Heretic of the Slaughter

[Tarkor]

Tarkor flared his nostrils at the groups of druids and shaman around him, his glare intent on the eyes of Cairne. All around him, the "nobles" of Thunder Bluff were set on proving to their Chieftain that Tarkor was an "enemy"... but none of that mattered. They were the ones who were lost... they were the fools.

"Chieftain, this warrior has dishonored the ancestors of our tribe!"

"He has desecrated our traditions!"

The cries of prosecution echoed all throughout the tribunal's chamber, but stayed calm until a druid garbed in purple feathers stepped forth to in between Tarkor and Cairne.

"He has denounced the Earth Mother."

The druid spoke calmly, but his words had a greater effect than any of the shouting could have hoped to. As he finished his statement, the entire chamber grew silent for what seemed like an eternity.

Amidst the silence, Tarkor's gaze was lifted to now glare at the druid garbed in feathers... it was the only thing throughout the whole tribunal that forced him to shift his glance. As he looked up, the druid looked down on him. Tarkor felt a sense of rage build up within him... The druid's pity for him... seeing him chained to a chair surrounded by Tauren that saw him as a threat... that was enough to build anger within the imprisoned warrior.

Finally, Cairne rose from his chair and approached Tarkor.

"Is this true?"

His voice was dull and threatening. It was well known that the Earth Mother was the most sacred clause of the Tauren people, and to deny her was worse than any fate of the Shadow.

Tarkor's red eyes shifted back to Cairne, who was now standing over him, casting the warrior's face into shadow.

"Yes."

Tarkor spoke calmly, but forcefully. In response, the entire chamber erupted in gasps of shock and horror at Tarkor's profession. While the druids and shaman broke into chaos all around him, Tarkor's eyes were fixed upon Cairne, and vies versa. The only certainty in the chamber was the anger between these two Tauren.

Cairne raised his hands to quiet the eruption around him... his eyes still fixed on Tarkor.

"Then you are no friend of the Bloodhoof Tribe."

The chamber's silence quickly turned to quiet signs of approval, mainly in the form of head nodding, as Cairne turned to return to his throne.

"Tarkor, you are hereby stripped of your surname... and..."

The Chieftain let out of heavy sigh.

"Exiled... from the lands of Mulgore."

Tarkor could feel his left eye begin to twitch as Cairne announced his punishment. The anger inside of him began to build beyond what he could control...

"You're a fool, Cairne!"

Tarkor shouted as he lurched forward in his chained chair.

"All of you... fools!"

"That's enough!” Cairne shouted, louder than the screams of Tarkor.

Tarkor held his tongue, and fixed his glare back to Cairne, who only returned to gesture.

"You are banished from these lands."

Cairne's voice was heavy, forceful, and Tarkor knew that he was holding back his rage. The fool! Rage is a weapon to be used, not contained.

"You are weak."

"Honor Guard, escort this... heretic... to the Barrens." Cairne ordered, ignoring Tarkor's attacks.

"You're a pawn."

"Honor Guard!"

Almost instantly, three Tauren in the armor of an Honor Guard released the chains that held Tarkor to his chair, lifted him, and began to pull him from the room.

"You are all weak!"

Tarkor shouted as he was pushed from the tribunal chambers.

"The Earth Mother is a lie! You are all weak!"

The chamber began to erupt with murmur and side conversation.

Tarkor gathered up all of his rage...

"You will all be slaughtered! Death to the pawns of the Earth Mother!"

It seemed as if the entire city was silent as Tarkor bellowed his curse... but he didn't care. Cairne... the shaman... and the druids... all of them... they were weak... they were pawns... they were the criminals... He would prove to them that the Earth Mother was a lie... He would show them all that they were weak... He would be back... and he would kill any that stood in his way...

Tarkor's rage began to subside as he was escorted from Thunder Bluff. Tarkor remained silent as the three Honor Guard escorted him down the lift from Thunder Bluff. As the city rose beyond his view, Tarkor’s last glimpse of his former home was the sight of countless Tauren looking on in a mix of amazement and horror.

