Kahn Stonehoof looked upon the Tauren settlement with disgust. The bull-men never failed to evoke that feeling in him, and he knew his warriors felt the same. The barbaric creatures were so different than the proud Centaur that they were barely sentient, much less worthy of the lands they held. Which was why Bloodhoof and his warriors were here today; to take this land from the undeserving Tauren. The land was bathed in a red light from the newly rising sun, a good omen for the Centaur on this day. The fools had their settlement in a corner, between a sheer rock cliff and a sheer drop into the canyon of Thousand Needles, and there would therefore be no escape from the Centaur marauders. Giving out a war cry, he led his warriors on the initial charge. The attack was unexpected, and the Tauren had little time to prepare as the Centaur smashed through tents, scattered fires, and of course slew savage bull-men. The few of their warriors that stood up to the marauders were cut down by five-to-one odds, and there was little resistance to their attack. That is, until the bellows of their Chieftain rang out in defiance of the Centaur battle cries.
Jerked awake by the combined cries of his people and the war whoops of Centaur, Chieftain Windrider immediatly knew his fears had come true. Ever since stories of entire Tauren settlements slaughtered by Centaur raiders had started circulating years ago, he had feared his peaceful settlement would be next to fall to the brutes. But he gave little time for thought - his people needed him, and so he grabbed his mighty war axe and rushed out of his tent with a bellow. Centaur vermin were everywhere - as well as the blood of his people. Several of the raiders saw him, and abandoning their looting came at him. They stopped when one of their fellows met the head of his axe at chest height, with his severed torso swinging through the air. The cowards were hesitant to come at him, and remained so, until the reason his name was Windrider came smashing down on the back of a would-be raider. Their hesitation was turned into outright panic when his Wyvern, Skysong, clawed another's chest open with glee. Chieftain Windrider had raised him from an egg, and Skysong had never been far ever since. The two had stood together in battle often, and the Chieftain hoped they would do so again after this day. But the size of the raiding party was evidenced when a dozen or more raiders formed a circle, although a wide one, around him and his pet, and a much bigger one with an axe blood-red from lack of washing came to face him. Bellowing a challenge at their leader, Chieftain Windrider attacked the brute head-on while Skysong began ripping through the centaur's ranks. His opponent was obviously more experienced at fighting, as his swings always came closer to Windrider than his own. Barely deflecting the deadly axe of his enemy, he made fewer swings and less deflections, and he quickly began to tire. He jabbed at his opponent, but the horse man leaped to the side and smashed his axe out wide away from its owner's body. Crying in victory, the centaur swung at the Tauren's exposed head - and hit.
Crying in victory, Stonehoof swung at his opponent's exposed head, but instead hit a fast-moving blur that moved between him and his target. His axe was ripped from his hands, and staring at the winged monstrosity the bull-man had tamed with his axe in it's side, he realized the monster would be his last kill. The bull-man himself had recovered from Stonehoof's vicious deflection, and enraged at his pet's death he came at Bloodhoof, swinging hard. Acting quickly, Stonehoof reared up and struck the hilt of the axe hard with his front hooves. Knocking it out of the savage's hands, Bloodhoof realized his defeat had become victory - until the bull-man charged into his gut, snapping something and bowling the Kahn over. The two began pummeling each other with their fists, and as the Tauren took his head out of Stonehoof's gut he realized the snapping sound had been the bull-man's horn. Looking at his chest, the Kahn saw the horn lodged in his chest, but was interrupted in his examination by the Chieftain’s hands wrapping around his neck. He began to choke, and was unable to get the bull-man's hands off. An idea coming to his desperate, oxygen-starved mind, he pulled the horn out of his gut, ignoring the explosion of pain, and stabbed his adversary in the neck.
Celebrating their victory, the Marauders left the burnt remains of the Tauren settlement behind. The vultures came soon after, swooping and crying in anticipation of the feast to come. One landed on the body of the dead Chieftain, but before it could start eating it was struck by a stone. Retreating from it's perch, the vulture backed away and eyed it's adversary - a young Tauren, with a tear-stained but determined face. She threw another rock at the vulture, then went to her dead father. She stood there for a long time, until the vultures returned. She backed up, and looked away as the vultures started to eat - but her gave fell on her father's discarded axe. Despite the beating it received from the Centaur Kahn, it was intact. While it was as big as she was, she picked it up and dragged it off with her into the wilderness of the Barrens.
