"Captives!"
The shout goes up and I rush outside my house in Camp Narachir, Mulgore. I am a twelve-year-old male Tauren whose parents died years ago and who lives with an elder in the Camp. I would call myself a normal Tauren, playing with others and killing Plainstriders and stuff. This is why I am allowed to live in Camp Narachir, the prison camp of the Barrens and the descendant of the original Camp Narache. That and my elder guardian, Rastir Thorntail, lives here.
"Stand back, Iristor, they're dangerous," someone says, pushing me back out of the way of the captives cart as it goes though Camp Narachir and towards the chief's hut. I step backwards and watch with wide eyes as I see the assorted captives in the back; several angrily-gesturing Humans and a cluster of Night Elves, including one girl in the back, purple-haired and young, only about ten or eleven, scrawny and scared and little.
Just for a second I think I might feel something like sympathy for her.
And then the cart is past and Rastir is pulling me back indoors.
"I'm going to go and see the trials, it pays to be on top of things here," he tells me, grabbing his axe and shield from the corner and motioning to me. "You come too, it's good for you to see the work of the Horde from a young age."
This is typical Rastir, he is always thinking of me as another young Warrior in training. Actually I want to be a Shaman.
"OK, Rastir. Be there in a minute."
I go back into the house and sit down on my bed in the corner, my imagination flaring at the sight of the cart again in the distance through the window. I wonder how hard they fought? Was anyone killed? Horde or Alliance? And did we take them by surprise, or did they just fall by us and go from there? I wish I'd seen it. One of the Taurens on the cart was a Shaman. I'd have liked to have seen him in action.
"Iristor! Get out here! I'll go without you!"
Normally I would sigh at that and go out and do something else just to irritate Rastir. But today I want to go and see the trial, see what had happened. For some reason that I have yet to fathom, I am curious, as a twelve-year-old Tauren should be.
"OK! OK!"
I run out of the house and after Rastir, who is making his way towards the fort in the middle of Camp Narachir, the stronghold that all who live here would have to defend with their lives in the event of an Alliance siege.
"Names, Alliance scum, and be quick about it!"
The judge speaks in the common tongue so the Alliance captives can understand him. Several of the captives remain seated as a sign of defiance to him, but one stands up, her face alight. The mother, it would seem, of the little girl who couldn't be much older or younger than me, who is crying behind her father. Once again something flickers in my stomach. I tell myself it cannot be pity for the Alliance wretches not fit to inhabit Azeroth, but the feeling grows and I begin to realise how sorry I actually feel for this frightened little girl in the corner.
"My name is Myira Leafwhisper. I am the wife of Soranus Leafwhisper, who is beside me and the head of the Leafwhisper family. With us is our little girl, Alayna Leafwhisper. Surely you savages will not kill a little girl?"
"Be quiet, scum! Who are you to declare what the Horde will do and not do?" The judge's temper is terrifying, and Alayna Leafwhisper bursts into fresh tears at the sound of his voice. Soranus slips his arm round her, trying to comfort her. Now I feel envy towards the girl.
My parents were murdered by the Alliance when I was young. They were patrolling near Thunder Bluff when the Alliance launched an assault on it and murdered thirteen Tauren guards, two of whom were my mum and dad. I remember very little about them, but Rastir tells me everything about them. Things they did, random things they said; Rastir was my dad's closest friend. My mum's friend died with her and Dad. Rastir expects me to take revenge for them, but I know inside that I can't. My allegiance lies with nature and the powers of the Shaman, not with the Horde or the Alliance or anyone else. My parents harnessed the power of nature and used it to fight, and look where it got them. Instead of hungering for revenge, for as long as I can remember, I have longed to use those powers to be different, to learn from their mistakes and avoid dying in vain like them.
Rastir doesn't understand this. But then, being completely different to me and an eager Warrior, Rastir doesn't understand a lot about me.
