Chapter Text
The boy was atypical for an uruk of the Dark Tribe. Not in his tall and lean form, his mild grey skin and amber eyes, nor his raven black hair that already reached his mid back, no. Rather, his temperament, itself, was bizarre. One could call him “mild”, even a bit “dull”, though he isn’t unintelligent by any means. Named “Hura” by his vat keeper, the lad was slow at picking up the nuances that were required of a member of the Dark tribe.
He wasn’t a strong warrior. He wasn’t ambidextrous, nor had any particular talent for dealing or receiving violence. He could have been seen as utterly useless; a mere drain of resources and time. But he has one talent, one that is special and one that his clan has never seen nor heard of before. And one that was discovered by accident.
Hura’s first successful hunt was a large hell hawk that he was sure that he would miss. By all rights, he shouldn’t have hit it, yet he did. He felt something stir inside of him, and the feeling grew three fold when he happened upon the bird’s corpse. It was a strange feeling of attachment, one that he hadn’t felt with any of his kin. He took his kill home, though instead of handing it over, he defeathered, skinned, and butchered it, himself. Not for the bird's meat, but rather it’s feathers and bones.
There was something in them that he could see, that he could feel. He dropped them on the ground, over and over again, marveling at how they always landed in the same position, and how his eyes were drawn to the same imperfections in the bone time and time again. Every time it said the same thing:
Nature’s Bane will make its mark across Mordor.
He didn’t understand, but he knew that it would come to pass. Much like he knew that there was a difficult season ahead for his tribe. Or how the new wave of pups would be sick and wrong. And how he knew that he was different and shunned and unwanted. An ill omen… That’s what they called him. And maybe they were right.
Wherever he went, bad things followed. Nothing he saw was ever good, nor was anything that he told his elders seen as anything but useless shrakh and babblings of a mad one. They were on the cusp of selling him off to the next clan that seeked to trade with them; that, or send him off to a place with no hope of return. As though the Dark Lord himself heard their desperation, members of the Mystic tribe came to barter with the Dark clan. Tired of all the ravings and tear filled fits, they eagerly sold him for much needed supplies, not bothering to question as to how the Mystics even knew of the lad in the first place.
Though he was never accepted by his clan, Hura was no less devastated by the betrayal. It wasn’t his fault that he could see such taxing things in the divots and cracks and marrows of bones, that he can see the outlines of things not yet come to pass, or that is passing or has passed already. It wasn’t fair. They don’t understand what amazing gifts you have… A mystic elder helped the pup dry the tears cascading down his face. They don’t understand… That’s right! They passed on such a talented young lad… We’ll make a shaman out of you yet.
It was all Hura wanted. A place to belong. To be useful. To be seen and heard… It didn’t matter that he was only being used for his talent as an osteomancer. He didn’t care that the expectations placed on him were damaging and the standards he was held to were impossible to meet. In this Mystic clan, he can finally be someone! Everyone can see how useful his specific talent is now! All the different tribes, different clans… They all will see just how special he is! Hura will never allow himself to be cast to the wayside ever again. No matter the cost, he will fight for the elders’ attention and affections until he’s the only one in their sights. No matter how much it hurts, or how fake their smiles may seem, Hura won’t be the one passed off to another clan ever again. He’s heart couldn’t take such a blow again…