Nineteen Years Later
Honicora woke to the cries of vultures.
At first, she thought they were simply remnants of the dream she had been having. But as she collected her thoughts, the cries failed to go away, and so she got up out of her cot, strapped on her mighty two-handed axe, and stepped outside of her tent.
Honicora was of average build for a tauren, standing about eight feet tall and with a fairly muscular frame. With light brown fur, darker brown spots and a deep, almost black brown hair, Honicora didn’t have many striking physical differences from the average tauren. Unlike most tauren, however, she was innovative and clever; something necessary, seeing as she had lived alone since the Windrider clan was wiped out by centaur.
Sighting the location of the vultures down in the valleys of Thousand Needles, Honicora set off. Passing by the caves that the wyvern inhabited, she displayed the same gift her father had. The wyvern, when they would normally drive out intruders, were completely normal with Honicora around, as if she was a member of their flight. Passing through the cliffs, she stepped out into the valleys of Thousand Needles and headed towards the pillar of vultures.
When she arrived at the gristly feast, she saw an unfortunately common sight - a group of mangled centaur and tauren bodies. It seemed the tauren had been overwhelmed by centaur and killed to the last man - the tauren bodies were surrounded by a ring of marauders. Wading into the sea of vultures, swinging the butt of her axe to scare the filthy vermin off, she went to examine the dead tauren bodies. They had the mark of the Bloodhoof clan on their totems, so she assumed they were a foraging party for the tribe living nearby. As she began to check the dead centaur - almost certainly the Stonehoof clan, as they were the biggest clan in the Barrens - one of the tauren bodies coughed.
Turning, she saw a heavily wounded, but living warrior regaining consciousness. He tried to stand, leaning on his spear for support, but a deep gash running through his thigh prevented him from getting up. Quickly moving over to him, she began tearing strips off the clothing of nearby tauren to bandage him up, and started talking to the warrior. “Don‘t worry, I‘m going to help you, just hold still. My name is Honicora - who are you?”
The warrior was slow to reply, as his wounds were severe and he was undoubtedly weakened, but he still managed to grunt a reply. “I am Mourg, of the Bloodhoof tribe.”
With her guess confirmed, Honicora decided to go for quick, temporary healing instead of applying salves. They had only a few miles to go to his tribe, and despite his wounds the warrior would be able to make it. After bandaging him up, she quickly checked the other bodies to make sure she didn’t leave anyone behind, then helped the warrior stand up and start hobbling down the canyon.
While Mourg was hardly talkative, as they moved on Honicora managed to get the basics of his travel out of him. His tribe, the Bloodhoof, were moving away from the Barrens towards the coast in an effort to escape the centaur. They were stocking up on food and other supplies to prepare for the journey, and his party was one of several sent out. They were hunting for herbs growing in the canyons when a centaur raiding party ambushed them and killed Mourg’s companions.
Honicora doubted that the Bloodhoof would be able to simply run from the centaur, but she would hardly try to stop them. She might actually join them, in the hopes of killing Stonehoof warriors, but she didn’t know - she loved the Barrens and most of it’s creatures too much to simply leave.
As she was thinking this, several harsh cries came from the jagged peaks above them, and another group of tauren enemies came down at them - harpies. Honicora backed up against the back of the closest stone pillar, and letting Mourg lean against it she drew her axe. They landed within a respectable distance of the two tauren, but their filthy stench still assailed Honicora’s nose. That was one of the gifts harpies had - no matter who they came across, they could produce a foul stench to offend the creature.
One of the harpies - a slightly larger one, with scarlet feathers instead of the moldy green and brown the average harpy had - stepped forwards. Licking her lips, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, she cawed out a rough blend of barely decipherable Taur-ahe, saying something about surrendering for a quick death. In response, Honicora stepped forwards and stabbed the harpy in the gut with the butt of her axe. The other harpies burst into action, attacking Honicora and a few going for the seemingly defenseless Mourg. With ten harpies to the two tauren, Honicora began to worry, but soon stopped thinking and started fighting.