The judge stands and casts the Hunter's Mark on the nearest Alliance member, a young woman, a Human, who glares at him defiantly and holds her fists up, illuminated in a blood-red bath of light by the glowing arrow marking her out as prey. She is dead.
"Attack," the judge hisses to his pet, a surly-looking raptor, and the raptor hisses his approval and bounds forwards. The woman screams, not a scream of fear, one of defiance, one of readying for battle as the creature lunges at her, catching her off-guard, ripping at her arm, drawing rivers of blood from her pale skin. The woman ignores the pain, gritting her teeth, hitting back, drawing a moan of pain from the raptor, but her fists are no match for his long, dagger-sharp fangs and she falls, her hair soaked with thick red liquid, her eyes closing. A man shrieks her name, but I let it flow past me, my eyes on the corpse on the floor, the young woman who had everything to live for and was felled like a rush, not even able to defend herself properly.
Just like my parents.
Just like me, in a way.
Rastir growls his approval of the killing, his eyes lit up and his hands resting on the hilt of his double-handed axe, resting on his back. Next to him, several Taurens are leaning forwards, their eyes eager and wide, watching as another Mark is cast and a man falls, his life destroyed by one Tauren he never even knew.
"You'll be doing this one day, Iristor, my boy," he grins, clapping me on the back. I shudder at his touch, not even knowing why. Rastir is the closest thing I have to a parent, I think I should feel some kind of affection for him.
"Enough," the judge calls as the young man falls into the pool of his own blood created below him. "That is enough. Rastir Brackentail?"
Rastir stands, his eyes glinting.
"Take the prisoners down into the holding dungeons. This is the perfect training exercise for you and young Iristor. You can guard the Night Elves."
I don't listen as he names a couple of other Taurens to guard the Humans. All I know is that young Alayna Leafwhisper is staring at me with her huge, red-rimmed eyes full of fear, their light purple darkened and their spark gone. She has just watched two of her kinsmen being killed, and the revulsion and trepidation in her irises is almost too much. I look away, feigning nonchalance when inside my stomach is writhing like the snakes living out on the Barrens.
"Well, Iristor, are you standing there all day or will you help me shift this filth into the holding dungeons?" Rastir calls, in an irritatingly buoyant mood at his appointment of guard. I nod and help him ferry them out. Even a twelve-year-old Tauren is tall enough to be imposing in a situation like this, especially one who is tall and who wears Shaman clothing. Rastir wanted me to have his chain-mail, but I refused.
"Split them up," Rastir tells me, handing me keys to different cells and an axe from the wall. "Put the little girl in her own cell, and don't defy me, or I'll have the judge's wrath on you next."
I nod silently and begin directing the Night Elves into their cells, slamming the doors to give Rastir the impression that I am enjoying being cruel. Inside it is destroying me. I can feel my instincts telling me I am a hateful creature for doing this, but my mind has to take over and I cannot stop now.
Alayna is left until last. I take her arm, giving the impression that it is done roughly, but really only just gripping. I barely even catch her eye, but in front of Rastir she plays along, struggling and writhing in pain, her eyes narrowed. She shrieks several oaths in Darnassian and others join in, screaming and yelling until Rastir bangs his axe on the cell doors. Alayna bites back a smile as I throw her into her cell, and her eyes meet mine.
My eyes, I know, are infused with reluctance, with regret, and with sympathy for her in her desperate situation. In all probability, she is condemned. And yet, her eyes sparkle with defiance, fire roaring behind her normally tranquil eyes, and her mouth curves into a smile that she knows I will not force off her face.
She has too much passion to be ignored. She will not stop at defeat, or admit it.
My mind is made up as I move away, fuelled by the sorrow and hatred and horror I have seen in the trial room and in the eyes of the Alliance captives, both living and dead.
Somehow, even if it kills me to do it, I must bring down this terror camp, this place of death.
And to do that, I must free Alayna Leafwhisper.
A/N: So… should I carry on with this? Do people think it's any good? I have a plot all laid out and such, but I need people to be enjoying it to write it. Please review and tell me what you think! Jazzola :)