[Tarkor]

Tarkor's crimson eyes stayed fixed on the dirt path in front of him. His rage had finally died down, as Thunder Bluff began to fade from view. Bloodhoof Village was coming up soon... and with that there was bound to be a crowd of eager Tauren, ready to condemn Tarkor from their tribe. Regardless, Tarkor stayed silent throughout the entire trek, as the Honor Guard did. Neither party had any intention of speaking to each other.

As he starred at the dirt before him that would eventually become rough stone as they approached the upcoming village, Tarkor's mind began to fade into deep thought.

Exiled... for my own beliefs...

Tarkor let out a soft snort.

The Honor Guard gripping Tarkor's left arm looked down at his captive in a mix of pity and disgust. Although he remained silent, Tarkor could feel his gaze upon him. He could feel the sense of superiority the Honor Guardsman felt as Tarkor was left bound and chained, forced to be removed from Mulgore. Forced to be removed from the grassy pastures of his birth. Forced to be removed from the lands he once defended.

Although Tarkor had earned a reputation for being extremely aggressive, and eager for war, he was never pitied. Feared by some, yes, but never pitied. The Tauren saw him as a powerful ally, and the Orcs saw him as a great warrior. But none of that mattered now. Now that Tarkor had denounced the Earth Mother, the Tauren saw him as a traitor, and the Orcs would see him as an enemy because of it. Camp Tajuro would not be safe... the Crossroads would not be safe... not even the Goblins would harbor him for long...

All of this ran through Tarkor's mind as a herd of Tauren gathered around him and his escort. They had entered Bloodhoof Village... and the villagers had wasted no time...

"Enemy of our people!"

"Betrayer of the Horde!"

Warriors, hunters, shaman, and druids alike all chanted their attacks at Tarkor, breaking him from his train of thought. Tarkor looked over to the crowd that had formed within in village, and cast a menacing glare to the gathering. He focused on no one in particular, but cast his gaze none the less.

The chants continued, and Tarkor felt his anger growing again...

"Taint of the wilds!"

"Scourge of nature!"

"Demon worshiper!"

Tarkor's rage broke free, as he snarled at the last Tauren that spoke.

"I worship no demon! I worship no deity!"

The crowd drowned Tarkor's defense in a sea of attacks and insults.

"Sentence him to the Nether!"

"Cleanse him with fire!"

Tarkor's rage continued to build...

"Death to the heretic!"

Building higher and higher...

"Feed him to the kodo!"

Finally, Tarkor snapped. He charged the crowd, breaking free from the grasp of the surprised Honor Guard. While his hands were still bound behind his back with chains, he lowered his head, aiming his horns at his chosen foe. The crowd let out gasps of shock to any who could see, while those in back continued to shout... building Tarkor's rage. The surprised Honor Guard could not react fast enough, and could only watch in horror as the unlucky Tauren was caught flat-footed in the face of Tarkor's assault.

Cries of panic ensured, as the blood of the unfortunate Tauren sprayed out from his chest onto anyone around him. What was even more horrifying was that Tarkor did not stop his charge. His horns had impaled his foe, but his hooves continued moving forward, stabbing the two Tauren behind the first, one on each horn. With the bodies of three Tauren acting as a buffer, the other Tauren caught in Tarkor's path were mowed to the ground, but not impaled. At least six Tauren altogether had felt the blunt of Tarkor's rage before the village guards tackled the raging warrior to the ground. Tarkor's rage was instantly subsided as he fell upon his chest, as his mind began to drift into unconsciousness...

[Tarkor]

Tarkor awoke with a series of groans and attempted to stretch out his muscles, only to realize that his chains had multiplied. Before, only his hands and wrists were bound together; whereas now it felt as if his entire body was encased in chains... which was not far from the truth.

Once his sight and hearing began to return to him, he surveyed his new surroundings. A tent... nothing fancy, but bigger than most huts.

"I must still be in Bloodhoof Village..." Tarkor realized as he caught a small glimpse of a group of Tauren wearing the crest of Bloodhoof, arguing with the Honor Guard that were meant to escort him.

"He has murdered four of our villagers, and injured at least five others! He must be punished!"

"The Chieftain himself has ordered that he be exiled from our lands. That is an authority higher than your village."

"But our laws must be upheld!"

The village guards and the Honor Guard argued back and forth over the fate of Tarkor, and all he could do was lay there and listen. He felt no emotion over his pending death, death was something that he knew well, what he was more worried about was his inability to speak... or remember what had happened.

