Desperate Alliance

[Vaulander]

Warcraft: Desperate Alliance
By
Vaulander

Grikk sighed as he looked up at the night sky. The stars were beautiful here. He leaned cautiously on the roughly made banister and leaned his battleaxe against it. Thrall had been wise to lead them to this land, with its deep and verdant forests. Even now, a week after leaving the barrens and starting the work on the outpost Grikk still loved the sound of insects buzzing and the night creatures moving about. The smell was so full of life here, not dry and dusty like the barrens or the old and tired feel that permeated Lordareon. It was a shame that they had to share this fine land with the pesky humans, but it was necessary. Apparently some prophet or oracle had fooled Thrall into doing so, to make war against the demonic Burning legion. And they had won a victory of sorts. Mannoroth the Destroyer had been slain by Grom Hellscream, at the cost of the brave warrior’s life. But the victory was more profound than just the death of a great demon. The burning curse that had plagued the Horde for so long was finally broken. Grikk himself had suffered sorely by it, and when the demons withdrew their power he too had fallen into apathy and despair. Until Thrall and Grom had freed him along with the other interned Orcs. But now he and his brothers felt new and reborn, as if a dark fog had finally lifted from their hearts, and he found himself smiling more and even laughing with the joy of living. Although there wasn’t much to be joyful about at the moment. Grikk and a combined contingent of Alliance and Horde warriors had built a small outpost to determine how deeply the Scourge was penetrating Kalimdor, one of many outposts surrounding the main camp. And now he was stuck in this watchtower with Beren, a Human footman, Kiniea, an Elven sorceress, and a dour and grim Dwarven rifleman. Some sort of idea that both Thrall and the Human leader Jaina shared was that the soldiers should learn to work together. The human spent most of his time polishing his armor and waving his sword around, making not so veiled threats and challenges, while the elf woman barely deigned to speak to him at all, burying her face in her spell book. Only the dwarf seemed willing to speak to him, and even asked him questions about different matters. This was surprising to Grikk, since the Horde had all but eradicated the Dwarven kingdom of Khaz Modan during the second war, and the Dwarves were famous for holding grudges. They nursed it and kept it all their life, and then passed it on to their children who passed it along to their children. Even now they still held a grudge against the elves for some problem that had transpired when the world was young, and although no living dwarf knew exactly what it was, they knew Dwarves had been wronged, and they were not about to forget it just because it happened a few measly millennia ago. But the razing of Khaz Modan was much worse than whatever it was with the elves, and also much more recent. The grim dwarf was the last person Grikk imagined would show any sort of companionship with him.

Tyrande Whisperwind absently stroked the ears of her great tiger as she sent the mental commands to her spirit owl, guiding it around the forest. Strangers roamed in her beloved land now, strangers who paid no heed to the suffering of the trees they murdered. Strangers who had slain beloved Cenarius, the demi-god who represented the spirit and will of nature. The spirit owl found the invader’s encampment, and Tyrande watched as the pink and green people moved about, fortifying their position. They must be made to pay for what they had done. Although most of her forces were engaged somewhere else, she still had a number of Archers at her command, and silently she slipped away to gather them for an assault on the invaders before their position became too strong.

“Don’t see too many stars below the mountain,” the dwarf said to Grikk and leaned on the banister beside him. The dwarf only reached to his waist, but was powerfully built. He leaned his rifle beside the Orc battleaxe. His name was hard to pronounce, but apparently he went by ‘Gneiss’ above ground. Grikk looked down at him.
“How can you live like that… in a tomb?” he said, his human speech not very good. “How can you live without the wind on your face, the sun on your back?” The dwarf laughed merrily.
“And how can you live with the rain in your eyes, the dust in your mouth, and the wide open sky all around, with no roof over your head? Why does the birds fly and the fish swim?” Grikk grinned, showing jagged teeth.
“But still, the stars are nice, huh?” he said and turned to look at them again.
“Yes… like sparkling diamonds on black velvet,” the Dwarf agreed. Then he looked at the Orcish Battleaxe. The blade was broad and heavy, with several notches, and on the other end of the handle there was a metal piece attached, with a short vicious spike for ripping and tearing. But the handiwork on the piece was artful and elegant, in a rough pattern.
“That looks good, did you make it?” Gneiss asked and Grikk chuckled.
“No, my… mother’s father did,” he faltered on the words. “He gave it to my mother, and she gave it to me. Never lost it either, even in the…” he stopped speaking, and the Dwarf looked away.
“It’s a shame you didn’t stay where you belong, Orc,” the human said harshly, and Grikk turned, the words burning his pride. “You murdering beasts should all have been wiped out!” Grikk reached for his axe, and the human drew his sword with an ominous hiss. The elf looked up, and the first words of a spell passed her lips as Gneiss stepped in between the human and orc.
“Hold it now, lads,” he began, but the human pushed him aside and stood in front of Grikk.
“My whole family, murdered by you swine!” he said angrily, and Grikk took a step back, his eyes going between the footman and the elven sorceress. She too had reasons to hate him, to hate Orcs.
“It was the curse! You don’t understand, we are free now!” he stuttered in broken human speech. The human tried to push him backwards, but didn’t accomplish much against the bigger size of the Orc. Grikk bristled and stepped forward, but was intercepted by the dwarf.
“I said hold it there, lads!” the dwarf bellowed. Grikk and the human stared each other down over the head of the irate dwarf, but finally their tempers cooled down. The elven aborted her spell with a snort of derision at the foolishness of ‘lesser races’ and turned back to her book. Gneiss looked at both Beren and Grikk. Then he sighed and shook his head wearily.
“The enemy is out there, lads, not in here. We must stand together against the foe, or fall separately. Yer chief is wise, Grikk. As is Lady Jaina. Our own differences must wait until the Undead are taken care of.” Grikk shrugged and put his axe back against the banister. Beren gave him a last hard look and sheathed his sword, and then returned to polish his helmet.
“Besides, I too know what it is like to be cursed,” Gneiss smiled teasingly. “Dwarf beer is very good, and when it gets its claws in you, you do whatever you can to get more!” and he laughed at the surprised group. Then Grikk chuckled uncertainly as Beren laughed at the dwarf. Kiniea just huffed. Gneiss turned at her smiling mischievously.
“Ye should try some too, lass, goes well with roast pig, put some hair on yer chest and some meat on yer bones!” he chuckled, and Kiniea looked furiously at him for his nerve, but didn’t answer. The dwarf turned around, rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way to the orc and human. “I guess there is no helping some people!” he guffawed, and Grikk and Beren laughed. Kiniea gave him a hard stare but fumed in silence.

