In Deadeye's name... Of the Bloodsworn and Blackscar

[Brutalskars]

"After destroying Overlord Ozai, I replaced his banner with my own. I am responsible for much more in this Horde than I ever dreamed I would ever be. Countless battles, victories and setbacks a like... And we find ourselves here on the cusp of war greater than any that have come before."

Kathorg stabs a dagger into the map before him.

"The Bloodsworn are now the command retinue of many Horde operations, I no longer lead a strike force, I now tutor leaders. And my Honorguard will do what we must to keep the Horde alive."

Kathorg leans onto the table before him, eyes set on the chained warlock.

"I give you one chance for redemption... Hellfang..."

The tattooed warlock seemed only in his forties, but his eyes had twice that age locked in them. He coughed slightly, looking up at the Overlord. Kathorg grimaced, "And it is this chance I know you will honor."

"So that scar on your face Overlord... Who gave it to you?"

Kathorg snarled, the long cut on his face seemed moderately fresh, lashed over his right eye, leaving it twisted, the bone hardly put back into place around the socket, "A dead man."

The warlock shrugged slightly, "Why am I not as dead as he? What is this chance you have offered me Gorehallow?"

"Swear till death you service back unto the Horde, and take the name Blackscar, becoming my weapon - Lead the Blackscar Vanguard and fight to redeem yourself, and bring a future to your kin."

"What power do you have over me Gorehallow?"

"Honor. You dishonored the Horde many times, and in ages past; now mend the old wounds - and fight for me, not the Warchief."

The warlock stopped for a moment, "Sounding a bit like Gul'dan... He said similar things. When he made our clan."

Kathorg looked over the tattoos and eyed the black moon on his right pectoral, pierced by a silver bolt.

"Stormreaver or not, it is just a name. Prove that there is a sliver of honor left in your body Akarosh. You have till the morning to decide your fate; the block, or the black."

[Brutalskars]

The cells down the hall were full of colorful types; sickly gaunt elves, grimtotem, one handed orcs and many more. Some seemed more willingly caged, just waiting, as if they had never actually been in a prison before - the more unruly snarled and barked on occasion, clearly wondering why they were moved to this cell block.

The Horde, excluding the Blood Elves has never been known for its high tech prisons, just its ruthless guards. The cold iron that held them all though was just one barricade for these inmates, iron cuffs that completely concealed the hands were on each of them - any capable of spells had their cuffs runed with anti-magic. Each prisoner was chained with a collar lead to his cuffs, then one more chain extended to each of their ankles. This simple yet effective measure made running near impossible, so attempted escape even in the open would be foolish.

The hall was long and wide, ten broad guards were stationed at all times, armed with crossbows and bastard swords, armored in plate and chain. The door to the hall was opened slowly, four more guards entered before a six man vanguard with the Bloodsworn insignia upon their armor joined them. After that was the Warlord Jurango Deathstrike, he walked down the hall with a rhythmic pace that matched his gaze jumping between each cell.

"There are many of you here. Whether dishonored, criminal, volunteer or otherwise. You all stand trial before the Warlords of the five strongest paramilitary battalions that answer directly to the Bloodsworn high command. Then you will be subject to the mercy of the Overlord Gorehallow himself, whether dishonored to remain exiled or imprisoned - criminal to be executed - or the volunteer to be cast aside. You all will pass into the great hall during this the first true Blackscar Trials."

The inmates grew towards the bars, awaiting the next words.

"You will be taken in, one at a time. And from there, taken to the chopping block, the street corner, a new cell or the honor of the Blackscar Barracks. - Pray to your gods, ancestors or other divinities now. You won't get another chance."

The first cell was opened, guards clamping a man-catcher onto his throat. He was escorted out and into the great gall. He was left to stand upon raised platform, with the Overlord and six commanders looking down on him from their seats. Shaman, advisers and otherwise milled about the side panels contently watching. Kathorg Gorehallow tapped the desk before him, a tattooed orc, a short one at that stepped up beside him - Akarosh Hellfang, now Akarosh Blackscar.

Within a short while the trial was over, but then Kathorg asked a puzzling question.
"What ink do you desire warrior?"

The orc raised a brow, only to see several magi and warlocks enter the chamber with pots of tattoo inks.
"White."

A troll witch doctor stood up near him, "Eh, where it gonna go?"

The orc smirked.
"My face."

"Alright boys, hold him down, gonna be tricky. - Skull face incoming mon."

As the mark was applied strange light shined off the burning ink as it melded with the flesh. The orc hardly kept his composure, as they cleared away from him, his newly tattooed face burned with magic - binding magic, and his pores leaked a few drops of blood.
Akarosh gave the marked one a salute, and Kathorg nodded, "Your life, is the Horde's now."

Akarosh roared out, "Duty only ends in death!"

The next prisoner was brought in.