The Power of the Horde - The Bloodsworn Honorguard:

[Brutalskars]

Kathorg’s hands gripped on the rail on the side of fortress. His eyes burning, eyes set on the horizon. His armor was clean, his long cloak whipped in the razor winds, face guard on his belt and his worg-styled bastard sword on his back, somewhat on his side under the cloak. His grimace spoke for him as Skrog came out of the door somewhat to his side.

“My cousin. You wait for the meeting below? Here in the High Command Hall? I thought Ozai said we were finished.”

Kathorg snarled and looked up slowly, speaking with his fury heating each word.

“Ozai is no Overlord, not even worthy of grunt hood. The coward, the fool believes this dishonor will go without retaliation.”€

Skrog kept his distance and shrugged, sharpening his katana.

“Saurfang is in the meeting hall already. The Warchief and Garrosh will be in the upper room. If something happens. The eyes of the greatest men in the Horde will be upon you. I suggest you keep your calm.”

Kathorg smirked slightly, watching the warmasters, commanders, and mercenary lords gathering below, clambering into the great fortress. With a small shake of his head dismissing Skrog’s commentary.

“If anything. That gives me more reason to do what is necessary tonight Skrog. Tonight, I remind them that there those among the Horde still fighting for the sake of the Horde, not themselves.”

Skrog rose his brow, sheathing his blade slowly. Stepping forward leaning over to see those below.

“Does Kartu know of what you are choosing to do?”

Kathorg’s grip slowly left the railing as he walked, ascending the tower of the fortress.

“Of course he knows of what I am doing. Remember. He had once told me, there would be a day. A day when we, the heroes, those that fight for the people for nothing but the safety of our children and our children’s children. That day; that moment is coming. The day we remind the Horde that cowardice is not in battle, but in the heart. Ozai is the greatest coward we know. He will be brought to justice for his crimes against us all.”€

Skrog followed close behind, the wind picking up. As the reached the top of the tower, there was a great pyre, Kartu smoked his pipe as the wind slammed into the fires, the lights dancing. The night was beginning to fall, the flickering illumination fell upon the three orcs. Kartu’s voice clearly rang out to them.

“Kathorg. You remember your merits? Your achievements?”€
Kathorg shook his head.

“I do not remember mine. But I remember the Bloodsworn’s. The battle of Tiragarde, pushing the humans from our land; the purging of the quilboar tribes. Rallying the guard in early counter attack of the Razormane legion as it marched northward through the Barrens. Then the battles through Outland, then the shores of Northrend. We marched against every foe this world has offered us, and stood victorious. We marched with the Horde, Alliance and the Argent Crusade upon Icecrown. The final battle as we held the Scourge at bay while Tirion took the fight to the Lich King. The Bloodsworn has earned more than one victory. It was by my warriors’ blood, their effort, that I have lead them time and again.”

Kartu nodded slowly, watching the sun set slowly.

“Then you know, that the greatest challenge will be striking against those that would destroy us from inside the Horde. And then finding your place afterward.”€

Kathorg’s face remained confident and proud.

“I have met with generals, warlords, and blademasters. I have had several audiences with the Warchief and lead alongside Garrosh’s lieutenants in Northrend. I have purged multiple traitors. How different will Ozai be when his blood sates my blade?”

Kartu chuckled to himself.

“I once spoke to you about a proper Warlord. A proper man, a proper, strong, and just warrior. You are all of those things, and Ozai has gotten where he has off the sweat of honorable and great warriors. Ozai wishes to proclaim his victories, which none belong to him. Kathorg. This is the moment Murkthralog wanted for you. To prove that we are more than Ozai, more than the cowards that seek to make this Horde something worthless. Make him proud.”€

Kathorg kneeled beside Kartu and nodded. His grip on his faceguard, he put it on slowly. Skrog jokingly spat out.

“You understand that unlike me, Ozai will not be easy to kill. He may be a coward, but he is a skilled one.”

Kathorg stood with a scoff.

“Then I have already won.”€

He descended the tower and into the halls before the great hall.





Kathorg stepped passed two Kor’Kron stomping past scores of other commanders, looking straight down the middle of the main circle at Ozai. Overlord Ozai was just walking up to High Overlord Saurfang himself. Speaking loudly, for all could hear him.