The silent night elf archers flitted in and out of the shadows, moving among the trees as they headed for the invader’s camp. Tyrande smiled grimly as she led the regiment, using only hand signals and low owl-like hoots to guide them. Now the glow of campfires could be seen through the brush, and the Sentinels slowed down as they approached. Their sharp night vision could easily pick out the guards in the watchtowers scattered around. The rest of the camp was silent, sleeping. One of her captains moved up to her.
“They are many, Priestess,” she said in the elven tongue, a beautiful flowing language that contained very few sibilants, perfect for whispering. “We should strike while they are unaware, while they sleep.” Tyrande nodded.
“I will create a diversion, my sisters. We will strike when they are confused.” She drew an arrow, and said a silent prayer to Elune, the Moon Goddess. The head of the arrow started glowing with a silvery light, and she could see the air shimmering around it from the heat. She bowed her head in gratitude, and nocked her bow.
“On my signal, sisters,” she commanded, and the Sentinels disappeared silently among the trees surrounding the camp. Tyrande smiled in approval as she turned towards the camp, arrow ready to fire. Now, where would it cause the most chaos? Ah, yes, there, she thought, looking at the center of the camp where the food supplies were stashed. “Elune, help us this night,” she whispered as she drew her powerful bow and let loose. Shining like a falling star the arrow arched over the camp and fell right through the tent ceiling. A few moments passed without any reaction from the camp, and then she could see the tent glowing from within, until suddenly the tent walls caught ablaze. Now there was a reaction, Tyrande noted with satisfaction. A lot of the guards in the towers were shouting and pointing like fools, but they didn’t leave their posts. The other tents and hastily constructed barracks got busy and people rushed out, wearing hastily thrown on clothes and armor. A quick bucket chain was assembled, and soon most of the camp’s inhabitants were clustered around the tent. Now was the time! Tyrande mounted her Tiger and called out in the voice of the Owl, and suddenly the forest started spilling out archers. Quickly they moved between the silent tents to reach the middle. All the women had arrows ready, and as they came upon scattered groups of bewildered invaders, the arrows flew, cutting them down. There, the leader! Tyrande raised her fist in the air, and the Sentinels gathered as they charged forward. Now the invaders had caught on to the danger, but they had rushed to douse the fires, many of them leaving their weapons inside their dwellings. The paladin that was in charge still carried his massive warhammer, and he urged the armed warriors forward. Tyrande pointed at him for a moment before she drew another arrow.
“Kill him!” she commanded, and as one the sentinels stopped running and aimed. A swarm of arrows headed straight for the human paladin, but he called out to the sky, and the arrows shattered harmlessly against some sort of energy field. Cursing Tyrande saw the invaders charging towards them with axes and swords. “Fire at will!” she bellowed, and the Archers immediately found their targets and started firing, cutting down the first line of defenders. But more came, and the pink people wore heavy armor and large shields, covering the bigger green people who bellowed their war cries as they ran for the Night elf line. Tyrande cursed again as she fired again and again at the defenders. A moment’s clarity made her look over at the paladin, and the glowing nimbus surrounding him had disappeared. A quick prayer to Elune, and her arrow was again suffused with the silvery light. Aiming carefully she let loose, and followed the arrow with her eyes as it struck the paladin straight in the chest, felling him. Just then the first of the defenders crashed into her archers, cutting the women down brutally. And then all hell broke loose as a swarm of horrifying creatures and demons burst through the forest on the other side of the camp.

“Bloody hell!” Gneiss swore as the small group saw the Night elves attack, and they all reached for their weapons and rushed down the rickety ladder leading down to the ground. Grikk was first down, and he charged forward to defend the camp, with Beren hot on his heels. Grikk only wore shoulder plates held together with a bandolier across his chest, while Beren wore full plate armor, so he lagged behind from the weight. And then they both turned as they heard the horrifying wails of the enemy coming from their side of the camp. Undead, hundreds of them along with the first wave of the Burning Legion! Grikk heard the crack of Gneiss’ rifle and then some sort of horrifying machine flung something at the tower, and a vile green cloud filled it, with Gneiss hanging over the banister, retching and gagging helplessly. Beren was in front of him now, facing some half spider half man creature, and Grikk charged up beside him. The spider thing flung something at them, like a black cloud, and Grikk spun around behind Beren as the footman raised his shield. He could hear the smattering of something like hail, and as he stared black bugs fell down at Beren’s feet. Then Beren fell as the spider thing flung something else at him, a white sticky ropelike web that engulfed the human and held him tight. Beren cursed as he tried to cut the strands off to free himself, but Grikk did not have the time to help him. Roaring he leaped over the fallen human and swung his axe hard, hitting the Fiend full in the chest, cleaving it almost in half. The thing screeched and collapsed, the wound spraying blood and a black tar like substance. Wiping his eyes Grikk looked around.
“Bloody hell…” he gasped in awe as a monstrous being seemingly made out of spare parts lumbered towards him, bellowing inarticulate. It had two arms on his left side and one on the right, carrying a variety of cleavers and chains. Grikk roared in defiance and charged forward to strike. But the monster was faster, swinging both his left arms at once, and Grikk ducked low and parried the lower arm, but the beast was strong, and he staggered back. Growling the beast swung his right hand, holding a vicious meat cleaver and Grikk was forced to roll sideways to avoid it, but he couldn’t avoid the left arms, and the bigger of them hit him hard in the chest throwing him on his back and knocking the wind out of him. Luckily he had not been struck with the weapons, only the forearm, but he was still dazed from the strong blow. The thing gurgled in a horrible attempt at laughter and raised his cleaver to finish it as Grikk heard the crack of a gun, and the thing staggered backward, a hole in its chest bleeding profusely. But still it came, and Grikk struggled to get on his feet when he heard a woman’s voice shouting incantations, and the horrifying monster slowed down. Taking his chance Grikk got up on one knee and slashed the butt of his axe across its leg, the spike ripping through the flesh as he readied the axe for a massive swing that hit the monster in the shoulder, cutting diagonally down to the opposite hip. The thing went down with a sickening gurgle, pulling the axe out of his hands. It still tried to move, but Grikk kicked it hard in the wound, finally killing it. Grabbing his axe he wrenched it free, bellowing his triumph and defiance at the scourge that still kept coming. Turning around, he could see Beren being attacked by the smaller humanoids, and he ran to help, kicking one of them away and striking another. They screeched in rage and fell upon him, their fangs and claws ripping and tearing as he struggled to fight them off. Slowly they brought him to his knees from their combined weight, but he roared and shook them off, axe swinging left and right. Then something weird happened. He felt a jolt of energy, and his vision flickered for a moment, until everything seemed to shimmer. Magic! Someone cast a spell on him!
Kiniea staggered towards Grikk and Beren with Gneiss reloading his rifle behind her. By the light, those last spells had zapped her energy too much! Beren was down, some ghouls ripping into his helpless body as he screamed, and she could see that most of the defenders were dead already. Where the night elves had gone she didn’t know, didn’t care. She saw the massive Abomination fight Grikk, and she shouted yet another spell to help him. The strain on her energy made her stagger, and her head was spinning. She was all drained now, there was no energy left to use. Unless she used her own life energy, in reality hurting herself to power the spell. The green giant struggled to kill the Ghouls that swarmed him as he helped Beren, but it was no use. Beren lay still now, his blood soaking the ground. They would die, she knew it. But someone must warn Jaina of the scourge’s arrival! Grimly she started casting her strongest spell, an invisibility shell that hid the target from plain sight. She raised her shaking hands and pointed at Grikk, and then she fell to her knees as the completion of the spell burned through her, making her moan with the searing pain.
“Run, Orc, run…” she gasped weakly, but the green giant just stood there, roaring at the enemy as they ran past him. Her vision faded as she fell forward into oblivion.
Grikk slashed left and right, cutting through the small creatures as they rushed past him. What the hell was going on? Why wouldn’t they fight? He turned and saw the elf woman lying on her stomach, dead or unconscious, he didn’t know. Behind her the Dwarf fired, reloaded and fired again, as fast as he could against the overwhelming tide of death that raced towards him. Grikk turned again. There were still enemies flowing into the camp, and there was no way they could push them back. Grimly he hefted his axe and ran towards the elf woman, scooping her up in one massive arm as he kept running, now heading for the dwarf. Gneiss stood there gaping at what appeared to be Kiniea floating quickly through the air, and then Grikk scooped him up with his other arm, groaning at the weight.
“Bloody hell, is that you?” the dwarf gasped as the orc jolted him with every heavy step. But there was no answer as Grikk put everything he had into running fast and hard to get away. Gneiss watched as the scourge ripped through the camp, and the last defenders went down screaming. Then Grikk went into the forest, his long powerful legs still running hard. They were safely away, into the forest where the unknown Night elves waited. That didn’t sound so good either, Gneiss grumbled as the jolting started to hurt his ribs. But it was probably better than remaining in the camp.

