amidst the wreckage, her body battered but her spirit unbroken. She looked around at the devastation—the bodies of trolls and villagers alike scattered across the ground. The village was in ruins, but it had survived. And so had she. While a part of her grieved the Orc in her howled at the great victory, she had taken bones and would be recounted as a warrior of the village, her mother lost but Hernkull had been found.

  Hernkull refocused on the now.

  As the night transitioned into morning, Hernkull felt a sense of peace. The memory of her mother, the lessons she had imparted, and the strength she had gained through loss and grief had forged her into the warrior she was today. She felt rested, as though the cleansing of her memories had released her fear and restored her. The night had been magical, a quiet testament to the harmony she sought to maintain between her shamanic duties and her role within the crew.

  As the first light of morning began to filter through the trees, Hernkull rose, ready to face whatever the new day would bring.