“The Stonetalon campaign is going as planned, and the Barrens are secure. Our holdings in Northrend stay our own. But sadly, the Bloodsworn Honorguard have been dismissed from duty their-“€œ

“Hold your tongue Ozai!”€

Kathorg walked into the main circle, Saurfang’s eyes locked on him.

“Gorehallow? You contest the Overlord?”€

Ozai turned, holding his helmet at his side, his battleaxes upon his back.

“You are dismissed Gorehallow. I believe we covered this in our last talk. You and your dogs stripped of title and any authority as warriors of the Horde!”€

Kathorg waved his hand sharply, dismissing Ozai’s words as they were spit. His voice carrying over the room.

“This leech. This parasite you call an Overlord is not a man! He is but a motherless ogre, attempting to live up to the glory of much more deserving warriors! His failures, he never claims! His victories never his own! And because of him and his ill judgment, my father died in Feralas against the unholy enemies we all strive to defeat!”€

Ozai snarled, stomping forward a few feet.

“Such accusations?! With what backing them dog! You left your wife, and your own men to die in Northrend! Seeking a foe that you harbored as a friend for years! You are that of ill judgment! I believe we should have Gorehallow head home and sleep, the stresses of life are twisting his wits!”

Kor’kron guards waited along the innards of the massive chamber. Those there looked upon it with awe, wondering of what would happen next. Vol’jin stopped leaning back in his chair to actually look over the scene from his perch in the upper chamber balcony.

“Ah, looks like somethin’ be goin’ down.”€

The high command of the room looked around questioningly, Garrosh pounded forward to the rail and looked out.

“Finally something interesting at these damn meetings!”€
Thrall stayed put, raising a brow and shaking his head at Garrosh’s statement.

Back in the lower chamber, Ozai continued on.

“Gorehallow has no reason to be complaining. He does this to himself, he is no capable Warlord. His many battles do not excuse his disrespect for me! And his disrespect for the Hellforged Honorguard even!”

Kathorg snarled, his voice boomed.

“You have no room to speak coward! Your insults! Your words mean nothing in this moment. Let us see if your cowardice has drained you of your battle skill!”

“MOK’GORA!”€

Saurfang motioned for the guards to step back, everyone left the main circle empty, pushing tables around for they could get a clear view of what was happening. Kathorg drew his sword, holding it at his side with a deep growl.

Ozai set his helm on while speaking, the crimson plume flailing about as he leaned forward whipping his axes from his back.

“Let us test your theory Gorehallow!”

Kathorg took his blade up vertically, lined with center of his face guard, his eyes right on Ozai. Lowly speaking to himself.

“This is for you father and you, Lirshar”€

Ozai charged recklessly, sliding into a whirlwind, Kathorg leaped overhead from a standing position, cloak acting as a pair of wings almost. He slammed down onto the stone as Ozai passed. He span about with the bastard sword, snapping it against the spinning axes, Ozai stopped and turned; a foot aimed at Kathorg’s gut.

Kathorg buckled over and slid inward, smashing a backhand into Ozai’s helm to push him away. They measured each other’s defenses and slammed into each other, the axes locking against the long blade. Kathorg snarled at Ozai, and Ozai smiled behind his visor.

“We both have great weapons, great armor. But my skill is superior.”

The weapons pushed into the air, Ozai kicked forward, Kathorg stumbled back. The Overlord rotated over, falling down on Kathorg with the axes. Kathorg span and took the axes glancing across his left pauldron. He hooked back with a left elbow, bringing his left leg through Ozai’s legs. Ozai flew through the air and rolled into a kneeling position.

Kathorg span about as lightning, his blade slamming into the ground where Ozai was, Ozai’s body on Kathorg’s right side, He planted a solid slam of his axe against Kathorg’s ribs. The weak sparked as it crossed the metal.

Gorehallow reeled about into a half leap, slamming one fist down and in the same motion his sword followed. It hacked a long gash into Ozai’s masterwork armor, his tabard in two pieces. Ozai roared in defiance, his body lurching forward, axes reaving into Kathorg’s armor, sparks filled the air, and a spec or two of blood escaped the blade marks. Ozai back flipped, running off of Kathorg’s chest, As he landed Kathorg rebounded with a shouldering blow to Ozai’s face. As Ozai reeled back he span and jumped away to avoid a fatal blow, Kathorg stepped back measuring the scene, thinking through the next moves.