Thrall smiled proudly as he overlooked the main camp from his position on a small hill on the eastern side. His people had all pitched in to get it organized, and battleaxes that cleaved skulls and cut flesh with ease also chopped wood fast. In the old days weaklings or cripples had been forced to do the menial work, but not so now. First of all they were too few to sit by and watch others work, and second the practice of using young Orcs had replaced the use of slaves, since hard work did wonders for the strength and endurance that was needed on the battlefield, and Thrall knew well the injustice of slavery, having suffered it himself. But now there were not many young Orcs left. The Horde had been barely over three thousand strong when they manned the stolen Alliance ships and headed for Kalimdor, and during the voyage less than half had arrived, the rest perished in the Maelstrom or fell during the grim and bitter trek across the barrens. What remained were mostly warriors and elders. But the Horde adapted better than the Alliance counterpart, already being used to living in crude camps and roughly constructed dwellings. To them this was just like home, although home was a place that none of them had seen for too long. The human warriors, knights and footmen alike were burdened by their lack of good accommodations and blacksmiths to see to their equipment, and especially the Knight’s horses were suffering from a lack of food, being used to hardy grain. Here there were only grass and vegetation, and the human supplies were running dangerously short. Worst off were the Elven magicians, used to the luxurious dwellings of the Mage towers. They were sorely ill-equipped, wearing loose flowing robes and skirts, and only slippers or light boots. There were no full tables here, laden with food and wine, nor big libraries with spell books. They held their tongue though, apparently keen on keeping their all too obvious discomfort from their allies. They also seemed afraid of the forest, nervous and jittery at the animal sounds coming from it. Only the Dwarves from Khaz Modan seemed to take things in stride, and some of the more industrious ones had already started building makeshift armories, and were discussing where to find good ore for their smithies.
Thrall’s smile became sad as his eyes roamed over the other side of the camp. There was a section that was apart from the others, and with good reason. In the internment camps some of the wardens had decided to solve the ‘Orc problem’ with unorthodox means, and several of the Orc females had been made barren by the use of red hot pokers. This had taken away all chances of bearing young, or ever feeling the touch of a lover from these women, and instead filled them with a bitter undying hate of humans, males in particular. In a horrifying parody of solidarity other women had done the same to themselves. Now they lived only to kill and kill again, and none of them would reach old age, seeking death and the release from the never ending pain on the field of battle. During the liberation these women had fought the hardest, even more viciously than the males. The extent of their rage and hate had not been fully understood until two drunken humans had come too close to their section of the camp, and before anyone had time to react or even realize what was happening, the women had charged out to kill, and the two were brutally slain in a matter of seconds. The only thing that prevented the fragile alliance from falling apart and the whole camp to start fighting internally was the presence and quick action by the Tauren, led by Cairne. Even so, Roka, the first burned and leader of the War maids as they called themselves had charged one of the Tauren in her rage, and it had taken three of them to control her. In between incoherent curses and screams of rage she had made it very clear that as soon as the common enemy was beaten, the Alliance was next on the list. Now the section was carefully avoided by the humans, and in truth most of the Orcs also. But Jaina Proudmoore had surprised them all by going into Roka’s tent alone, even though the War maids made no distinction between male and female humans. She didn’t speak of what she saw, or what the Orcish women told her, but her face was pale and tears flowed when she left. Se also sent Elven priests down to see if they could do anything, but the War maids drove them off with curses and stones.
Roka was becoming a problem, in fact. She seemed to consider the War maids separate from the main Horde, and demanded a seat in all councils, where she spent her time staring hard at the human leaders. And she carried a lot of weight with the Horde, so Thrall could not simply dismiss her. True, the War maids were a powerful force, and they had suffered greatly after the second war. If she could only control her bitter hatred she would be a great leader, and a big help to Thrall, but most of their conversations were fruitless and his advice to quell her raging emotions fell on deaf ears. Thrall figured he could not blame her, if someone took a hot poker to him, he would certainly not forgive. The problem was that not all Humans were the same, as he well knew, and those that had originally performed the heinous act were long dead, so the War maids spent their time hating innocent people. Or, innocent of that particular crime, that is, he chuckled.

