Sunlight stared at Morodos from the distance. The minotaur's brown fur was gleaming with sweat after the long day's worth of training. His familly, the clan of Champions led by the familly Kull, have kept him in a sheltered life. All he knew was training, fighting, and working. "In the battlefields, there is no fun to be had unless you learn to truely enjoy the combat that is your birthright" they told him. The satisfaction of a kill, the glory of a victory is all that matters. Weapons of war and battle surrounded the young warrior his entire life. He knew how to wield, care for, and even create just about any type of killing device. Although Morodos didn't learn very fast, but he learned well. His mind was slow, but his ability to store information was suprisingly keen. Now, at the end of another day in the hot sun of Kras Muldune, he was in need of some rest. The cot was nothing more than a pile of hay and a piece of stone, but it was all he needed to get a good nights rest. As he went off to his chambers, he could see the shadows of his fellow clansmen returning from the day's battles. Blood stained their axes and hammers, and he knew that there was gold a plenty in their belt pouches. He always imagined his brethren fighting in glorious and honorable battle, earning a fair wage for their hard work and powerful swordarm. He like to think that was the case, but lately he'd began to think otherwise.
The dreams held no comfort for his soul. The sleep was far from resting, and the next morning interupted him with a rude call. Up far before dawn would come, he already was sent to do the morning chores that the younger clansmen must do, cleaning and reparing the weapons and armor that were damaged in the fields. Shortly after the sun made it's appearance in the sky of Eldraki, the young sons of the Champioins were to begin the training. Today, the minotaur was to practice with the double bladed axe. It was a traditional favorite of the Kull familly. Normally such a weapon would only rarely be used. However, with the strength that minotaurs were able to apply to the weapon, the disadvantages of the weapon melts away. In his hands, it was a fine tool of grace and power combined into lethal junction.
"Yer not going to be with those other clods today, boy!" the thunderous voice of Kull, leader of the Champions, called from behind him. "Yer with me today."
It was rare that Kull took to training the younger Champions. Most of his time was spent in vulgar fits of drunken pleasure. He appeared to be sober, however, and the large broadsword he swung held no room for second guesses. The work was harsh, and very deadly. Although it was just a training spar, the edges of both weapons were razor keen and the swipes of each combatant had every intention of a full strike. Morodos soon found himself waging a loosing battle. Although his natural strength was as great as his leader's, years of work as a mercenary allowed him to bear his full against the young combatant. It was not long before the sky was all Morodos could see.
"Hmph, not bad. Get up, and clean yer blood from my blade. When yer done, get back to work with that axe."
***
The starry night laugh at him. As he lay in the grass, gazing upward, the endless expanse of twilight mocked his very existance. He was strong, and trained well for battle. Now that he had time to think about it, that is all he knew. He knew every technique for getting a blade to be at it's sharpest, how to pound ore into killing machines... but there was more. The night sky filled his imagination, an entire world out there, and all that he knew was the art of war! It was not long until sleep took him, chasing away his waking thoughts with the soothing rest.
A kick the the ribs was the wake up call that shook him violently away from comfort.
"Morodos! The sun has been up for an hour and you still be here! NAPPING!!"
The voice screaming at him seemed somehow distant and removed, his eyes failed to focus correctly. All that he could see was the stars, those mocking points of light reminding him of everything he was missing.
"You are a Minotaur of the Champions," the ranting continued, "and a decendant of Kull! You will do no honour to your familly or your clan like this!"
Something brought Morodos back to understanding. Something inside him snapped. The angry look on his eldar changed to suprise as his fist sailed toward his face, laying the burly taskmaster upon the ground.
"Honour!!!" He yelled, his rage causing his fur to stand on end. "You dare to speak to me of Honour? This is not a clan of noble warriors, as you would have me believe! Your is a gang of thieves and murderers, selling your souls to the highest bidder!"
Around them, the ring of metal and the grunt of effort clouded the event as common. The dark taskmaster rose to his feet with a speed that seemed impossible for one of his size. The bronze nosering that displayed his status and rank now shook with anger as the eldar clenched his fists. It was not open for argument- all those that defy the Clan's wishes are taugh a violently brutal lesson. Before he took his first swing, however, the elder soon found that he was stripped of his rank: Morodos had ripped free the ring from his flesh, stunning him with pain. With a grab and a twist of his horns, the taskmaster fell to the ground in a slump, his neck broken.
