Bloodhorn, Chapter 1 - Turning Tides

Baine and Kelraxus walked through Thunder Bluff, over its bridges and through its meeting places, toward the Chieftain’s personal residence.  The crowds that parted for them were mostly Tauren, who would bow their heads in respectful deference, but there were ever increasing numbers of Orcs, Goblins, and all manner of peoples who sought to experience life in Mulgore, if only for a while.  Kelraxus felt himself to be an acute interruption of the Bluff’s nightlife as butchers looked up from their partially carved wares and blacksmiths set down their still ringing hammers.  They were, without a doubt, paying subconscious homage to their chieftain, who acknowledged them with pleasant greetings, but no few gazes lingered on Kelraxus.  Eyes watched him go, trying to match his sight to the Tauren spoken of in tales of heroism and bloodletting that few of them could comprehend.

Had he be born an Orc, his name might have been shouted from the walls of Orgrimmar as a byword for glory.  But he was Tauren, and like him, his people were of two minds.  They honored him when called to, giving their thanks for fighting the wars they could not.  They also shunned him when they could, as if being in his presence were a way of invoking violence.   It was, some mused, the way of war.  To survive in a world where demons and demi-gods walked and pantheons schemed, a culture needed its heroes.  People needed individuals to stand against the darkness, to look madness in the eye and push it back.  But the sagas and songs always left out the aftermath.  They never told of what such heroism did to the heroes, or what flaws made them heroes in the first place.

Kelraxus kept his gaze level and straight ahead, careful to not look anyone in the eye or appear intentionally threatening.  He did it for their benefit and, if he were being completely honest, because he had little to say to them at this point anyway.

Inception, Prologue

1978.

Washington, District of Colombia, The United States of America.

“Agent Fury – the President will see you now.”

Nick turned to the two Secret Service operatives standing outside the Oval Office.  They were barely identifiable from one another at first glance, and they both used subtle restraint on their unease at the situation.  Nick felt he couldn’t blame them.  They were about to allow their sworn protectorate to meet with an eye-patch wearing ex-assassin with a reputation for pulling off impossible missions.  But if the substance of this meeting turned out to be what he was anticipating, it certainly fell under the category of desperate measures in desperate times.

The agent on the right turned and opened the door to the Oval Office, indicating that Fury could pass.  The agent on the left eyed Fury up and down, failing in his attempts to remain discreet.  Fury let a hint of smile play across his lips and entered the private working area of the most powerful human in the world.

           

President James Carter sat behind a heavy, ornate oaken desk.  He was comfortable but focused, staring at Agent Fury with neither desperation nor arrogance.  Nick’s first mental reaction was one of mild surprise, as President Carter seemed rather small in stature behind the furniture, but the look in the Chief Executive’s eyes was serious enough to show that the man knew the responsibilities and duties he had inherited.

“Nicholas Fury, I presume?” the President asked.  His Georgian drawl was perfectly formed and utilized, present enough to clearly indicated the man’s origins but subdued enough to show an experience of the wider world.

“Yes, Mr. President,” Fury answered, matching Carter’s seriousness.  It had been claimed by more than one commanding officer in Fury’s past that Fury had a penchant for cavalier attitude and actions, and whatever the veracity of such claims, Nick had no intention of conveying anything but the utmost dedication to what was about to be asked of him.

Bloodhorn, Prologue

A statue sat over the edge Thunder Bluff, on an outcropping of wood and reed.  It was an effigy of resilience and potency, a visage of measured power rendered into the form of a long-horned Tauren brave.  Its unmoving gaze watched over Bloodhoof Village and the hardworking people toiling there, promising protection and vengeance without a whisper of a word.  The people of Mulgore spoke of the statue in hushed and respectful tones, calling it “Bloodhorn”, its profile and appearance synonymous with the dichotomous relationship the Tauren had with war.  In one light, it could be noble, unyielding, and courageous.  In another, it could be titanic, thunderous, and destructive.  And because of the respect and fear such a thing engendered, because it was an avatar of the inner Tauren soul, it remained alone, over the edge.  Ready to fall, and never giving in.

Beyond the statue, Chieftain Bloodhoof approached the outcropping.  His bladed-mace rested easily in his massive hand, and the paired totems on his back added to his imposing frame.  Only his soft, careworn eyes belied the warmth of the soul beneath his slabs of scarred muscle and ornate leatherwork armor.  He walked out over the edge, not showing the slightest hesitancy in the face of the fall.  He stopped next to the statue and surveyed its line of sight, taking in the moment of blessed peace come to his people in their land.  He spared neither glance nor touch to Bloodhorn, for he knew it better than most.  He had been there when the statue was raised.  He had been there when the statue took its place.  He had been there when the statue’s crafter died.

Baine inhaled the fresh evening air and spoke out into the night when he let the breath go.

Welcome, brave and weary travelers.

And welcome to the rest of you bums.

I'm John, and this blog is for my fan fiction.  Most of it will be set in the following universes.
- Warhammer 40,000
- Warhammer Fantasy
- World of Warcraft
- Magic: The Gathering
- The darkest corners of my imagination.

I do hope you enjoy, and I encourage you to leave me feedback, either through e-mail or post comments. I only ask that you explain your position and be respectful.  Thanks for stopping by.