Tyrande rode hard and fast, at the head of a cadre of her elite Huntresses. She had managed to evade the Burning legion after the ill-fated assault on the invaders outpost, and had met up with some of the scouting parties of the Sentinels. The call had gone out, to all corners of the forest, and all the Sentinels would soon know that the long awaited enemy had come at last. Privately Tyrande was horrified, although she did not show it on her face. The nightmare that had haunted her sleep for ten thousand years had sprung to life as she was hunted by Archimonde and his guards. She also felt a small measure of regret at what had happened in the invaders’ camp. Maybe the strangers could have saved themselves if it was not for her and her Sentinels. True, they had murdered Cenarius, and they showed no respect for the trees, but still, they deserved better than what had happened. Warriors should die by the sword, or arrow, not torn apart by ravenous parodies of life. She shuddered at the image of warriors screaming as they were being eaten alive, and her Tiger felt her discomfort, but she urged it forward as the small group raced for the resting place of the Druids. Only with their help did they stand a chance against the massive odds that was stacked against them.

“War chief, the Human leader requests words with you.” Thrall turned. It was Jubei, stoic and grim as always. He would never get used to how silent this man was, or his brethren. Jubei and his clan were the last remnants of the Burning Blades, a clan that had been even more affected by the vile curse than the other clans, and at the end of the Second war they had fallen upon themselves in their madness, decimating what had been one of the strongest clans of the Horde. After the smoke had cleared, there were less than one left in twenty, and the survivors had all sworn a grim and bitter oath that they would never again fall sway to the seductive power of the Burning Legion. Then they had parted ways, scattering across Azeroth to learn how to deal with the dark hunger for blood that they all carried inside themselves. However, they were not able to totally quell the rage inside, but they did learn how to control it, and focus it, and after a few years, they all convened to discuss what they had learned, and how they had dealt with it. They had also practiced their techniques and methods, until they were able to control the bloodlust to such a degree that they could focus its dark power in their fighting techniques. Unlike most Orcs, they preferred long slim swords to battleaxes, for the ease of use and speed of attack. With the demise of the vile Mannoroth, their unearthly control and focus were even more powerful since they no longer had to struggle to keep the bloodlust in check. Although Thrall had spent most of his youth fighting for his life in the Gladiator arena, he knew that these stoic swordsmen were more than a match for him.
“Yes, Jubei, I will come,” Thrall smiled. Jubei bowed respectfully and waited for Thrall to move, since the remnants of the Blademasters now considered themselves his personal guard. That was another thing about these men, Thrall mused. While Orcs in general had a sort of ‘rough and tumble’ attitude towards each other, the grim Blademasters were exceedingly courteous and respectful to their fellows, probably from the fact that it made it easier to control the rage and helped others deal better with themselves, and although the dark curse was broken, their habits and mannerisms stayed the same.

Gneiss poked the small fire he had set up, and skewered the unfortunate rabbit that had stumbled into his trap. It was all skinned and ready to roast, and already his mouth watered from anticipation. If he had not been there to experience it, he would never have believed something like this. The Orc had kept running for hours, never once stopping or slowing down, despite the dwarf’s insistence that he could run on his own. Grikk had just bit his teeth together in grim determination to get as far away as fast as possible, and for some time Gneiss thought the Orc was afraid. But he realized that this was not true. The green giant had in fact charged into battle with one of the horrifying monsters that comprised the vanguard of the Scourge, and only the necessity of alerting the main camp made him run. And run he had, for endless hours until Gneiss thought he would never stop. He was sore and aching from being jolted by the strong arm of the Orc, but finally the Orc had stopped. But it was not a gradual process, the Orc had simply started to stagger, and then fallen flat on his face, barely avoiding to land on Gneiss and Kiniea, and had lain still on the ground, not moving and hardly breathing. After a bit of grumbling and cursing the dwarf had gotten up and examined both Grikk and Kiniea. The orc had a massive bruise on the side of his chest where the Abomination had hit him, and although Gneiss had no healing skills or knowledge, he knew busted ribs when he saw them. It was amazing that the Orc had managed to function at all, not to mention run for hours with a cumbersome and heavy burden. What was wrong with Kiniea he had no idea, she was still unconscious, although her skin was reddish, as if she was blushing all over. He had tried to make them both as comfortable as possible before setting up camp. After that he had set up some basic traps, and then found a small stream to wash in. The Orc had been torn and cut by the Ghouls during the fight, and all through the night the blood had kept flowing, staining both dwarf and elf. Luckily it seemed the bleeding had stopped, so Gneiss left the wounds alone, hoping they would heal better by themselves.

Kiniea woke up to a world of pain. Her whole body felt as if she had been horribly sunburned inside out, and she had a screaming headache of the kind that makes you wish you were dead. Although the mere thought of moving frightened her, she curled up into a ball, arms around her head and whimpered.
“Look who’s awake!” she heard the dwarf’s cheerful voice. Was he still alive? And come to that, why wasn’t she dead? Then the cool sensation of a wet cloth hit her burning forehead, and she jerked back, causing even more pain.
“Agh… Don’t… Go away…” she whimpered, but Gneiss laughed.
“Cheer up, lass, can’t be that bad. At least you’re not dead!” he chuckled as he wiped her face against her feeble resistance.
“I wish I was,” she griped, but couldn’t help smiling through the pain. Slowly she opened her eyes, and wished she hadn’t. Mercy, even her eyeballs hurt! Or was that just the bright light? Now that the shock had cleared, the wet cloth felt good against her skin, and she took it from the dwarf’s hand and pressed it against her skin. The sweet smell of roasted meat hit her nose, and groaning she slowly sat up.
“Grikk is still out, I am afraid,” Gneiss said and looked worriedly at the orc. He had not moved at all for as long as he had been lying there, his axe still in his clenched hand.
“Is he…?” Kiniea asked weakly as she looked at the green giant.
“No, he is still alive, but I think he has some broken ribs, apart from that its just cuts and bruises,” Gneiss answered as he went over to the Orc. “But I don’t know if his ribs have punctured his lungs or not.” Then he bent down and touched the injured side. Before he had time to blink, a green hand grabbed his throat in a vice-like grip, and he choked as he tried to pry the fingers loose. Grikk opened his eyes and snarled at the vague shadowlike thing that stood over him, poised to strike.
“Eggh! Gragh oo!” Gneiss gasped, but Grikk still held on as he wrestled the dwarf to the ground.
“Grikk no! It’s Gneiss!” Kiniea shouted feebly as she struggled to rise. A spell came to her mind, but her head filled with pain as soon as she called for power, and she fell to her knees, cradling her head.
Now Grikk had the enemy down, and his other hand raised the axe. The creature lashed out, a hard fist hitting his ribs, and the pain made him growl and blink his eyes. Slowly everything went into focus and he stared down at someone he knew. It looked like… his grip loosened, and Gneiss coughed as he feebly struggled to get some air in his lungs.
“You… stupid…” he began, but was cut off by a fit of coughing. Bloody hell that orc had a strong grip! Grikk dropped his axe and got up on his knees, looking down at the dwarf he had almost killed.