Garrosh laughed heartily, motioning at the battle.

“Such entertainment! Thrall, isn’t that the warlord that spoke with you those days right after I returned from the North?!” Garrosh laughed more, “He is doing quite well!”€

Thrall walked forward and eyed the battle slowly, the two warriors circled, weapons aimed at each other. Thrall’s voice calm, he spoke quietly.

“Why yes. That is the very man.”

Kathorg as he circled noticed the Warchief and Garrosh viewing the duel. Ozai charged again, Kathorg rolled into the charge with a cleaving motion. Ozai’s leg received a bloody cut, he span about and hooked an axe in the right shoulder pad of Kathorg’s armor. He twisted and kicked off to rip the chunk of vital defenses off Gorehallow.

Kathorg in retaliation rolled off to the side to avoid a reverse hook from the other axe. He leaped up and cleaved again to create room between him and the Overlord. His eyes looked over Ozai defining each step the warrior took. Soon enough Kathorg nodded silently and stood up.

“Ozai, is that really all you’ve got?”€

Ozai infuriated charged again, Kathorg quickly sidestepped and grabbed the plumage of the helmet, ripping it off Ozai. He kicked at Ozai’s knee and cleaved downward. Ozai however rolled after the kick to the leg, he span and leaped up hammering down, one axe cutting against Kathorg’s faceguard; roaring in the process.

“There Gorehallow! Taste my steel!”€

Ozai flipped over Kathorg and span around, Kathorg stood up with a counter clockwise spin.

Thump.
Ozai dropped his axes, Kathorg held his sword backwards, driven through Ozai’s gut. It protruded out his back. Kathorg pushed back with one hand and pulled the blade out.

“As I rise.”€

Ozai fell to his knees and Kathorg span about raising his blade and grabbing at the hilt with both hands. And with one swipe.

“You fall.”€

Ozai’s head flew from his shoulders and rolled across the room. Thrall nodded silently, Garrosh shrugged with a large smile chuckling.

“It was fun while it lasted. Bwhahha. Now, where were we?”

Vol’jin looked back at them then down at Ozai’s remains.

“Dat mon, Ozai, had it comin’.”€

Kathorg looked up to Thrall and put his blade into the air.

“It is now. I reforged the Bloodsworn Honorguard, swearing by the blood of this cowardly dog, and all others like him. My warriors stand and fight. Not for you, not for I, but for the Horde’s people! For their lives! I swore it to you once Warchief. And I swore it to my father! I fight to represent the whole of the Horde, with honor and distinction!”€

Thrall nodded to Kathorg, speaking in return.

“And you have done so. Continue to do so Warlord of the Bloodsworn Honorguard.”€

With that Thrall and Garrosh left to their chamber again. Saurfang motioned for a guard to clean up the mess, he then spoke to Kathorg.

“Follow me warrior.”€

They walked to his table in the room, Saurfang turned to Kathorg and spoke swiftly.

“Ozai more than once was spoken against. But no one ever thought he would make an enemy out of honorable men. The blood of the Overlord is on your hands. But as you said, it is a trade for the life of your father.”

Kathorg nodded slowly.

“As I have seen, as the Horde has seen; you have always fought for its people. More than one report spoke of you in the streets in the past speaking to workers of the battles. Of you taking initiative, striking out into our lands against foes. Gorehallow, continue your work. But remember, your greatest enemy is yourself, stop pulling at us and start pushing at yourself. This was a first step. Now get moving. You have a lot of work ahead of you.”

Kathorg took his recovered spaulder from a guard that returned it to him.

“Dabu, High Overlord.”€

Kathorg bowed and walked away. He received pats on the shoulder and grunts of approval as he marched. He held his head high, and left the fortress.

Kartu still sitting upon the fortress watched the warlord leave. He smiled, releasing smoke from his mouth.

“He yet lives.”€

Kartu turned to the fire behind him and sighed.

“Good.”

[Aphetoros]

The first thing that came to mind...

Spoiler:

MORTAL KOMBAT.

[Brutalskars]

Deep in the shadows of the Burning Steppes, down under the many mountains; a long scream echoed in the halls. A young Blackrock girl was on her knees, body marked with many runes, warlocks around the circle she sat within. One warlock tapped the circle and it lit up, coursing dark energy through her marks again.

