Darkness: Chapter 2 - Judgement

The first strike stirred him, barely registering as his mind whirled into action to try and register what happened in the waking world. The second stung with re-doubled effort that was backed by impatient force, the pain on his cheek stinging him to consciousness. He’d been back-handed, with large knuckles, twice now.

Whoever did that will be losing that hand.

Eyes opened, but found only the murk and irritation of cloth barring their view, A bag was over his head,  the air around his face hot and moist from his ragged breath.

He grunted, sourly, part to ensure that whoever his assailant was knew he was awake, and part in irritation at his discomfort. He knew several things initially. First, his hands were bound in tight rope behind his back, second that he was kneeling on hard stone and lastly that the side of his head throbbed with a bruise.

The memory was fuzzy, but the ambush had ended with him being dismounted, putting up a fight, getting pinned down by sheer numbers then knocked out. He also knew Jol’tor was dead; the first arrows had hit him square in the chest and neck. The proud Darkspear had hit the ground with no more than a pained gargle and a last surprised breath.

His senses began shifting back into focus, first his sense of smell. This bag smelled like onions, probably just what they had at hand. Second, he felt different, lighter. They’d taken his sword, prayer beads and other belongings. Lastly, his hearing focussed. There were figures around him, talking in Orcish, rumbling deep voices of disdain judging by the tone. The eager sounding one to his right, likely the one with the arm on his shoulder spoke...

”We ambushed them at the border to the barrens! Killed the traitors group leader and brought these three as gifts to you!

Kor’kron...

”you have done well Vorg! We will have fresh entertainment from these as we ply information from them, then enact Hellscreams justice... Came a reply. This voice was ahead of him, gravelly with a hint of menace. ”Remove the bags from their heads, let me gaze upon these fools! He commanded followed by a feint echo, now making clear he was in charge.

A rough hand grabbed at the top of Krogon’s head,  grasping the bag then pulling it away with force. The light made his eyes reel so it took agonizing moments to adjust before could he could take in what was around him. He grunted in annoyance, his surroundings were mostly made up of Kor’kron grinning  like wolves who had found a lost lamb.

On his right was a Kor’kron guard, ‘Vorg’, young but muscled and sporting thin stubble. To his right was the Siam’quashi Nal’aka, she was being held down on her knee’s too... gagged and snarling, despite the arrow stuck deep in her right shoulder she obviously had plenty of energy for anger.

She still spoils for their blood.

On his left, Tet’shalak was face down on the ground. Bound, but beaten out cold. The bruises on his face and neck testament to the fierce struggle he put up before being subdued. A female Orc, in dark chain armour had her foot placed on his back, smirking with triumph as if the troll was a trophy from a hunt.

Shameless fool.

Finally he turned his gaze forward, his eyes at last accustomed to the dim light of what was a cave chamber, lit by scattered braziers. Ahead of the three captured members of the party stood an Orc of dark skin, with a jet black beard and wicked red eyes. He was a Blackrock Orc, and judging by  his rune inscribed mail raiment as well as the twisted, chain wrapped monstrosity of a totem in his right hand... a dark shaman. To his right was a shadow, no... more than a shadow, an Orc pup of some twelve years and similar hide as the Dark shaman. The boy was clad in no more than simple leathers with a light sneer on his lip, a hatchet ready in hand.

Father and son?

”An ugly pair of trolls and a weak traitorous Orc who backed them, pitiful! The dark shaman sneered, utter contempt in his voice. Nal’aka came to a simmering growl at these words, as best a rebuke as she could muster while gagged. Krogon however opted for silence, for now.

”Varanak, my son...” The dark shaman spoke, placing his hand on the pups’ tense shoulder. ”Tell me, how will we deal with dogs such as these, who would dare hunt Hellscreams loyal, hm? He turned to look at the boy with a wry smirk, trying to prompt a response.

Using us as a lesson to educate his boy in dishonour...

The boys’ mouth opened and shut, his half grown tusks flashing for a moment as he was clearly unsure, perhaps seeing the ‘hated’ enemy for the first time.

“Well, what do ‘we’ do?” The father pushed, impatient.

“We do to them as they wished to do to us, Father” The boy forced from his throat, a hesitant voice showing he was not yet a full Orc.

”Precisely.

No!

An unfriendly green hand clamped around Krogon’s mouth to stifle any attempt at protest, the Blademaster strained to look to his right as a knife wielding hand was dragged across the throat of Nal’aka, her gag muffled any noise as blood spurted into the air and the troll slumped over. He did not see it happen, but he shut his eyes in anger as he heard the ‘thump’ of a heavy axe landing in the unconscious neck of Tet’shalak.

Fury and barely bridled rage burned in his chest. Executing them like swine at the spring culling without so much as an honest honourable accusation, a cowards ‘justice’ and nothing more.

You will pay for that, Scum.

“But this one, my son...” The dark shaman added as the blood of the two trolls pooled around their lifeless body’s on the cave floor. ”this one deserves something far, far worse than death. Isn’t that right, -Devilstep?-” He snarled, his eyes placed on Krogon, filled with venomous disdain. The sweaty hand of the Kor’kron Vorg un-clamped for his mouth, allowing him to speak.

And so the plot thickens.

”The only one who deserves to suffer here is you, -dog-. Your failed Warchief is beaten and toppled from his throne, whatever punishment you waste on me won’t elevate you from hiding in caves and scavenging the wastes for trouble...” Krogon snarled flashing his fangs, instantly without hesitation. It was true as far as he was concerned, every word of it. Hellscream would never be called Warchief again.

”Ha! Still your tongue Red blade Mutt. You turned your back on your Warchief, plotted against and even waged war on him... you are a lowly snake and I will show you the fate of those who spit on Hellscream! The dark shaman retorted with a scornful snarl before he continued, ”While you rot, I will do everything I can to ruin that pack of dogs you value so much more than your own honour! It’s the ‘abyss’ for you! He laughed, carried away with his own triumph.

The tribe...

”move the stone! Ready him for the descent!” The vindictive shaman laughed, proud and victorious.

Vorg and the female Kor’kron seized Krogon harshly by his arms and dragged him to the other side of the chamber, both laughing as if whatever was to come was a joke the Blademaster would not be privy too. When they at last stopped, a third and fourth Kor’kron were dragging a massive flat boulder from the middle of the ground... as it was displaced, it revealed a hole, and a limitless dark space beneath.

He was stopped, being half dangled in with knee’s placed on the edge of the gap in the earth. Below was nothing but shadow, he couldn’t see the bottom and only felt stagnant lifeless air rising from within. The fire in the heart of the Blademaster fell to a simmer, turning his gaze to the laughing dark shaman he spoke, and chose his words wisely...

“What is your name, Dark shaman?"  He Growled.

”And why would you want to know, Blademaster? It is of little use to you now!"

Krogon smiled, coldly.

”So when the time comes, I know who I killed.”

The laughing rose, to a hearty chuckle on all sides, though Krogon kept steely faced and maintained his glaring gaze.

”Good one! It is Mala’kal, though you and I shall never meet again, cast the traitor in!"

With that, ‘Vorg’ cut the bonds around the hands of Krogon, and kicked him forward. Thus he descended into the dark, knowing the name of whom he would kill.

...Mala’kal.