Anea rode in the lead of her small squad of Sentinels. The call had gone out, and as they had practiced for millennia the Sentinels patrolled the forest. Although they were moving in small groups, their purpose was to harass and scout, and she had about 10 archers under her command. Only the strongest and fiercest of the Sentinels joined the ranks of the Huntresses. The use of the wickedly sharp glaives took ages to master, and each and every Huntress had made their own weapons, forged by steel and magic, with a drop of blood encased in crystal at the center of the glaive. The blood was the link, the anchor that made the glaive return to the owner’s hand. A strong will and endless practice was required to make the glaive move just an inch, and to make a throw and have it return took close to a thousand years of dedicated effort. A precious few of them could make their glaives bounce from one enemy to the next, and then return, while only three or four of the best warriors could bounce it three times before it returned. Anea had been training for almost three thousand years, and she could barely control her glaive enough to slash two targets. But she would get better. She had only heard stories of the dreaded Burning Legion, but she welcomed, nay, hungered to show her courage and skill in battle. The outlanders would perhaps prove a challenge too, and one of the Owl scouts had seen a small group of them heading north. Anea and her squad was on the hunt for them, although the tracks seemed to show only one person. The tracks were deep, as if the person was carrying something heavy, and the footprints suggested running. One of the heavily armored humans, perhaps? She motioned to speed up, and the archers followed her, running easily through the night.

Jaina Proudmoore sat in the small house that the peasants had constructed for her. Although not especially luxurious, it was a bit more homely than the other buildings in the camp. The meeting with the Orc Chieftain Thrall and his friend Cairne the Tauren chieftain had gone relatively well, even though that Orcish woman had been there, glowering at her. But the news had been ill welcomed. The Scourge had ravaged Lordareon, and King Terenas was slain. There was no going back. The news did not affect Cairne much, since he had never seen Lordareon in the first place, but Thrall had reacted differently. Perhaps he was somewhat pleased that the human nations were destroyed? She could not blame him if he did, but he did not seem to relish in the news. Roka, the warrior woman was smiling widely though, and Jaina hated her for it. On the other hand, she herself had seen what the prison guards had done to the Orc, and to her friends.
In fact, Jaina was starting to like and admire Thrall. He was quietly confident, strong and dedicated to the survival of his race. Not like herself, who felt lost and alone. She never wanted this, all she wanted was to study her magic in peace and quiet, and now she was responsible for the Lordareon survivors, and everyone expected her to know what to do. Nobody ever thought she couldn’t handle it. And her teacher and mentor, Antonidias was dead. He had been like a grandfather to her, helping her, supporting her and encouraging her when she was heartbroken over the lost relationship with Arthas… Arthas who had turned against his own people, who slew his father and her mentor, who willingly gave up his soul to serve the darkness. But it could not be true, she told herself, knowing it was. That was not the Arthas she had laughed, fought and played with as they grew up. That was not the Arthas she still… loved. Reports and sightings of a dark sword in his hand came to her mind. A dark sword covered with runes. That must be it! That sword was the thing that had turned him, controlling his actions! Jaina knew well of cursed items, and curses themselves. The Horde had suffered greatly from their curse, but it had been broken. And so could the cursed sword Arthas carried be broken. All she had to do was research what she could of its nature-
“Milady, you are needed,” a voice broke her line of thought, and quickly she wiped her eyes of the tears that had run down her cheeks.
“Uh, yes, I am coming,” she said and straightened her clothes as she went to the door.

Gneiss, Grikk and Kiniea sat around the small campfire, finishing off the rabbit and broth. They were silent, lost in thought. So many things had happened. So many changes. Grikk thought of how things had been before. During the curse all he felt in battle was an ecstatic euphoria, to kill and kill again heedlessly. But during the battle of the outpost things had been so different. There had been rage, excitement, the rush of adrenaline, but also… fear. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but when he first saw the Abomination he wanted to scream and run. But he couldn’t. As Thrall himself had said, “Courage doesn’t mean you are not afraid, it just means that you control your fear instead of the other way around.” But still, Grikk was afraid. Afraid to fail, to die, to get hurt, and to let down those who depended on him. But what he feared the most was the fear itself. That sickening feeling in his stomach, the way his hands shook. He had lived with the Demon Curse for so long that he had forgotten what real feelings were like.
“Why are you so glum?” the Dwarf interrupted his thinking. “You both sit there like little kids who lost their dogs! Yeah yeah, things might look bad, after all, we have the scourge yapping at our heels and the Night elves are all around us in this forest. Grikk may have a couple of busted ribs, who knows what is wrong with Kini, and I only have eleven bullets left. But at least the weather is nice!” he grinned at them and held out a hand, palm up. Almost on cue, a drop of rain splattered down into it, and the first thunderclap could be heard before the skies began pouring. They all laughed, even Kiniea, glad to break the gloomy mood.

