A tale of Honour and Mercy.

[Rargnasha]

Honor is a weird thing. As a Newblood of my tribe earlier said: “Honor is a many headed beast and each who looks upon, sees something different.” And as I myself have described mercy. “Mercy is like a seed, the one who is shown mercy, is more likely to show it himself and thus passing on the seed of mercy.” I would soon find this to be even truer than I had expected.

For two days I had been hunting a Necromancer who had dared set foot upon the grounds of my people, the Barrens. Now, some of you might not know who or what I am, for those, I will write this next part.

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I am Rargnasha Bloodmark, an orc and a warrior of the horde, dedicated follower of Thralls vision of ‘The New Horde’. I was born clanless, and while some might find the story of my life of interest, then that will be a story to be told another time. I am the proud member of the tribe that adopted me less than a year ago,  The Red Blade tribe which works as a gathering for all orcs. Here I climbed the ranks through strength, honor and dedication. This earned my second name and my rank of Rrosh-tul, An elite warrior of the tribe, and Blademaster of the tribe, which is the title of the tribes Champion.

As all other orcs, we fight for the Horde, and back in my first days of tribe, my blood-thirsty tutor, Vargosh the traitor, a huge, blood hungry monster of an Mok’nahtal, swathed down an helpless elf during a raid upon the elven town of Astranaar. Despite the ideals my tutor of the tribe had shown me, I took pity upon the elf and tended to her wounds, a gesture that would be far more important than I would ever had anticipated.
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My hunt for the necromancer led me to Ashenvale, the trail had gone cold more than a day ago, but my search in the Barrens had been long and revealed that the Necromancer had left. While it was good that the necromancer was away from the homelands of my people, it would be foolish to let him roam around Kalimdor freely. The hunt would go on, even though the track had last led towards Ashenvale, home of the lumbering camps and the mystical night elves.

Though I saw little signs of the necromancer I still travelled through the forest, my first stop would be the Warsong lumber camps, though they had seen nothing of any necromancers, my travels took me through the enchanted forest till my wolf stopped by Astranaar. The stench of death and plague hang heavy in the air and there was, what wouldn’t be a lightly dressed necromancer, but a juggernaut of a death knight, clad in heavy plate armor and wielding a huge, rusty, jagged axe, seeping with plague. I could have turned my back on the town and walked away, few would call me a coward for letting my enemy fighting my enemy. I could possibly even wreak more damage upon the elves or the death knight if I acted with cunning. But no, such a death I wouldn’t want, even for those supposed to be my enemy.

I found my fingers running over the emblem of the Argent Dawn upon my right pauldron. I slowly climbed down from my wolf and ran across the bridge into the town, charging towards the Death Knight. The elves who had come to fight him, in order to purchase the others more time to either escape or barricade themselves, fell to his blade by the second.

As I ran towards him, drawing my axe and my shield, I spotted out of the corner of my eye I saw that corpses of elves were laying strewn across the village, creating a bloody trail of death and gore. I felt the righteous fury burn in my veins. Many of these had been civilians, even children were here. Though being no shaman I could still feel their need for vengeance, and for justice to be extracted upon this fiend as their spirits cried for revenge.
 
I let out a bellowing roar, letting the filth know that a true opponent had arrived. The Death Knight  turned just in time to have my shield meet with his face. If the dead could look surprised, then he would have done. The death knight staggered back, looking at me with his shining, cold eyes. The remaining sentinels stared in confusion; an orc fighting a death knight inside an elven town was not a common occurrence. Fortunately they decided to let enemies fight enemies. They rushed to help the wounded escape and call for reinforcements.

I felt a slight grin slide across my fangs as the Death Knight was now entirely focused upon me. I raised my axe and pointed it towards him, then roared out my challenge. His response was a silent, deadly stride towards me. Readying his axe, his first swing hit nothing but my shield and my strike  hit true and clear. I felt I could already taste victory as my axe slashed though armor and flesh. I took a step towards the Death Knight and threw a powerful kick at his knee, causing him to hiss in annoyance as he recoiled backwards.  The edge of my shield struck his head before he had regained his balance. I watched him take a few steps backwards, the rotten blood spilling out of a large gash in his stomach, his helmet slightly dented and his leg in a weird position.

I felt so assured of my victory, that my arrogance blinded me and I lowered my guard. With a sudden almost snakelike whip of his hand his axe swung towards me. I felt the plagued blade rend my armor and cut a gash in my left leg, the poison taking seat in the wound. I felt the warm blood stream down over my leg and the pain shoot through my nerves. A slight, feverish feeling took place in my head. The pain was great but nothing that a strong will and determination couldn’t handle. I stepped forwards and slashed my axe across his chest, vowing that if the poison killed me, then I’d at least take him down with me.

We both stepped away from each other and I looked over the wounds I had inflicted upon him. To my horror, I saw that the wounds I had inflicted… were sealed close! The death knight grinned wickedly at me and with a howl and a gesture of his hand, I felt the disease take hold of my body.
What happened next was a bit of a blur, but I remember fighting him for several minutes. Fighting and losing.

When I was finally brought to my knees, my body wounded and diseased, I looked up at who I thought would be my bane, steeling myself to the final moments. Suddenly a piercing war-cry interrupted the Death Knight as he was about to finish me. Two sentinels had ambushed him and finished him off so quickly that I barely had time to catch my breath.

After the death knight was killed, the two elves walked over to me, one of them bringing her blade to my throat. The other sat down, bringing her face level with mine... and I stared into the eyes of the elf that I saved all those months ago.

And so it happened, that the Death knight was vanquished and the seed of mercy had blossomed into a friendship. These were the thoughts I had on my mind as I rode out of Astraanar, my wounds cured with blessed water and covered with night elven bandages.



Thank you to those participating in the story:
Starring:
Elf who got saved by and saved an orc from a death knight: Tialessa
Elf who helped saving orc from a death knight and held a dagger at his throat: You know who you are!
Main Villian of the story: Exilius as RandomEvilUberdeathknight300 (Note, this death knight was not Exilius' Roleplaying character)
Our dashing hero who got his green behind kicked: Me.
And the lovely person who took the time to read and edit my story: Mazguul.

[Claws]

Nice Yarn
Keep them coming

[Burgorg]

Nice one Rarg, loved the story.

[Mazguul]

(( Aside from the 'elf' bit it's an excellent tale. Awww, I'm kidding... go go hippie orcs! And to be fair it needed little editing ))

[Kozgugore]

(( Was a great read! Love to hear what the tribe's orcses are doing from time to time - especially when they're STINKING COLLABORATORS! D;<

Nah, in all honesty, I liked it. Koz would utterly disapprove of elf-lovings, of course, but I can only encourage it OOC. Keep it up! ))