Post by Skreeran
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Robert braced himself. The Horde army wasn’t even in the city yet, and yet his adrenaline was flowing like water. He hated this slow, agonizing wait. At least in battle you didn’t have time to fear, or so he had heard, but now, pure terror filled his being. He wanted to turn and run. To forsake the city and everything and simply survive, but he forced himself to stay. His father was here. His mother and brother were here. His will forced himself to overcome his emotions. This was his duty.
War drums echoed in throughout the streets, as the sounds of battle continued to ring out behind the gates. A massive boom thundered through the air underneath the black stormy skies.
“That’s the ram, son,” Thomas muttered grimly. Another deep booming sound beat against the soldiers ears as wooden ram met wooden gate a second time.
“Up! Up! Look up!” A soldier cried. Instantly everyone’s eyes were on the sky, where three zeppelins flew menacingly through the sky. Suddenly, barrels began raining down from the airship, raining down and exploding onto the ground, releasing deadly blight onto groups of unfortunate soldiers.
“Bring them down! NOW!” The commander ordered, and instantly the deafening explosions of several cannons were heard. Two of the Horde ships were hit, falling to the ground onto the armies, crushing those unlucky enough to be caught beneath them. The cannons were turned onto the last ship, along with any guns the ground forces had, and they brought it down quickly.
Just as they were breathing sighs of relief, they heard the last sound that they wanted to hear. The snapping of wood and a sound of the war drums and screams of battle growing closer. Robert cringed. There was only one gate left between him and the Horde. He took his shield off his back and held it up with some effort, as it was quite heavy. The Horde would soon be through the arcanite portcullises and at his barricade.
“The ogres! Bring them down!” He heard from the walls, “Bring them down now! Don’t let them reach the gates!”
Robert cringed. Ogres? Orcs were one thing, but he had heard stories of the ogres. Unstoppable, his father had called them. He looked over to his father, who shared the same expression of uneasiness that he wore. Finally, he heard the sound of metal on metal as some vile orc or ogre beat on the gates. The sound intensified as more joined in attacking the portcullis. Suddenly, the gate shattered, causing waves of orcs to spill into the Trade quarter.
The front lines were immediately cut down by the gun emplacements and archers, but dozens took their place. Like a wave of green bodies, they smashed through the impromptu barricade, crushing those in front as they spilled over and around and through. Robert gripped his sword tighter as the human lines surged forward to meet to the Horde. The humans were smaller and weaker than the orcs, but they had the advantage of superior arms, armour, and discipline.
Suddenly, one of the ogres that had broken through the gate barreled through the Horde ranks, knocking down everything in its path. Its hideous single eye locked onto Robert’s short form, and a wicked smile crossed it’s face. It raised a huge stone mace over its head, and prepared to strike, forcing Robert to hold his shield up to protect himself, knowing that he’d be crushed anyway. But it was all he could do.
He waited for the deadly strike, but found that it never came. He lowered his shield and looked up, seeing a red haired man in gilded armour thrusting a lance at the ogres face, forcing it back. Finally, the soldier scored a killing blow to the ogre’s throat, causing it to gurgle in pain and fall in a slump to the ground.
“Who was that?” Robert yelled out to his father, who had just slain a troll berserker, and was still sweating hard.
Thomas looked up, hearing his son. He didn’t really have time to talk, but ignoring him would be demoralizing. “That’s General Marcus Jonathan, Rob,” He called out, dodging a troll‘s spear. He wasn’t fast enough to stop the Tauren’s axe though. The massive bullish beast grunted as it brought a large metal axe blade through his sword arm, separating it just above the elbow.
Rob cried in shock, seeing his father so injured. “My dad! He needs help!” He yelled, not knowing what else to do. He saw the General turn in his direction, and then look over to where his father worked to defend against the Tauren. General Jonathan instantly was upon the beast, using the lance to puncture its back several times. The Tauren cried out in anger and turned, only to have its throat pierced by the lance, causing it to fall back onto Thomas.