“I understand why we do this… But still not why we use this weak vessel. How is she more capable than the other dark shaman?”

Behind him, the deep thud of metal boots could be heard, a figured armored in black iron; his dark help holding two prin picks of red light in its eyes. His armor surrounded by a deep burgundy robe, hood draped over his helm. His voice creaked to life.

“I would suggest you do not ask so many questions warlock. Your status does not permit you such information… Better to be ignorant than be responsible for a secret.”

The warlock gulped slightly, tapping the circle again. The dark figure slowly walked away from them, out of the room. As he exited the chamber, the dark halls were hardly lit by torches. His presence caused each torch to dim as he passed, stepping around a corner through a pair of open doors. The innards of the room consisted of a long table, a large group of assorted beings sitting at it. Trolls of all breeds, orcs of all clans, ogres stood about it, more than just two more first generation death knights. Fel orcs, goblins, humans and gnomes; and even more than that. He walked along the room, they all were discussing random things, the burgundy cloaked figure stood beside an empty chair. He motioned for silence.

“Now… Now… Quiet… We are here to discuss war, but for now we are to honor one with the greatest of honors.”

They all looked over to the deathknight, watching with extreme curiosity. The deathknight

“The next in line for Warchief of our glorious Horde! I present you, the warrior that is taking the title of Blackhand! The next Destroyer! Vardok!”

A large blackrock orc strode into the room from behind the main chair, armored in chain and breastplate, it was runed with dark marks. His right hand clutching a viscous warblade, its surface marked with the symbols of the elements. His cruel grin was wide, eyes red, and stature solid. The deathknight continued on.

“The greatest of the dark shaman combatants! A warrior whose might is his own! The elements bend to his will! Respect is due! Pledge your allegiances to him, Vardok Blackhand! The Destroyer!”

The speech was met with cheers, and Vardok murmed lowly.

“War is coming…”

---

Kathorg crawled across the ground, his armor sundered, face guard cracked in half. Blood streaming from his face, he slowly got to his knees. His eyes met more than one fallen warrior, the fields around Blackrock Mountain covered in bodies, Horde, Alliance, and every enemy they had ever known. He saw the corpses of friends, Siame, Champion of the Darkspear; Taje, the expert marksman and more. He looked over fallen Earthshakers, fallen paladins of the Argent Dawn. He coughed heavily, reaching for his greatsword, standing from the ruins of the battle. He limped across the field, picking up the pace, looking to the rise to Blackrock Mountain. He fell to his knees in pain, coughing up blood. He tripped falling forward, laying beside the corpse of his beloved Lirshar. He looked up to see the triumphant foe.

“This… Is not over…”

Two blackrocks tugged Kathorg to his feet, dragging him along the rise. They dropped him at the feet of the burgundy robed deathknight. The being clutched his unholy scepter, laughing in a hideous tone.

“Gorehallow… One of the few survivors? I am surprised you made it this far.”

He kicked Kathorg directly in the chest, Kathorg’s sternum shattered from the blow. He fell back wheezing, blood spraying from his nostrils and mouth. The two other orcs stood over him, their grins wide. The deathknight continued on.

“Your attempt to stop our victory was pointless. We were going to win, you did nothing but put off the inevitable. Our legions march on every city now, all your armies fell here! One last push to stop Armageddon! To stop our dominion! Worthless!”

Kathorg tried to sit up, sputtering.

“We will fight you till the end…”

The deathknight waved his hand, the other orcs picked Kathorg up, allowing him to look the unholy thing in the eyes. Kathorg’s fury, only suppressed by a calm; a weak calm found in the moment before death. The dark creature spoke slowly.

“For what do you fight? To die? What type of life is that Gorehallow? To die in such a meaningless way.”

Kathorg’s eyes did not falter from their position. He smiled in retaliation.

“Freedom… Honor… Love…”

The deathknight nearly spoke, but a spray of blood hit his face as Kathorg spat on him.

“You know nothing of these things!”

The deathknight simply reached a hand into Kathorg’s chest with an incorporeal shift, hand wrapping around the core of the warlord’s soul. He began to tug.

Then Gorehallow suddenly raised from his bed; sweat dripping from his brow. He groaned.

“I… Really need to get a drink…”