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.

“So, what is this about?” Kelraxus said, trying to take his mind off the staring.

“Patience,” Baine said, like a teacher keeping a child at bay.

“You’re dragging me through here,” Kelraxus pushed, letting his anger slip the leash for a moment.  “I want to know why.”

“You will learn soon enough, warrior,” Baine said with quiet authority.  “I don’t know all of the details myself, and I’m dragging you through here to remind them of the price you pay for their safety.”

“It seems all they are reminded of is their fear,” Kelraxus retorted.

“If it works to help them remember to do their part, then I do not see the problem,” Baine said.

“Now you’re beginning to sound like Hellscream,” Kelraxus said.

Baine snapped around and stared into Kelraxus’s eyes without a hint of fear or hesitancy.  For all of Kelraxus’s reputation, he did not give himself much chance against Baine’s axe-work.  But he did not back down.  And Baine hesitated, remembering the people around them who were looking on with suddenly intense curiosity.  The chieftain made a show of relaxing his posture, and the warrior did so as well.

“I’m sorry,” Kelraxus said, not entirely sure if he meant it.

“No offense taken,” Baine replied stiffly before turning back and continuing.

The two Tauren reached his tent five minutes later.  To call it at tent was, without context, a gross inadequacy, but a tent it was, and one fit for the most powerful Tauren on Azeroth.  It stood some seventy feet tall at its highest point and spread out with several branches capable of housing entire Tauren families or foreign delegations.  The enchanted leather hide that formed its roofing and doorways resisted the wind with a silent grace and was immune to water damage, providing all the comfort of civilization that a Tauren could ask for without compromising his appreciate for the Earthmother’s gifts. 

Smoke spouted from the tops of several of the tent peaks, indicating that several quarters were in use.  A few humble Tauren brought gourds and platters of drink and food in and out of the abode and the sounds of laughter and conversation spilled out of the tent flaps each time they were opened. 

Baine did not Kelraxus the chance to question the occasion.  He entered his residence, and the warrior followed.

Inside, Kelraxus was greeted by a combination of smells he had not realized he missed.  His nose caught spiced meat, freshly broken bread, heady ale, and even the cured wood at his feet.  Above all else, the combination was warm and inviting like nothing had been for a few years.  Without a word, he held up a hand to stop one of the Tauren carrying a tray of mugs and took one. 

“Peace, friend,” the other Tauren said before moving on.

Kelraxus didn’t know whether to smile or sneer at the greeting, so he drank instead.  The beer was foamy and thick and stank of hops.  Its blend of bitterness and sweetness was unique to the Bluff and had been a flavor Kelraxus enjoyed many times.  It seemed to lack conviction for him now.

Baine was still moving, deep into the tent, to his own quarters.  The chieftain stopped and looked back to Kelraxus.

“Come on,” he said.

+ + + + + +

Kelraxus stepped into Baine’s personal living space and eyed the rooms.  It was the one place in Mulgore he had never visited, and yet it still managed to meet his expectations.  Weapons and tokens from defeated enemies sat on one side.  Sigils and symbols of the Earth Mother adorned another.  Other than a few vaguely familiar icons and fetishes, the last wall seemed largely vacant, at least until Baine moved over to it, unleashed the totems on his back, and set them down.  There, they gave the trinkets significance – everything on the wall had once belong to Cairne, Baine’s father.

Baine set down his mace, moved to his makeshift altar to the Earth Mother, and whispered a prayer.

“I think you’re missing your party,” Kelraxus said, his tone conveying a hint of his impatience.

“You may not bow to her anymore,” Baine said without looking at him, “but I do.”

After a long moment, Baine turned around and looked at Kelraxus in the manner of one sizing up an opponent in a training ring.  He then spared a look out of his room, and back to Kelraxus once more.

“This feast is a preface,” Baine said, honing Kelraxus’s attention.  “And my prayer was for you.  I have to ask you to do something.”

“Ask?” Kelraxus said quizzically.  “Since when does the Chieftain have to ask?”

“A Chieftain has to ask when he cannot do the task himself,” Baine answered, quoting a pearl of wisdom left to him by Cairne.  Baine collected his thoughts before continuing.

“I assume you have heard of the new land,” Baine said at length.

Kelraxus nodded in agreement.

“General Nazgrim landed there a few weeks ago,” Baine said, “and true to form, he has not wasted time.  Reports come back every day of new resources and new territories being discovered.  New peoples are joining the Horde, and not joining the Horde.  It’s all been interesting, until now.”

“Until now?” Kelraxus asked.

“Now, it is escalating,” Baine answered.  “Word has come to Orgrimmar that the Alliance is making major moves in this new land.”