Seven of the eleven harpies attacked Honicora, while three tried to kill Mourg and the last was on the ground, out of breath. To gain a bit of breathing room, Honicora cut a wide arc through the cluster of harpies, neatly severing a first, cutting through the chest of a second and driving the harpies back. One darted in, attempting to take advantage of Honicora’s lowered guard, but Honicora swung her fist back into the harpies’ jaw, knocking her to the side. Readying her axe again, Honicora met the next attack with an uppercut with her axe, maiming another harpy, killing a second and nearly clipping the wing off the harpy returning from her earlier attack. The surviving harpies, dispirited by their slain sisters, fled from the battle.
In the meantime, Mourg had held his ground against his own assailants, stabbing anytime one tried to get near. When they all charged him at once, Mourg lost the use of his spear once one was gutted on it, and so met the other two with a bellow and a fist. Knocking the first back with a broken face, he started fighting the last tooth and nail, until a knee jab and elbow to the face dispatched the last of his attackers. His old wounds had opened up again, but the rags worn by the harpies were so ridden with disease he would die faster from those than from bleeding. Luckily, the harpies had ambushed the Tauren close to the Bloodhoof settlement, so with Mourg leaning on Honicora’s shoulder the two set off.
After several more minutes of walking and climbing, Honicora and Mourg came out of the valleys of the Thousand Needles and came out onto the main stretch of the Barrens. Off in the distance, about a mile away from their current position, was a large cluster of tents.
“That‘s our village, there,” Mourg said. Despite his wounds, he looked like he would make it. Setting off again, they were quickly noticed by the scouts and were met by a small party. Taking Mourg off Honicora and carrying him to one of the tents, several warriors stayed with Honicora and started to ask her about their short journey. After detailing how she found Mourg, Honicora was about to start on the skirmish with the Harpies when several war whoops interrupted her.
Turning about and drawing her axe, Honicora saw a group of Centaur riding towards them. Luckily, it wasn’t a full war party, but about a dozen individuals, likely on a raid. The warriors around her moved to meet them, and Honicora ran right behind them.
As the Bloodhoof warriors spread out to meet the centaur, Honicora met three of the raiders herself. She met the first one’s overhead chop with her axe, shattering the shoddy weapon and disarming her foe. The second centaur stabbed at her exposed side, and despite her jump back he still grazed her. He jumped forward for another stab, but met Honicora’s sweep at the knees, sending him screaming to the ground. As she recovered and prepared to finish him, Honicora was hit in the side of the head by the third Centaur. Dazed and temporarily blinded, she was hit in the small of the back and sent sprawling to the ground, loosing her axe in the process. The marauder put his hoof on her back, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up. Displaying a filthy, blood-stained knife, he grinned and stabbed at her neck.
Slamming her head to the ground and pulling the centaur’s hand with it, the stab went astray and instead went through his wrist. Crying out in pain and letting go of Honicora, the Centaur stumbled back. Honicora picked up her axe from the ground and smashed the hilt into his face, sending him back further and bleeding from two places. Swinging hard, Honicora nearly severed his torso from his body, killing him in the process. Tearing it free, she turned to see how the rest of the battle was going. Reinforcements from the Bloodhoof camp had arrived, along with the mighty figure of Cairne Bloodhoof himself. The marauders were all either dead or fleeing, and the Tauren were victorious. Not without a price, however; Honicora could see a least two Tauren bodies, both from the first group that had met her. Turning to the still-living but legless Centaur, she walked over and stomped on his head, silencing the combination of curses and damnations he was throwing at her. Cleaning her axe and hoof, she was about to seek out Chieftain Bloodhoof when he came to her.
“Greetings, sister. You are the one who brought back Mourg, yes?”
Bowing her head in respect, she replied, “Yes, Chieftain. I found him in the canyons of Thousand Needles after he was attacked by a centaur raid.”
Sighing heavily, Chieftain Cairne turned to look at the dead Centaur attackers, and the bodies of three warriors being carried into the village.
“Many good Tauren have been slain by these Centaur demons. I am grateful that Mourg did not become another of those lost. Do you know what his mission was?”
Nodding, she said, “His group was looking for supplies. I have heard that you are leaving for the coast.”
“Yes, we are. I am taking my tribe to the shores of the Great Sea, in the hopes of escaping from these beasts.” Gesturing towards the dead Centaur, he continued. “For years, we have been hounded by these mongrels, and I will not see my tribe die out like so many others have.” Looking at Honicora, he asked, “Where have you come from, sister? You don‘t bear the symbol of any tribe I know of.”