Anea and her archers silently moved through the forest. The rain was messing up the tracks of the invader, but they led almost straight north, and she was pretty certain it would not change. She sent her owl up regularly to scout ahead, and finally it reported sighting of an invader up by a small brook. More than that, the owl was not able to convey, but Anea grinned and motioned for the archers to pick up speed. Grinning they complied, as eager to engage the enemy as she was.
When they got to the brook, all they saw was an elven female washing herself. Outcast! Scowling Anea rode her tiger up behind the woman, making no sound, while her archers followed silently. What pathetic wretch was this?
“You dare come back to Kalimdor, Outcast? And you brought strangers with you!” Anea said harshly. The woman spun around with a surprised yelp, fear on her face. Anea saw that it was not a woman, just a half grown girl wearing a flowing skirt stained with blood. She couldn’t be more than two or three hundred years old, if that. The girl took a frightened step backwards.
“I asked you a question, bitch!” Anea snarled, and her tiger growled menacingly. Anea laughed inside when the girl cringed, staring at the tiger.
“But… uh… outcast? Lady Jaina told us to com-“ she stuttered, but a vicious backhand from Anea made her stagger backwards, hands on her face.
“You Quel-Dorei are not welcome here!” Anea roared in fury, the Quel-Dorei sounding like ‘scum’ in her voice.
“Why you…” the girl said angrily and started moving her hands, magic incantations from her lips. Anea felt her blood turn to ice. Magic-user! Quickly she reached for her glaive to cut the girl down before the spell was complete, but in the blink of an eye the girl groaned and fell to her knees, her arms cradling her head. Anea looked surprisedly at the girl, then at her archers, and was about to ask what the hell was going on when a frightening roar erupted from the bushes. As Anea and the archers turned around to look a green gigantic man came charging out holding a massive waraxe and still roaring. Taken aback Anea fumbled for the glaive, but the greenskin was close and swung his axe. Anea hastily raised her shield and closed her eyes, expecting to die. After a moment she opened them again. Looking over the edge of her shield she saw the green giant towering over her, less than an arm’s length away. Then there was a loud crack almost like thunder, and she jumped in the saddle. Another invader was there, short and stocky with hair all over his face. He held a metal pipe thing aimed at the archers as he spoke harshly. She didn’t understand the words, but the meaning was clear.
“That’s right ladies, drop those arrows! NOW!” Then Anea focused on the warrior. He leaned forward and growled something in a deep voice, but Anea still couldn’t understand.
“Grikk says… Grikk says no kill tonight. You leave. Tomorrow we gone, I mean, he says we will be gone tomorrow.” It was the Elf girl, groaning through what seemed like pain. Anea stared at the warrior called Grikk in impotent anger and futility. He would have killed her, had the axe struck, and it burned her that she had been taken unaware like that. Thousands of years of training and she had been surprised like a little child! Her hand went to her glaive, but the green giant scowled and before she knew it he grabbed her by the throat with one hand and lifted her out of the saddle. Frantically she grabbed the hand, trying to pry it loose. Mentally she commanded her tiger to remain still. The warrior was strong enough to snap her neck in an instant! The elf and the other short creature yelled something at Grikk, but she couldn’t understand, all she heard was the pounding of her heart as Grikk held her up. Her archers stood uncertain of what to do. Their leader was in grave danger, and the bearded one still pointed the pipe at them, and they had seen what it did to a nearby rock. Slowly Anea was released, but she fought back the gagging reflex, staring bravely at the giant in front of her. He growled something at her, and she looked at the elf girl.
“Grikk says... No kill tonight, understand? Honor. No kill” She smiled apologetically for the awkward words. Perhaps the warrior spoke a different language than the bearded one and the Quel-Dorei? Anea looked at Grikk again. He gave a questioning nod with his head, and she nodded uncertainly. Something like a grin spread on his face, baring his teeth and his hand reached out and clasped her forearm in some sort of greeting. Surprised Anea watched him turn his back and reach for the elf girl. Without a further glance he half dragged, half carried her the way he had come. The bearded one kept his eye on the archers as he moved backwards, following the other two. Anea and the archers remained, still stunned by the way the encounter had gone. After a while one of her archers, Linie, came up to her.
“Don’t worry, Anea. We can follow them and kill them when they sleep. We will have our revenge for what that beast did to you!”
“No… no,” Anea said thoughtfully. “He could have killed me twice, but didn’t. And I did accept his honor. We cannot kill them now.” And then she grinned at the archers who looked at her in surprise and disbelief. “But we will follow them!”

By the time the three came back to the camp, Kiniea was walking without support, the crippling headache had eased off.
“Bloody hell, save us from noble heroes!” Gneiss said in disgust. “You should have killed her, Grikk!” He put his rifle aside and sat down by the dying remnants of the fire.
“Perhaps… and in return, the archers would have killed us, yes?” he said and reached out to help Kiniea sit down, but she declined his help.
“Well… yes… they would.” Gneiss admitted.
“Now I have her life, and her honor,” Grikk said smiling uncertainly. Alliance warriors seemed to be nervous when orcs smiled, for some reason.
“Just don’t let your own honor blind you to the dishonor in others,” Gneiss muttered grimly. Then he turned to Kiniea, who sat silently, staring into the embers. “And you, why didn’t you just ‘zap’ them like you sorceresses like to do?” he asked irritably. Gods, he hadn’t had a beer in too long! Both Kiniea and Grikk looked at him, taken aback by his tone, so unusual in his otherwise cheerful demeanor. Finally the elf looked down in embarrasment.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, horrified to hear her own words. She had been unable to admit it, even to herself.
“You can’t? What, do you need to read your spellbook or something?” Gneiss asked, shocked at the thought of the magic he had counted on was no longer available.
“N-no… I just… can’t. When I call the power my head screams. I burned out back at the outpost… I should be dead.” She looked up, tears in her eyes, but she didn’t bother hiding it anymore. She was useless! All those years of endless practice and study gone! She might as well BE dead!
“Here lass, don’t take it so hard,” Gneiss said soothingly, seeing the look on her face. “Maybe it is just like a bad hangover, I am sure it will pass,” he started uncertainly, but then stronger to cheer her up, and himself too. Grikk said nothing, he just stood up and grabbed his axe before moving to a thicket of young tree saplings. Gneiss and Kiniea stared at him, wondering what he was doing. Wordlessly he cut off a sapling and tore off the foliage, ending up with a staff about 6 feet long. Still in silence he went back to the fire, grabbed his knife and reached for Kiniea.
“What are you doing!? Don’t! Please don’t kill-“ she tried to back off, and Gneiss moved forward to stop the Orc before he killed the elf, but Grikk grabbed the hem of her skirt and with a quick slash of the blade he held a long strip of cloth in his hand. Looking at her he picked up the sapling and tied the jagged knife to it to make a makeshift spear. He gave it to her, and she held it in her hand, staring at it as if she had never seen a spear before.
“You still don’t trust me, no?” he asked sadly. “Always think Orc only wants to kill.” Gneiss looked down, admitting his shame. Kiniea looked at the spear, still confused.
“What do I do with this?” she asked, and Grikk smiled.
“Can’t fight with magic, fight with spear!”
“But… I don’t know how?” she said, still holding the spear awkwardly.
“I will teach you.”

Anea and her archers hid among the trees, watching the giant orc and the little elf facing each other.
“Did you hear that her magic is gone? Perhaps the other Quel-Dorei are failing too,” Anea whispered to the archers.
“Bah! Do you see that? The bitch is pathetic! A baby could kill her!” Linie whispered harshly. It seemed the events at the brook had enraged her even more than Anea herself. “Just say the word, Anea. We can kill them all from here!” Linie whispered hotly.
“I told you no.” Anea said firmly, still watching the orc. The play of muscles under his skin, the broad and powerful shoulders… Not like the Druids of the Claw, although she had only seen a few of them ages ago before they returned to the Emerald dream. They were more fuzzy looking and stocky, not as muscular and… masculine as the green giant. The ultimate warrior. Then she mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? He was the enemy! Worse, he was an outsider and another race! Such thoughts were not… right.