Although Tarkor had called upon his rage countless times over the past years, he was also known to enter an overwhelming bloodlust, where his rage would overpower him, forcing him to rest after it subsided. It was that loss of control that Tarkor sought to harness... to control... to use that rage unconscientiously, and use it as a weapon he could call upon...

The arguments of the guards faded as Tarkor considered his situation. He was completely bound and gagged in Bloodhoof Village, roughly half way between Thunder Bluff and the boarder of Mulgore. He could see some light outside the tent, but the sky was bright orange, telling him that night would come soon. He must have been asleep longer than he thought...

"Very well... we will not press punishment, but know this," one of the Bloodhoof guards threatened, "if he ever is seen in our village again, he will be attacked on sight."

One of the Honor Guardsman sighed, "Very well."

Tarkor could tell that the sigh was not out of compromise... it was out of frustration. Apparently the Bloodhoof guards were not aware that Tarkor was an enemy to all Tauren, to be attacked on sight should he ever step foot in Mulgore again. He couldn't help but smile to himself at the stupidity of the Bloodhoof villagers.

"Then allow us to take him to the Barrens. We will leave him in his chains until we reach the boarder." one of the Blood Guard stated.

"And what will you do once you reach the Barrens?"

The Blood Guard sighed again.

"Release him, and return to Thunder Bluff."

The Bloodhoof glared angrily.

"You're just going to release him!?"

The Honor Guard looked down.

"Yes."

The Blood Guard was acting as if he was defeated... and Tarkor knew exactly why. He wanted to kill him. He did not want to release him into the Barrens, he wanted to take the spear from his back and impale Tarkor though the chest. Tarkor smiled again, and realized that even Honor Guards have a personal agenda.

[Tarkor]

Tarkor hated being carried like a sack of meat upon the back of an Honor Guard. The sense of helplessness and overwhelming sense of defeat was enough to inspire hatred within the prisoner's heart. As they exited the large tent, the sun was setting over the western peaks that separated Mulgore from the land called Desolace; but what caught Tarkor's interest more than the sun was the reactions of the villagers as his face was cast out into the light of the fading sun.

Where they had all gathered and chanted for him death before, now they fled. With a quick look up, nearly every Tauren in sight fled for the nearest tent, afraid of the prisoner's fury.

Tarkor smiled through his linen gag. These Tauren had come to fear him after a single attack with his horns... lucky for them that he did not have his axes.

Such train of thought lead Tarkor to wonder what became of his axes. Prior to his tribunal, his axes were taken during his imprisonment, along with his armor. While it was nothing of special quality, Tarkor still did not like the idea of his belongings in to hands of incapable Tauren.

Regardless, he was weaponless, and armorless, and the wastelands of the Barrens would not be forgiving of that. The quillboar and silithids that he was once slain in great number would be eager for a fresh kill, and a lone Tauren wandering the land without blade or shield would be an opportunity that they would not pass on. If not for the thrill of the hunt, then for the meat. Tarkor himself weighed roughly eight hundred pounds, and has enough muscle to feed an entire clan of quillboar for a week, so he figured. Tarkor always saw quillboar as puny, and himself as more than an average Tauren.

Before long, the sun fell beyond the mountains and the stars began to shine above the bewildered party of prisoner and escorts. They had marched for at least an hour, and the poor Honor Guard with the task of carrying Tarkor was becoming restless.

"How far are we?"

"Not far now... the Eastern Peaks are growing taller by the minute."

"Good." the first replied, grunting as he shifted Tarkor's weight to fit squarely on his shoulders.

One of the other Honor Guard looked around at his struggling comrade, but walked backward in front of him, as Tarkor laid helplessly, looking back at the distant fires of Bloodhoof Village.

"Grow some muscle; you're not the only one carrying something."

Tarkor could feel the heavy breath of his carrier.

"I don't think his possessions weigh as much as he does."

Tarkor's ears perked up, and his eyes widened. His equipment, they had it with them to whole time? Tarkor hadn't been paying much attention to the other guards, and was always more concerned with himself or his attackers; but knowing that they had his things would make his journey though the Barrens easier... hopefully.

