Guile of the wolf- Part Three

Pain, the stinging sensation across his cheek thrust him back into reality and from the black world of unconsciousness. Nerk’ag gradually came too, his vision turning from nothing, to blurs and then shapes. He’d been slapped, and with a strong mail clad hand no less.

Lifting his still unsteady blurred gaze to that which had struck him, Nerk’ag’s eyes landed upon something no Warlock ever wants to see looking over him, A Blademaster.

The Orc Formally known to him as ‘Nogork’ was now stripped down to his own regalia, a Bare chest, Sandals, the iconic Thigh armoured pants and the very image of Tribe red blade, a Wolf mask sat atop his head. Furthermore, he now held an ornate sword in his mail clad hand, while the second blade rested at his right hip. The blades tip was pointed firmly at the neck of Nerk’ag, beads of sweat running down every side within a second of seeing it. He could see this Orc had exerted himself; sweat glistened on his green skin despite the dark glow of Shadowmoon, blood and gore decorating his dimly lit visage to the like of some sinister devil.

He was outside now, in the area just in front of the strongholds main gate.Looking up he found his hands bound in chains that were bolted to the top of a large timber impaled deep into the fel scorched earth with his back rested against it. Lowering his gaze to his captor, Nerk’ag struggled to comprehend how he had gone from Halok’s chambers to this point. He could remember nothing, but simply guessed it had something to do with the throbbing pain at the back of his head.

“I have questions, Warlock, you will answer them” Came a Coarse voice from the mouth of the Blademaster, his chin moving in such a fashion that his lengthy grey beard bobbed and raised.

Nerk’ag resisted the urge to panic and squeal. Surely there was a way to survive this agent of the enemy and keep the secrets of the coven intact, his superiors would do terrible things to him should he break under interrogation.

“And try not to lie or you shall meet the same fate as the others” came a prompt but snappy demand.

Nerk’ag hissed, shaking his head in confused bewilderment. What had this Red blade done with the others? Glancing left and right he saw nothing but the rocky wastes of Shadowmoon. It wasn’t until he looked upon the Blademaster again he realized his captor was purposely standingclose in front of him. With but a few light sandal steps to his own left, the view the Red blade had been masking was unveiled.

The sight immediately made him wail in horror, pulling at his chains in a vein attempt to escape. The Blademaster had meticulously killed every member of the stronghold, rending them, cutting them up. Limb from limb, torso from abdomen, Head from neck. It was an effigy, a trophy, a mound of body’s and contorted faces stacked as tall as two Orc’s. Green skin, Red skin, Blood. Eventually forcing himself to look in more detail, Nerk’ag saw faces he knew, fellow students, Grunts and even the still stunned face of Halok mingled between severed limbs. This was vicious barbarity, a ferocious statement of capability.

“Beast! You shall pay for this, when the crone learns of this she will smite-“ Nerk’ag stopped himself with a splutter, he’d spoken of her. Twisting his own face he cursed his stupidity, the Blademaster was trying to force an outburst, and had part succeeded. Nobody was permitted to talk of the crone, speaking of her existence beyond the instructors was punishable by lashings or even death. The mound of body’s was an act of precision, a well calculated assault on the reflexes and reactions of the easily shocked.

The red blade grinned cruelly, tilting his head to study his cornered prey’s emotion with calm triumph. Nerk’ag looked away from the gaze, his eyes falling to a second spectacle that had been erected only feet from the first. This time a Red Blade banner stood proudly waving in the winds of the valley. At the base of the pole sat three severed heads, each of a fel Orc. They were enormous, all covered in degraded rotten flesh. They all looked familiar.

Nerk’ag knew them, or had at least seen them in life. These three were once Blademasters of the Fel horde,eventually servants of the crone, and often visitors to this stronghold. They had been picked off by some unknown assassin over the length of the year, their heads taken as trophies. It seemed the identity of the shadow who had stalked these behemoths was now known.

Nerk’ag growled, it was infuriating, he would not let some sword spinning, spirit worshipping, senile old Talbuk in a wolf mask intimidate him.

“You think yourself clever Blademaster!? My mistress will burn the flesh from your hide! Pull your bones apart as you beg for a death that wont come! Your two little trophy mounds do not scare me!” Nerk’ag roared with limp defiance, He had little but his anger now.

“Three” the earthy voice of the Red blade spoke in reply, that cruel wolfish grin flashing.

Nerk’ag fell limp in his bonds, his face contorting in realization as to what this Orc meant. He was number three. He could only watch as the Blademaster raised the sword slowly, and with the lick of swirling red shapes it ignited into flame, plunged with swift precision into its target.

Nerk’ag went to scream, but found no air in his burning lungs to push forth. The blade had speared straight through his breast bone to the base of his wind pipe and finally out and into the wooden beam he dangled from. The pain melted away all resistance in him, only able to watch as the scourge of his kind walked away with steady calm, even leaving his precious sword thrust into his last victims chest.

Nerk’ag looked down, flame and ember spitting and hissing while it scorched away his hide, the searing molten edge doing its work. He would be found here, a corpse with a still flaming weapon in his body.Forever an example to all those who would cross the chieftain of tribe red blade in such a way that he would send forth his most deadly servants. All would know what strikes down those who lurk amongst the fel and shadow with only ill intent in their hearts.

A Burning Blade.

Nice stor-... *Snort.* Pansy.