Kiniea backed away, waving her makeshift spear uselessly in front of her, trying to keep Grikk at bay.
“What are you waiting for, Kini? Attack me!” he roared as he charged forward, sweeping his axe at her. Yelping she dropped her spear and turned to run. Grikk stopped and sighed in frustration. “No, I wont hurt you, stupid girl,” he said. Then he picked up the spear and gave it to her. Embarrased she took it, and then yelped again as he slapped her.
“Hey, what the hell are you-“ she started, but Grikk slapped her again, harder, but not hard enough to break the skin. Gneiss made to stop him as Grikk slapped again, and again.
“Get angry! Get mad! Fight me! ROAR!” he bellowed as Kiniea staggered backwards, shielding her face. A moment of indecision flashed across her face, and then she screamed in rage and humiliation as she charged forward, flailing her spear wildly as if it was a stick. Grinning Grikk backed up, blocking her feeble strikes with the shaft of his battleaxe. Then he dodged a wild swing, grabbed the spear and pulled, sending Kiniea face first into the dirt.
“No no no!” Gneiss argued as he stood up. “You can’t teach her like that! She is not strong enough for brute tactics like that, you fool!” Grikk looked down at him.
“She doesn’t have much time to learn, and rage has always worked for us!” He stared challengingly at the dwarf.
“Yeah, but she is not an Orc, you cannot teach her like that, Grikk!” he turned to Kiniea, who had gotten up on her feet and was brushing the dirt off her clothes with a dark look at Grikk. “Here is what you do, Kini,” he started. “You keep low, and move in under his defenses, while keeping your shield up-“
“She is not a dwarf either, you rock-eating mole, and we don’t have a shield for her!” Grikk roared in frustration.
“We can make one easily, and you know that! All it takes is your axe and some-“ but the tone in Kiniea’s low voice stopped them both as quickly as a thrown brick.
“You are both right. I am not an Orc. And I am not a Dwarf. I am an Elf… without magic.” And she dropped the spear on the ground and walked away, head bowed. Grikk and Gneiss stared at each other dumbfoundedly.
“Hey, lass, we didn’t mean it like that,” Gneiss said weakly as he hurried after her. Grikk slowly picked up the spear and struck the butt of it into the ground, where it stood, the ends of the cloth strip fluttering in the wind.

Anea and her squad had slept a little away from the three invaders, with the owl keeping an eye on them. At daybreak the three went on their way, and the Sentinels followed behind stealthily. They were headed somewhere specific, their straight route showed it, and Anea wanted to know where.

Roka stood by the opening of the large tent that the Warmaids claimed as their own. Her fellow ‘maids were either still sleeping or talking quietly. She was watching the training field, in the middle of the camp. Thrall was there, laughing and sparring with the warriors, and there were also alliance warriors there, although there were no sparring between the orcs and humans. They were not yet comfortable enough with each other to do that. ‘Accidents’ could happen all too easily. Roka sighed inwardly as she watched Thrall. He was strong, highly skilled, brave, and honorable. He would father good strong children. Everything a woman could wish for… and everything she herself could never have, now. She had even gone to the Elven priests in secret after the Warmaids had driven them off, hoping and praying to the spirits that they could make her whole again. She had bore the unpleasant task of letting the priests examine her wound with their eyes and hands in grim silence, but she knew by the look in their eyes what the answer was. The damage was too extensive, and the wound too old. One of them offered some sort of potion to help with the pain, but she had scoffed him. What orc would stoop to that for just a bit of pain?
She saw some of the other women of the horde, unspoiled and whole, giving him the eye and cheering his sparring. She could see the flash of his teeth as he smiled at them. Smiled like he never smiled to HER! The only time he really saw her was when she was arguing with him, being difficult just so he would talk to her. Otherwise he never truly saw her. It was the humans who had done this. They had taken Thrall away from her! But they too would suffer. They too would lose. She would make sure of it, no matter the cost!
“Roka, where are you going?” Riksha asked as Roka picked up a heavy spiked mace and went to leave.
“The humans must pay,” she said with a pained voice. “They must pay for what they have done!” Riksha gasped and stood up.
“It is not allowed! The Warchief said-“ she started, but stopped when she saw the brief glimpse of anguish in her friend’s eyes. Aye, Riksha was not blind, nor stupid, and she knew her best friend. She knew that Roka dreamed of things that could not be. And she knew that there was nothing she could to about it. Roka was stubborn.
“The warchief… is wrong,” Roka said harshly and closed the tentflap behind her.

Thrall grinned as he saw Roka come up to the training field, carrying her favorite weapon. She was fearsome with it, and even the veteran warriors gave her respect for her skill. She was a good warrior to have on your side, he smiled.
“Have you come to join us, Roka?” he called out to her, but she didn’t answer. Her muscles were tense, he saw, and her face dark. What was she up to? And then he saw her eyes lock on the closest human, and he realized her intent just as she roared and charged forward, her weapon held high.
“No! Roka!” he shouted and ran to block her off. Surprised shouts came from both the orcs and humans as Thrall and Roka clashed together and staggered backwards from each other from the impact. She snarled and tried to get around him to assault the footman again, but he blocked her off, his hands pushing her back.
“What are you doing, Roka?!” he shouted at her.
“Out of my way, Thrall!” she yelled as she again tried to bypass him. This time he grabbed her arms and held her still.
“I told you no, didn’t I?” he growled in a low voice, for her ears only.
“You know what they have done! They must pay for it!” she shouted, trying to wrench free of his hands. The humans and orcs stepped warily away from each other as the atmosphere turned tense. All eyes were locked on the two orcs struggling in the middle.
“The guilty ones are dead already, woman!” Thrall snarled, frustrated that Roka would not let the subject lie.
“I am not a woman anymore, Thrall,” she whispered brokenly as her shoulders slumped. She looked up at him, square into his eyes. “I cannot bear you sons, and I cannot be your mate. I can not be anything,” she said, shrugging off his hands and turned around, walking away.
“Huh? What?” Thrall stuttered, not sure if he heard correctly. He saw her hand go to her belt, and then the flash of a blade before she dropped to her knees and fell forward, a bloodied knife in her hand.
“What the-“ he cursed and ran towards her as the blood slowly stained the ground under her body. “ROKA!”