"Here, set him down." said one of the guards; Tarkor recognized it as the same voice that argued with the Bloodhoof guards.

Tarkor was surprised as his carrier threw him off his back, forcing Tarkor to fall helplessly towards the ground, landing heavily on his side.

"Roll him over."

Tarkor was forcefully rolled onto his back, with two of the guards holding either side of him, while the third looked down holding a brass key. As the leader unlocked the chains that held Tarkor down, the other guards stood up and fell in behind their leader.

"Beyond here lies the Barrens, heretic. Your equipment lies within that bag." the Honor Guard pointed to a large brown sack lying on the ground. "If you turn, and take even one step towards Mulgore, will we not hesitate to attack you."

The threat was heavy, but empty. They were tired... they were weak.

"Now go."

Tarkor rose to his feet and began to move over to the bag carrying his gear. Searching through it, he quickly discovered what he was looking for: his pair of axes. Drawing them from the sack, he turned to face the three guards that were assigned to escort him.

"Take the rest of your things, and go, heretic."

Tarkor snorted at his former captors.

"Go, or we will attack you." the leader threatened, as all three grabbed their polearms and assumed a battle stance.

Tarkor glared at the leader, the one who had wanted to kill him.

"You wanted to kill me... now is your chance."

The leader straightened up, apparently surprised by Tarkor's comment.

"Fine, if you will not attack, then allow me to force your hand."

Tarkor let out a furious roar as he charged the three Honor Guard, gripping his axes tightly, and leaving his armor in the bag.

[Tarkor]

The rush of wind stung Tarkor's eyes as he charged towards the lead Honor Guard. Their polearms ready to receive the fury of his attacks, and their armor think enough to deflect his rage.

Or so they thought.

As he drew closer, Tarkor raised his right blade up, in preparation to force it down upon his foe and cleave into his shoulder, but Honor Guards were skilled warriors; the best soldiers, hand-picked to protect their precious chieftain. Tarkor smiled at this thought, and it was then that he realized that his rage had not built. He was not ready for combat, but threw himself into a battle with three of the strongest soldiers in all of Mulgore. Despite the odds, it was too late to turn back...

Tarkor's right axe flung down upon the grey-haired Honor Guard, only to be parried by the shaft of his target's polearm. Almost instantly, he threw his weight around to his left arm, slicing across at his foe's torso. Even Tarkor was surprised when a second polearm came down to block his blade's attack.

Even more surprising was the power of the third Honor Guard, and the impact of the butt of his polearm on the chest of the attacking warrior. With his armor, Tarkor would have been able to brush off the attack, but since he was armorless in this fight, the entire force of the attack hit him squarely in the chest, throwing him back off of his target.

As heavy as Tarkor was, he was still thrown back a good three feet before falling to the earth with a heavy thud. Looking up across his chest, he saw helplessly as the three Honor Guard retracted their polearms across their chests, and marched closer like a rank of soldiers.

Tarkor clenched his teeth. He had thrown himself into battle when he wasn't ready. He had no rage within, and no armor without, leaving him without his normal aggression, and vulnerable. He had to admit though... the Honor Guard had surprised him by defending each other from attacks. Perhaps that is what set them apart from average guards...

"How foolish! They would defend each other from attack instead of killing me? If not for their numbers, they would feel true pain..." Tarkor thought to himself as his impending doom drew near. Defeated so easily, so effortlessly, by soldiers of defense... he was both embarrassed at his own defeat, and angry at his own weakness. He deserved the fate he was about to receive.

He never even landed a single blow...

The three Honor Guard gathered around him as Tarkor lay on the grassy earth on the edge Mulgore. The spears of the Honor Guard stayed across their chests, but the look in their eyes was one of anger and pity. Realizing the helplessness of his situation, Tarkor couldn't feel anything resembling rage within him.

"Death to the heretic." said one of the Honor Guard, as he shifted his spear to aim down at Tarkor.

"No." said their leader, setting both of his comrades back.

"But... he openly attacked us. We can't let him go!"

"We were ordered to carry out the will of the Chieftain, not execute our own justice."

The Honor Guard's gaze shifted back between his leader and the end of his spear. Tarkor could feel the tension mounting as neither the polearm, nor the other Honor Guard made a move.