“I am Honicora Windrider, the last of the Windrider clan. The rest were killed by the Stonehoof Centaur.” After a moment, she added, “I would like to come with you, Chieftain. I don‘t want to see any more Tauren be destroyed like the Windriders. Would you accept me into your tribe?”
After a moment of thought, Chieftain Bloodhoof agreed. “You are welcome to join the Bloodhoof, Honicora. As long as you hold your own in some way, we will accept you into the tribe. And on this journey, it seems we will need all the hands we can get.” Turning to the village and walking off, the Chieftain called back, “We will be leaving in a few days, so there is no need for you to make a tent for yourself. Just join in and help any way you can.” Honicora hesitated for a moment. It had been eleven years since she was last in any kind of Tauren community, and she didn’t know how well she would be able to fit in. Looking back at the desert of the Barrens and thinking about her solitary tent in the mountains, she made her decision. Turning back to the Bloodhoof village, she walked after Chieftain Bloodhoof.
Several days went by. Honicora generally made herself useful, going on hunting trips and helping load the Kodo for travel. After several days, Chieftain Bloodhoof announced that the tribe was ready.
“Gather your possessions and prepare yourselves for the road ahead, brothers and sisters,” he called out. “Today, the Earth Mother guides us along the path to survival and peace. The supplies are ready and the Kodo packed; we are ready to leave. If any of you wish to stay here, then you will be given your share of supplies and will be free to go.” No one took up the Chieftain on his offer.
“Very well. The sick, the old and young will ride the Kodo, while the rest walk beside them. We will be traveling south, to the coast. Follow my lead, and do not hesitate to call out for rest if you need it.” With the short speech over, he turned and started walking. The caravan of a dozen Kodo and sixty Tauren followed, with Honicora walking alongside with a pack of herbs and bandages. The food and water were on the Kodo, with the lighter things carried by individuals to save space. Several elder Tauren were riding the Kodo at the front, with the other Kodo loaded with Tauren wounded by the Centaur. Mourg was only a few Kodo in front of Honicora, and it looked like he was doing fine. As the last Tauren left their village, Honicora turned and focused on watching for the Centaur raiders that would undoubtedly find the caravan.
For two days, the caravan was unhindered by any danger, Centaur or otherwise. Honicora was nervous about the lack of Centaur, and took every opportunity to serve on watch duty that she could. As the barren desert slowly gave way to the trees and wildlife that indicated a coastal region, the caravan was still unchallenged. As the fifth day drew to an end and the caravan was stopped again, Honicora volunteered for the first watch of the night. Settling down to watch the northern flank, Honicora put her axe on her lap and waited.
After almost two hours, towards the end of her shift, Honicora saw something moving towards the camp. Taking a makeshift flare - a long stick with dry leaves wrapped on the end - Honicora lit it and threw it into the darkness. It landed a bit off Honicora’s mark, but it still lit up the features of at least two Centaur. Letting out a cry to alert the other sentries, Honicora picked up her axe and prepared to battle.
She was met not with Centaur foes, but an arrow. Striking her shoulder and knocking her back, she realized her mistake too late. The fire outlined her perfectly for the centaur, a perfect shot for archers. Tearing the arrow out of her shoulder, Honicora leapt to the side as more arrows were shot at her. She ran to the location of her thrown flare, where an archer was still standing and looking for Honicora. He saw her, but too late - once her axe was already swinging. Connecting with his shoulder, the blow crippled his arm and crushed his bow. Unfortunately, his cries alerted the other archers to her presence. An arrow slashed by her ear, close to taking her out. Diving to the side, she rolled up and smashed into another Centaur. With such close quarters, Honicora hit her opponent in the side of the face with a hook to the jaw. Pushing him back, Honicora kicked him in the chest, bowling him over. She swung an overhead chop down on him, smashing into something. He stopped cursing, however, so Honicora turned and looked for another opponent.
The perimeter of the Tauren camp was being ringed with warriors, with sounds of fighting coming from several places on the line. Chieftain Bloodhoof was calling orders to the defenders.
“Hold your formation! The Kodo must be protected!” he called out. Figuring that she would do better on the perimeter than wandering about out here, Honicora started running to a slight gap in the line, but stumbled over something in the dirt. Receiving a mouthful of sand, she spat it out, only to have a spear stab into the ground a foot away from her head. Kicking up, she hit something and received a cry of pain, and scrambling up she swung wide with her axe. It cleaved through the belly of her opponent, who cried out, clutching his stomach, and fell to the ground. Honicora froze; he fell to the ground on two legs. Dropping her axe and bending down, she saw the outline of horns and a snout. Coughing something warm onto her hand, he fell limp. Honicora was stunned into inaction until several Tauren stumbled on her.