General Jonathan quickly worked to roll the Tauren over and off of Thomas. “There there, soldier. You are going to be alright.” He said, seeing the soldier’s son standing nearby. “Come here son, I want you to stick by me. I’ll make sure the medics get your father to safety,” The General nodded, motioning a pair of priests to carry Thomas away. Robert nodded stupidly, following the General back into the fray.
The General fought spectacularly, carving a swath in the Horde’s ranks, but there were just so many of them. Eventually, they were forced back just by the sheer numbers.
“Retreat! To the Keep! Protect the Prince!” General Jonathan called out, watching his men go. “Go on son. I’ll take up the rear,” He nodded at Robert.
Robert turned and ran with the other soldiers, watching over his shoulder as the General fought back the armies, before turning and letting the archers cover him.
Finally they made it to the keep, watching the Trade district burn as it was overrun by the enemy.
“Figures you would run, you pitiful human pigs…” A voice laughed as a very large brown-skinned orc made his way through the ranks, just out of bowshot from the keep.
Robert had never seen a brown orc before, but he was too focused to worry about it now.
“My father was wrong about you people,” the brown orc laughed, “You are nothing but beasts, to be butchered and forgotten. Come, Horde! Kill these pink-skins and let us take this land! For the Warchief!” The orc cried, charging forward with his soldiers.
“Dammit,” The General muttered, meeting the orc in combat. “Glory to the Alliance!”
Robert watched, fighting off another orc, as Marcus fought the brown orc, who was apparently the leader.
And then, the brown orc was down. It had happened so quickly. The brown one had charged, the General had dodged, swept the leg, and then it was over.
Now they just had to deal with the rest of the army.
Thorm sat in his cell, on the brink of despair.
Both of his parents were dead, his sister was gone. His whole life was falling to pieces.
Tears appeared in his eyes, but he choked them back. He had seen one orc cry already, and he had been dragged off, only to come back covered in welts. Besides, crying wouldn’t do any good. It would only serve to show him as weak.
He sighed, retreating into the corner of his cell, watching as the cat pounced on a rat that had been nibbling at a crust of bread the guard had dropped before falling asleep.
“Make way for the King!” The herald yelled, causing the sleeping guard to stir, before snapping to attention. Finally, a brown haired human in grayish armour, decorated all over with the human symbols of the lion and eagle, stormed in, followed by another human who’s face was wrought with fear, as a dog who has just been scolded by its master.
“What is the meaning of this!” The more regal looking human shouted.
“My Lord, my King, they are… were
meant to grow into gladiators for the profit of the kingdom and the entertainment of our people…” The cowardly human stuttered.
“ENTERTAINMENT!” The king yelled, slamming his fist into the stone wall instead of into the commander’s face, as he wished. “Are our people entertained by this war! Did you forget that it was an Orcish Gladiator that freed the orcs and led them against us? We cannot take them prisoner, we have tried that already,” the King answered, growing calmer. “The first time they were cowed by withdrawal from the Fel, but we have no such convenience now. They will rise up again and they will continue to kill our people.”
The commander’s face grew pale. “Then what shall we do? Kill them? Children?”
The King paused a moment. “I don’t… I don’t know. If we have to, then we must.”
“But they’re just children! Killing adults is one thing, but this…”
“Surely you cannot think that these children were born into innocence? They will grow up and take arms against us!” The King cried, punching the wall again. “They are beasts, just as their parents. We must choose between eternal war with them, or we can end the threat now. They must be purged.”
“Surely there must be some other way!” The commander begged.
“Dammit, Caldwell! As your king I command you to execute these prisoners!” The King barked.
“Very well,” Commander Caldwell sighed, reaching for his keys and moving to Thorm’s cell.
Thorm squirmed back to the corner, trying in vain to escape, when there was a crash and several loud yells outside.
“Lord Varian! The Horde are attacking!” A captain cried, running into the room.
“Dammit,” Varian swore, “Well then, stop standing around! Rally the troops! But I want their “Warchief.” He must pay for every human life that has been lost to his damned people,” He finished, drawing his strange sword from his belt and walking out.