"I will carry the will of the Earth Mother!" the Honor Guard proclaimed as his hurled his spear down, impaling Tarkor in the right breast.

Tarkor cried out in pain as the spear was driven though him, the taste of blood filling his mouth, and the sight of scarlet pouring from his chest. He had been wounded before... but this wound was beyond anything that he could bandage...

Only the splatter across his legs was enough to break Tarkor from his thoughts of his own wound. Looking across his body, he saw his killer impaled by the spear of his own leader. The victim looked up in amazement and horror at his superior, before the spear was ripped from his chest, taking with it many of his organs on the barbs of the spear. With a thud, the former Honor Guard fell to the earth, and the grass around his body began the turn red.

Turning his attention back to Tarkor, the lead Honor Guard walked over, and grabbed the shaft of the spear sticking up from the heretic. Using his hoof as an anchor, the Honor Guard managed to break the wooden shaft without disrupting the head of the spear.

"A lot of good that will do..." Tarkor said with a blood-smattered smile as the Honor Guard continued his work on the spear.

Ignoring Tarkor's sarcasm, the lead Honor Guard dropped his heavy hoof on Tarkor's stomach, and began to carefully remove the spearhead from Tarkor's chest. Every slight adjustment, every passing second, the pain grew stronger and stronger. Tarkor had been near death before, just as any warrior, but this pain was stronger than any he had ever felt. This wasn't only physical pain... but a pain within him too.

He had been struck down, and killed as a helpless foe. Honorless and on his back. That wasn't the fate of a warrior! That wasn't supposed to be the end of a champion! He was supposed to die on his feet, axes in hand, and the blood of his enemies across him! This was not supposed to be the end...

Tarkor's mind trailed as the Honor Guard removed the spear, leaving a large wound across Tarkor's chest. The blood was continuing to rush, forcing the Honor Guard to act fast.

"Runecloth." the leader ordered, looking back at his bewildered ally.

The second Honor Guard paused for a moment; his face was heavy with shock and puzzlement.

"Now!"

The shouting must have helped, because it freed the inferior from his state and forced him to fulfill the order of his commander. He reached across his back into a small pouch, and removed a clump of runecloth; almost instantly, he silently held out his hand to his leader.

Grabbing it angrily, and with a sneer, the lead Honor Guard returned to work on the dying heretic. Using the runecloth as a bandage, he patched the gushing wound with a skill that was beyond Tarkor.

"Strong, and smart..." Tarkor sneered as his head fell back to the earth.

Despite the Honor Guard's efforts, his strength was still fading, and darkness was beginning to creep in around the edges of Tarkor's sight. Looking up at the night sky from the flat of his back, Tarkor's mind raced back to his childhood... to his first hunt outside Camp Narche...

But he was suddenly shaken from those memories as a cool stinging seeped into his wound. Lifting his head up once again, he saw the bandage of runecloth across his chest, and the soft glow it emitted. He had heard stories about the enchanted properties of runecloth, but had never actually seen it. His skills with bandages were barely able to handle silk. Regardless, he could feel the cool sensation travel through his body, spreading out from the gouge made by his enemy's spear, now replaced by his enemy's bandage.

"Why...?" Tarkor asked weakly as the Honor Guard rose to his feet.

"Because all Honor Guard take an oath to serve the Chieftain above all else. Above ourselves, and above the Earth Mother. To betray that oath is deserving of a fate worse than death." He looked back at Tarkor, "A fate worse than yours."

With that, he turned and began to walk away.

"Camp Tajuro is not far, and your strength should return to you soon. Don your armor, and leave our lands by order of Cairne Bloodhoof..." the lead Honor Guard spoke, calmly... almost sadly.

"And do not set foot in Mulgore again..."

The Honor Guards turned and began to walk back down the path they had just come, leaving Tarkor on his back, and the corpse of a former Honor Guard upon the road. Apparently that betrayal also lost his right to a proper burial...

But Tarkor had other matters to attend to. He was an outcast now. Cast out by his own people, and defeated by his own weakness. Tarkor rose to his feet, and walked over to his equipment bag. Although he was still weak, he could feel his strength returning. Although he was alone, he could feel his rage building...

Tarkor grinned to himself as he lifted up his breastplate.

"They should have killed me."