Bound and guarded by three warriors, Honicora received plenty of dirty looks and whispers from the other tauren nearby. Chieftain Bloodhoof had ignored her excuse, and was only concerned that Honicora had shed the blood of a fellow Tauren. To make matters worse, two centaur had slipped into the camp while Honicora was stumbling in the dark, and had killed five Tauren and a Kodo before warriors had arrived to fight them, one of which was killed as well. On a more pleasant note, the coast was only a day’s march away, but Honicora was hardly cheered by the news.
That night, she was unbound for just a minute to eat a quick meal. Sleeping in the middle of the caravan, she was hardly given an opportunity to escape. Fear over what would take place as her punishment, Honicora decided to slip away anyway. She didn’t have any of her possessions, but she knew what Kodo they were on, and so she sat and waited. After several hours, towards the end of the second night watch, she quietly got up and walked over to the Kodo with her possessions, being careful to not step on anything. With her wrists bound, she was only able to fumble the axe out. Bending slowly down to the ground, she placed the axe on the ground and started chipping away at the rope binding her wrists. After cutting herself a few times, the rope gave out. Picking up her axe and a loaf of bread, she turned to the perimeter of the camp. With the half-dozen sentries posted, she would hardly be able to sneak by. Putting her axe away and taking a deep breath, she tore a chunk out of the bread and started running.
The sentries called out almost immediately, and the camp was almost immediately filled with the calls of frightened Tauren and battle-ready warriors. The sentry nearest to Honicora made an attempt to get her, trying to tackle her with a flying leap. Barely evading the attack with a dive of her own, Honicora came back up and continued running. She quickly ran outside the ring of light surrounding the camp, followed by a group of warriors. Honicora slowed down slightly, confident that she was safe out of the sight of her pursuers, but despite that she continued running.
After several hours of stumbling over dunes, through scraggy bushes and once on top of a sleeping scorpid, Honicora collapsed of weariness. Barely taking the time to find a spot next to a rock to lie down, she fell asleep.
Honicora was woken up by the sun in her face. Standing up and rubbing her eyes, she looked around her. It was currently noon, and most creatures were hiding in underground burrows, away fro the hot sun. Honicora was next to a tall mountain range to her right, with the desert of the Barrens spreading out to her right. With only a loaf of bread as breakfast, she needed to find some source of food. That would need to wait until more creatures came out of their dens, so until then Honicora simply started walking.
Several hours later, creatures started coming out again. The first one Honicora came across was a hyena, who was digging through the old, bleached remains of a wagon. It turned to regard her, and Honicora killed it with a heavy blow to the head. Lacking any kind of fire, Honicora skinned it with the blade of her axe and made a makeshift rack out of some of the ruined wagon. Hanging the strips of meat out to dry in the sun, Honicora sat down in the shade provided by the remaining wood, and kept a watchful eye on the slowly cooking meat for any predators that would try to take it. After killing another hyena and hanging it up with the first, and chasing off a raptor, several more hours had gone by and the sun was slowly setting. Taking the meat off the rack, Honicora ate some of it, and wrapped the rest in the skin of one dead hyena. Leaving the scraps for other scavengers, Honicora set off once again.
That morning, Honicora started searching the mountains for somewhere to spend the day. The best way to travel the desert was to rest by day, as walking in the blistering heat would kill someone far sooner than hunger. Hoping to find shelter and water, which Honicora needed, she stumbled across a well-worn path winding up into the mountain. Not seeing the usual Tauren skulls that decorated the entrance to most Centaur camps, Honicora figured it was safe - but kept her axe in hand in case any trickery came from the inhabitants.
As Honicora climbed, she failed to come across any real signs of habitation. The narrow pass had sheer cliffs on either side, so at least she was out of the sun. The cliffs gradually grew shorter as she walked on, and once they were only a few feet above her head she turned a sharp bend. There, she saw three things of interest. The first was a small stream trickling from some source above the canyon walls. The second was the customary totem poles that marked Tauren villages. The third was a brutish, black-furred tauren, holding a spear at eye level less than a foot from Honicora’s face.