Thorm waited in a strange mixture of fear and hope. If the Horde was successful, he’d finally escape. But if the Alliance won the day… He sighed and tried to listen to what was happening.
He listened to the sounds of battle for almost two hours, until finally the commotion died down. Thorm waited in silence, afraid to breathe, not knowing who would come through the door.
Finally the door opened and the sunlight blinded him. In the door was a large armored silhouette… of an orc.
A tired, bloody orc that Thorm instantly knew to be his Warchief entered, followed by a large older looking orc with long grey braids hanging from his head and jaw.
“I come to free you,” Thrall said quietly.
Every trapped orc in the room stood and cheered, as the older orc began smashing in the thorium locks with naught but his fist. Finally, Thorm was freed, stepping out and embracing Thrall about the waist.
“M-my, sister… I don’t know where she is…” He stuttered.
“We shall find her,” Thrall nodded, patting Thorm on the back and smiling. “High Overlord Saurfang here shall see to that. He already has his raiders prepared to search out every camp they have set up in this swamp.”
Thorm smiled, and followed the Warchief outside, where a human woman stood.
“I am returning to Orgrimmar, Jaina. Perhaps there is still time to fix this,” Thrall nodded sadly.
Thorm looked up at the human woman and sneered. The humans would pay for what they had done.
They had done it. They had managed to defeat the Horde army.
“Begin tallying the survivors. We must inform the families,” General Jonathan sighed.
A high elven mage appeared before the general, materializing out of thin air.
“General! The King is dead! What are we to do?” The mage managed to say, stumbling on his words.
All of the color left Marcus Jonathan’s face, before a terrible look of anger passed over him.
“The beasts have slain the King..” He said calmly, “And they have left the prince an orphan. They must pay,” He paused, looking at his soldiers. “Prepare the ships. We sail for Durotar. We will annihilate the Horde or we will die trying. Let us end this war.” He said quietly, making his way to the docks.
Robert looked back at the burnt Trade quarter, and then back to the General that had saved not only his life, but his father’s, and followed.
Thorm looked into his small fire where a haunch of kodo roasted. His hair, graying from age and pain, blew in the cold Desolace wind. He turned around and looked as the kodo corpse behind him, a makeshift scarecrow impaled in its side to ward away the carrion birds. He’d have to make another kill soon, as he had almost exhausted all usable parts of the beast.
He hadn’t seen another orc since Orgrimmar fell. He wondered if he was the last one. Many times he had thought he had seen his sister standing in the distance, but it was always a trick of the light on a tree or rock.
He had to keep moving though… He was rare game to the Alliance. Many times had he found an elf or dwarf stalking him, as a hunter stalks its prey. And every time, he had killed them. He felt nothing. He had even grown tired of hating. He only had one goal, and that was to survive. To survive in this world that had rejected him, whatever that meant.
Suddenly he stood and reached for his axe. He had smelled that which he hated most. Human
. He looked around, finally spotting his enemy on the hill. He did not even give pause before attacking. His father had tried to negotiate with humans, and he had died before they even let him speak. No, humans only understood death, and that’s what he would give it.
The human fought back, carefully avoiding Throm’s attacks, and landing his own on the green beast’s unarmoured hide. The massive beast knocked him to the ground, but he rolled out from under the orc’s axe strike. The human thought quickly, twisting his own legs to trip the orc. He got to his knees and slashed the orc’s hand, forcing him to drop the axe. Without pausing, he ran his sword between the orc’s ribs, impaling him to the ground.
“My name is Robert Parker. Remember that in hell, you son of a $%^&*…” The human muttered, turning and leaving the sword in the ground.
Thorm lay there dying, but the human’s words enraged him. He thought back to his mother, standing there against the humans as she defended him and his sister. How dare the human say that.
He ripped the sword from his chest and leapt at the human, swinging the sword at Robert’s neck, cleaving his head from his shoulders.
“If only you knew my parents…” Thorm grunted, his vision growing blurry. “You would not have said that…” He groaned, falling to his knees and then collapsing to the ground, his vision fading.
As his eyes closed, he thought he saw his sister standing nearby. It must have been a trick of the moonlight.