Kelraxus’s eyes narrowed.  “That can only end one way.”

“Yes,” Baine confirmed.  “Hellscream is getting directly involved.”

Kelraxus was considering the implications when he noticed the look in Baine’s eye.  It was a strange thing, something that wasn’t quite fear or exhaustion, but carried an aftertaste of both. 

“The Horde is going to war,” Baine continued.  “He’s taking every able-bodied Orc he can spare, and calling on the Bluff and Silvermoon to do the same with their peoples.”

“What about Darkspear?” Kelraxus asked.

“Vol’jin hasn’t given many details,” Baine answered, “but he is not in the Warchief’s good graces.”

“So you’re calling the muster, then,” Kelraxus said, assuming he was giving voice to Baine’s next thought.

“No,” Baine said, his face hardening to stone.

Kelraxus’s eyes narrowed, and Baine turned back to the altar.

“I will never truly understand why Thrall chose Garrosh,” the chieftain said.  “Maybe, on some level, he knew Deathwing was coming and he believed the Horde needed a warlord.  But mark my words.  A reckoning is coming for the choices we made to survive the Black Dragon.  The Horde is not what it was when we first joined it, and it is becoming something to truly be feared.”

Baine paused.

“I will honor my oaths to the Horde,” Baine said resolutely.  “But I will honor them as I see fit.  Thunder Bluff will answer Hellscream’s call, but in our own way.”

“Anything less than an army will earn his anger,” Kelraxus said, stating fact rather than giving voice to concern.

“Then I will send something more valuable than an army,” Baine replied.  “Any Tauren who wishes to join Garrosh’s offensive may do so.  But I am forming a unit to personally represent Thunder Bluff in this new land.”

Kelraxus straightened into readiness as realization dawned.

“It won’t be a large group,” Baine continued, “but it will be composed of our champions.  Tauren from all walks of life whose reputations will precede them and whose presences cannot be ignored.”

Baine paused again.

“I want you to lead them, my friend,” he said, finally speaking his intent aloud.

Kelraxus blinked, caught off guard at the second part of Baine’s plan. 

“I am no leader,” Kelraxus said.  “I would only get this group of yours killed.”

“Is that a ‘no’, then?” Baine asked, turning back to his friend.

“I am a bloodletter,” Kelraxus protested.  “I am sword and shield and horns.  Why would you ask someone like me to represent you?”

“Because I am a warrior, too,” Baine answered.  “I want Hellscream to be reminded that the Bluff is not weak, and I don’t want to throw away lives to make him remember.  I’m asking you because you are ‘Bloodhorn’…”

Kelraxus stiffened at the use of the less than flattering nickname.

“…and because you are more than that,” Baine finished.  “The others I have gathered have allegiances across Azeroth.  But you…you have always fought for your people, first and foremost.”

“And if I say ‘no’?” Kelraxus asked.  “What will you do?”

“If you refuse, and I cannot find a suitable replacement, the Bluff itself is going to war,” Baine said.

Kelraxus grimaced at the thought.

“I thought I was being offered a choice,” he said.

“You are,” Baine replied.  “An unfortunate one, but a choice nonetheless.”

“What happened to not throwing away lives?” Kelraxus asked in annoyance.  “You will abandon this plan if I do not join it?”

“This plan only works if the group has the right Tauren to lead it,” Baine answered.

Kelraxus stared at the chieftain, gripped by the very emotion he despised most – hesitancy.  If he took up the banner of the Bluff, he would be helping to bring war to a land that likely had no need for it, and he would be responsible for both the lives of Tauren heroes and for the honor of the Bluff itself.  If he refused the “honor”, he would be condemning dozens, if not hundreds, of Tauren to their deaths in another of the Warchief’s battles. 

“Fine,” Kelraxus said, his words dripping with resentment.  “Damn you for making me do this, Baine.”

Baine’s head cocked back in surprise at the venom of the words.

“I do this for our people,” Kelraxus continued.  “But when the deed is done, so am I.  I am laying down my blades and leaving Mulgore forever.  I have tasted enough blood to last many lifetimes, and I’m getting out while it is still possible.  My oaths to you, to the Tauren, and to that bastard Hellscream are finished.”

The Chieftain hardened and said “Agreed.”

“I’m assuming this group is outside,” Kelraxus said. “I want to meet them.  We’re all likely going to die, so I want to make sure they know what they are getting into first.”

Without speaking, Baine stepped past Kelraxus and toward the exit.

“And Chieftain,” Kelraxus said, bringing Baine to a halt. “Mark your own words – a reckoning is indeed coming.”