“Who are you, stranger?” he growled. Despite it being a question, he managed to say it as if it were a threat of violence, which hardly comforted Honicora.
“Honicora Windrider,” she said, startled by the sudden appearance. “What clan is this? I haven’t heard of anyone living in these mountains.”
“We are the Grimtotem, little Windrider,” he replied, again making it sound like ‘Grimtotem’ was actually a word describing the violent dismemberment of some living thing. “You are trespassing on our lands, and we usually kill visitors for that.”
The malice in his voice revealed his intentions. When he stabbed forward just after he said that, Honicora ducked to the side, getting nicked in the ear. Afraid of killing another Tauren, Honicora instead hit the unbalanced warrior in the back of the head with the hilt of her axe, followed by a hoof to the small of his back. He yelled, more in fury than pain, and was quickly answered by the yells of his fellow Tauren. Cursing under her breath, Honicora jumped over the warrior and started to run down the path. The warrior grabbed her leg, however, tripping her over and smacking her into the ground. Winded by the unexpected attack, Honicora was quickly surrounded by Grimtotem warriors. Dragging her up, they started carrying her into the village, one bringing Honicora’s axe with them. The first warrior, who had greeted Honicora in the first place, snarled at her and tried to gut her right then. With her wind back, Honicora was able to kick off to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack and bowling over her captors. She was immediately restrained again, but the warrior was equally restrained, although he was struggling and even biting his fellow tribesmen. The two were dragged into the center of the village, in front of a large, decorated tent. One of the warriors called out to whoever was in there.
“Magatha, we have a visitor.” He emphasized visitor with a slightly sarcastic tone.
The Tauren that came out of the tent was old and wore the robes of a shaman. Despite her age and grey-streaked muzzle, she radiated a sense of power and strength.
“Well then, what have we here?” she asked, studying Honicora. The old shaman, presumably Magatha, shot a glare at the struggling warrior for a moment.
“Arnak, be silent! I will deal with you later,” she growled. Turning to Honicora, she continued studying her for a moment.
“Release her,” she said. The guards at Honicora’s sides let her go, although they stayed right behind her, just in case.
“What is your name, child?” Magatha asked.
“Honicora Windrider,” Honicora replied.
“Very well, Honicora. You have two options right now. For trespassing on our lands and assaulting one of our warriors, you can be executed,” Magatha said. “On the other hand, you can join the Grimtotem tribe, and only suffer the punishment for assaulting another warrior, which is almost nothing.”
It seemed an obvious choice, and after only a brief moment Honicora replied. “I will join the Grimtotem, then.”
“Be warned, Honicora, that you simply cannot join us. You must prove yourself before we allow you to become one of us. Luckily for you, the opportunity has presented itself. Kahn Stonehoof, the leader of a local Centaur tribe, has stayed behind while his warriors go to attack a Tauren tribe. The fool will, of course, be replaced by one of his victorious warriors, but until they return he has left himself without any guards. Go to the Stonehoof village, directly across from us, in the outcropping of rock right out there.” Magatha gestured out towards the Barrens, and indeed there was a column of rock jutting out from the ground.
“Bring us the skull of Kahn Stonehoof, Honicora, or we will kill you instead.”
Apparently done speaking with Honicora, the old Tauren turned into her tent. Taking her axe from a nearby warrior, Honicora turned to head back down the mountain path.
“If you fail, little Windrider, I will rip your heart out myself!” Arnak yelled after Honicora. Ignoring him, Honicora stopped for a drink at the little stream, then walked down the path towards the Barrens.
As Honicora traveled over the Barrens, she considered the effects of joining the Grimtotem. They were obviously a clan of warriors, although from her short experience with them she doubted that they were the honorable kind. Then again, the hot-blooded Arnak might not be a representative of the whole tribe, and they could be just as honorable as the Bloodhoof or the Windriders.
After spending a full day and most of the second traveling over the dunes of the Barrens Honicora reached the jutting pillar of rock. She quickly found the Stonehoof village, as well, marked by the gristly walls made of Tauren hide. Walking up to a gap in the walls, Honicora looked inside.
As Magatha had said, the village was mostly deserted. There was a pair of Tauren playing a game with horns of some sort, but other than that Honicora didn’t see anyone else. After taking a quick rest, eating the last of her dried hyena, Honicora drew her axe and ran into the camp swinging.
