Torture is the Tool of the Weak

Grim's mind felt like it was working in slow motion. He had discovered too much distressing information.
He leant on the railing outside the Hammerfall Inn, staring into nothing.
What was happening to the Marauders? How and why had they sunk to such depths?
Torture was a tool for the weak and the dishonourable, Grim could never condone its use, especially not on a fellow Marauder, especially not on a friend.

Hammerfall. Everything important seemed to happen here. Here in Hammerfall, Grim thought, this was where Thrakha had taken the Chieftainship of the Marauders. Here was where Grim had rallied the Hammer to her support, here was where Thrakha had overcome the other contenders and taken the mantle of leadership.
Here was where Raldorr had first shown his foul nature to Grim, boasting of the murder of children. Grim smirked at the memory of what followed - he had rashly and foolishly challenged Raldorr and severed the Forsaken's hand, being blinded temporarily in return.
Who would have thought that it would be Raldorr who promoted him to Captain of the Circle? Grim had sworn a death-oath, he was honour-bound to slay Raldorr... He had buried this oath deep in his memory, content to postpone his vengeance, but... listening to Raldorr boasting of his torture of Amezia had brought it all back.
He was ashamed to wear the Marauder tabard, and ashamed to call Raldorr his superior officer.
He was ashamed to call Thrakha his Chieftain.

It all boiled down to oaths... How many oaths had he sworn? How many had he kept, or followed truly? Grim shook his head and sighed. Too few.
He had sworn to act as Thrakha's advisor, to be her personal shaman. He had tried, the ancestors know how he had tried, but she was too stubborn, too proud to listen.
He had sworn to slay Raldorr, and his own selfish desire for promotion had caused him to ignore that oath.
He had sworn to protect Thelenia, despite disliking the arrogant elf. That oath had been worthless, Peri had slain her anyway, and escaped any chance of retribution.
He had sworn brotherhood with Roéd, and yet he could not help him... His duty to the Marauders prevented him from marching to Roéd's aid in his quest to discover the truth behind the death of Elstrazil.
He had sworn an oath to obey orders, to follow the chain of command blindly. And for a while he had... Until Igra ordered him to capture Amezia.
How could he? How could he be expected to capture his friend? To capture her so she could be subjected to more torture? He could not do it, and so he had broken yet another oath.

"I have dishonoured myself at every turn..." Grim mumbled.

He thought of Thrakha... He had respected her, seen her as the Marauder's best hope for a glorious future, and so he had supported her, advised her and obeyed her. She was more than most orcs, in her he saw similarities with himself. She had idealogies, she had morals, she was more than just another brute. He had trusted her to make the right decisions and to lead with honour, always with honour.
And yet she had ordered the torture of Amezia, his friend. She had taken part in it herself, and watched while Raldorr and Ghelgor had tortured Amezia further.
He had spoken angrily to Thrakha of this, he had threatened her. He would not suffer such dishonour to exist within this warband.

Grim snarled angrily. What could he do?
His word was worthless, his honour was tattered.

Redemption. He must redeem himself, and the warband...

Honour is Found not just in War

"One thing at a time", thought Grim. "Redemption is not found in one go, but slowly and by pieces."

He had freed Amezia, he had cut the ropes binding her and he had let her go. To her credit she had not fled but remained within Hammerfall to face her judgement.
Such a simple thing, cutting those ropes and helping her to her feet, and yet it had felt like winning a battle. Grim had never felt so right, so sure of the honour of his actions. Helping Amezia from the bed and to her feet, letting her take his arm and walking the weakness from her legs had caused him to smile at first, then grin and finally to laugh for the first time in a long time. Grim had taken action, had acted upon his sense of honour and had done the right thing.

"Still", Grim mused. "Not everyone is happy."

Ghelgor had been the one to confront him. Not Thrakha or Igra as he had assumed, but Ghelgor. He had strolled to his new home behind the Hammerfall Inn to find the grizzled old orc hacking his home to pieces with his axe.
Upon seeing Grim, Ghelgor had turned and punched him full in the face, splitting his lip along the freshly healed scar from the last time Ghel had struck him.
The passage of events was somewhat blurred to Grim now, blurred like memories of battle and conflict.
Harsh words had been spoken and Ghelgor's emotions were to the fore, troubled and angry. Their usual argument ensued, about what was more important - duty or honour.
Ghelgor's opinions were outdated, old-fashioned and brutal, the polar opposite of how Grim saw the world.
The fight had ended with Ghelgor swinging his axe, Grim had been forced to summon the spirits of Earth, interrupting Ghel's bull-rush and sending him sprawling. The fight had ended, the fury of the veteran orc squashed through humiliation. Grim had seen something else in Ghelgor's eyes then, simple, unexpected sorrow.
"I just want my friend back..." Ghelgor had mumbled before turning and leaving.

Grim did not understand. What had changed? He was still the same orc, but now blessed with the attention of the elements and spirits.

"Enough." thought Grim, he did not have time to pander to Ghelgor's misguided actions. Whatever would be, would be. Even if it came down to another Mak'Gora.

Do What Is Right

Night had fallen, Grim looked around warily. This area could still have human soldiers alive. He walked softly, grass crunching underfoot.
He walked past broken and mangled corpses, bloodied and mutilated. The bodies didn't bother him. This was what war looked like and he was used to it.
Grim unsheathed his claws, using them to aid him climbing the boulders blocking the route into the valley. On top of the boulders he leapt nimbly down to the other side, chainmail rattling.
More corpses. More blood and more butchery.
He walked to the first well, sniffing the air as he did so. The smell of blood and slowly spoiling flesh filled the air. Grim sighed, he realised he was betraying the Marauders right now, but he believed it was worth it. Poisoning of water-supplied was yet another sign of the dishonour filling the warband.
Grim reached into the well, grabbing the animal carcass dumped inside it. He heaved the corpse out of the well, dropping it the the floor. He then repeated this action on the other wells.
Once he had done this task he dragged the carcasses into the centre of the ruined Alliance settlement and placed them into a pile. Grim closed his eyes and whispered a request to the spirits of fire and the pile of carcasses caught light, burning quickly but fiercely.

"One thing left to do now..." thought Grim.
He sat down on the bloodied grass, closed his eyes and whispered.
"Spirits of water. An injustice has been done to you. You have been poisoned here. Help me help you..."

A bubbling noise emanated from the wells and shortly the water seemed to boil, foul smelling blood-red vapours rising from them.
Grim nodded in satisfaction, knowing this was the taint leaving them wells.

He was done here and he doubted the Marauders would ever know what he had done.