Catching the pair completely by surprise, the first centaur only had time to cry out before Honicora’s axe silenced him. The second Centaur stood up and drew a long, curved sword, calling out to warn the village of Honicora’s attack. He charged at Honicora, sword in front of him, but was met by the flat end of Honicora’s axe, crushing his side and knocking him over. With a quick overhead strike, Honicora finished him off and turned to face any new threats.
Only one Centaur was In sight. Wearing bloodstained metal armor, contrasting with the leather most often found on Centaur, and wielding a mighty axe that was obviously not made by Centaur hands, as it was made with as much skill as Honicora‘s. He towered over any other Centaur Honicora had seen, and by default Honicora herself. He looked around, and seeing only Honicora he began to laugh.
“Only one puny Tauren to challenge me, the Kahn of the Stonehoof?” he mocked. Readying his axe, he charged at Honicora and swung wide at her. Jumping back, Honicora retaliated with a sweep of her own as the Centaur’s belly. Her opponent drove the head of her axe into the ground with his own, then ran inside her opened guard and impaled her on the hilt of her axe. Bodily lifted for a moment, Honicora fell to the ground, gasping for air. She barely had time to roll to the side, barely missing a decapitating strike from the Kahn, and jumping to her feet she kicked the axe, still stuck in the earth, out of Stonehoof’s grip.
“I learned from the last encounter I had, little Tauren,” he growled, and drawing a short sword he lunged at Honicora. Honicora sidestepped, and the Kahn charged right by her, off balance from the momentum of his attack. Honicora swung hard after the Kahn, but he kicked with his hind legs, knocking Honicora’s own weapon from her. He turned around, smiling at the sight of his disarmed opponent, but before he could attack Honicora took her hyena-hide backpack and threw it in the Kahn’s face. While he was distracted, she ran to pick up her dropped weapon and turned to face her opponent. HE had picked up the sword dropped by the earlier Centaur, and came at Honicora swinging both. Honicora dived to the side, and bringing her axe up in a low sweep she smashed through one of the Kahn’s rear legs. Stonehoof bellowed in pan, and limping around he reared up and kicked Honicora full in the chest, sending her flying into one of the flimsy Centaur tents. Gasping for air, she tried to stand up, but a sharp pain in her chest prevented her from getting enough breath to do much.
Kahn Stonehoof limped over to Honicora, slowed by the loss of his leg. Desperately searching for something Honicora could use - her axe was several feet away - she realized she was lying on a pole. Shifting over to get a grip on it, she waited for Stonehoof to arrive.
“Why have you come to kill me, little one?” he asked. “To prove yourself to some tribe, or make a name for yourself?” He snorted at this. “Don‘t worry; you will always be remembered as the rug in my tent,” he said. He was within striking distance now; with a murderous look in his eye, Stonehoof raised his sword to strike.
Honicora stabbed him with the broken pole in her hand. The splintered end drove through his gut, a fatal wound to any creature. Screaming in pain and spurting blood, Stonehoof dropped his swords and backed away. Summoning her strength, Honicora stood up, and ignoring the searing pain in her chest she picked up her axe. Turning to face the dying Kahn, she growled, “You have destroyed dozens of Tauren lives and driven countless more into misery. You destroyed my tribe, my people and my father, and now you, too, will die.” With those words, Honicora swung mightily, striking through the Kahn’s neck and ending his savage life.
Several hours later, as the sun set, Honicora left the Stonehoof village with her loot. After raiding several tents, she had found plenty of rotting meat and several loaves of stale bread. Eating some of the bread and putting the rest of it in her hyena-hide backpack, she took the severed head of Kahn Stonehoof, and leaning on her axe she set off to return to the Grimtotem. With her tribe avenged and the burden of the dead Bloodhoof warrior lessened, Honicora was ready to start a new life with the Grimtotem. She had a feeling that this was a turn for the better, but she hardly knew for sure. Setting out into the Barrens, she felt at peace for the first time in her life.
Across a mighty ocean, on another continent and another world, green-skinned aliens commandeered mighty ships out of their harbors. Humans fled from a tide of death, and above it all were the watchful eyes of an evil presence, longing for the power of this world. The Tauren knew nothing of it now, but soon they would, and soon the Tauren would get a center role in the story of Azeroth.
(bow) (bow)
I really apreciate it !
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