Grikk, Gneiss and Kiniea ran smoothly through the forest, heading for the main camp where Jaina and Thrall would be. Grikk and Gneiss were surprised at how well Kiniea kept up, knowing she was used to leisurely studies, but they made sure they didn’t push her, just let her set a comfortable pace. She still carried the makeshift spear, and it felt more comfortable in her hand, not alien as it had in the beginning. She had dropped her cloak, as the weather was warm, and it had hindered her movements and got caught on bushes and branches. Her bodice was dirty and bloodied still from when Grikk carried her, and her flowing skirt was ruined, so she had cut it even more, so it reached only to her knees, instead of brushing the ground. She was filled with a strange elation as she ran, a strange sort of freedom. Never in her life had she even dreamed that she would be running side by side with a dwarf and an orc in a deep forest. The fresh air flowed into her lungs with every breath, filling her with life and vitality.
As they came into a small clearing with a small stream running through it a frightful shriek erupted from a heavily overgrown thicket beside them and humanoid creatures erupted, brandishing swords and clubs. They were weird-looking, horns on their heads, fur all over their bodies, and they ran on cloved hooves instead of feet. Grikk, Gneiss and Kiniea skidded to a halt in surprise.
“Satyrs!” Kiniea breathed in fear as the creatures quickly closed the distance between them. Grikk stared in stunned amazement for a moment before instinct kicked in and he charged forward, roaring in challenge. He heard the crack of Gneiss’ rifle and one of the satyrs screamed and fell, blood spraying from its shattered head. A bigger satyr stopped and shouted dark incantations, weaving its hands and Grikk heard Gneiss shout in pain or surprise.
But Grikk was no longer bound by the demon curse, and instead of rushing blindly into the fray he suddenly stopped right in front of the Satyrs, throwing their timing off before he leaped sideways and swung his axe hard, catching one of the creatures by surprise and felling it. It took only a moment before the others caught their bearings and screeched with rage as they attacked.
Gneiss frantically tried to wipe his eyes, but they were still very fuzzy, and he couldn’t see clearly. He didn’t dare to fire his gun, since he couldn’t see Grikk or the satyrs clearly, and he didn’t want to accidentally hit the orc.
“Grikk! Get down!” he bellowed, and as one of the shapes either fell or threw itself to the ground Gneiss fired, hearing a scream of rage and pain. Desperately he started to reload his rifle with fumbling fingers. What had the satyr done to him?
“Kini! Help him!” he yelled at the elf, and she jumped, holding the spear uncertainly in her hands.
“But-“ she stammered, so afraid she wanted to cry. She could see the satyrs surrounding Grikk, slashing and swinging their weapons as he did his best to dodge and parry. There were at least seven or eight of them, and she could see the blood flowing from where they had already hit him.
“Do it now!” Gneiss bellowed at her, and with a frightened look at him she ran to help the orc.

Anea and the sentinels hear the screaming and clash of steel and Anea charged through the woods, the archers hot on her heels.
“Damn! The cursed ones? Here?” Anea cursed in surprise. The satyrs usually did not move this far south. Perhaps they were called by the Burning Legion whom they had served in the past?
“Hurry! We must help them!” she shouted and urged her tiger forward.
“No! Let them die! We can kill the cursed ones afterwards!” Linie argued, and Anea pulled the tiger around so hard it growled in pain.
“Do you question me?” she said angrily. “I am in command here!” and she turned and rushed to aid the invaders. The other archers hurried after, fingers grabbing arrows to fire. Linie cursed and followed, muttering darkly at her leader’s foolishness.

Kiniea screamed as she ran forwards, her spear held as a lance before her. One of the satyrs who were too busy trying to kill Grikk to notice her shrieked in pain as the makeshift spear impaled his thigh from behind, and it turned with a growl of rage. A small elven woman stepped back, fear in her eyes as he roared and waved his sword menacingly. He charged forward and she staggered backwards, flailing the makeshift spear to keep him at bay. He laughed horribly in glee as he chased after her. He hadn’t killed an elf in ages!
Kiniea cried with fear as the satyr laughed and drove her backwards. Waving the spear she closed her eyes, knowing she was going to die, but suddenly the spear shuddered in her hands and was pulled downwards. A gurgle made her open her eyes again, terrified of what she would see. The satyr was down on his knees, the spear buried in his throat and he grabbed it and feebly tried to pull it free, blood flowing freely from the horrible wound. A fit of rage filled her and she pushed the spear forward viciously and the creature fell backwards, hands falling down limply, surprise still evident in eyes that turned glassy with death. Kiniea looked for Grikk, and saw him cut down another of the beasts just as a sword slashed down his back, making him scream with pain and fall to his knees.
“Grikk!” she shouted and ran forward again, but was almost thrown aside as a big black cat with a rider charged past, the large shield bumping her. It was the Night elf woman!
“Die, accursed ones!” Anea shouted as she threw her glaive at the closest one. It turned in surprise just to have the lethal spinning star slash the side of its neck and bounce to lodge in the back of another. The first one stared dumbly at its own blood flowing down the hairy chest, tried to put a hand over the gushing wound, and sank down to the ground. Anea laughed harshly and waved the glaive back, and it jerked out of the fallen body of the other satyr with a sickening crackle of bone as it returned to her. The others had seen her now, and she raised her shield to block a vicious swing before she swung the glaive still in her hand at the arm, severing tendons and arteries before she wheeled her tiger around to gain distance. She glanced over at Grikk, and saw him up on one knee, his axe raised to ward off a blow from the leader of the satyrs. He was wounded and wouldn’t last much longer she judged in the momentary glance. The other satyrs bellowed and charged forward to attack her, and she threw the glaive again as she jolted her tiger to dodge to the side. A rain of arrows cut down four of them, and the two remaining stared in fear at the advancing archers. Shouting in rage and frustration they turned to run away, leaving their fellows where they had falled, but Anea charged after them, the glaive returning to her hand.
Grikk fought to get back on his feet, but he was very wounded and weak. The satyr leader laughed and kicked, the hoof glancing Grikk’s head, stunning and felling him. Raising his sword the satyr moved to strike as several arrows hit him in the chest, and he staggered backwards and fell, the sword clattering on the ground.
Anea closed in on the fleeing satyrs, and threw her glaive, which bounced from one neck to the other, felling the beasts before whipping around and returning to her hand. She grinned in pride. That throw was perfect! She wheeled around to tell her friends when she saw the scene before her. Dead and dying satyrs lay scattered like rag dolls, with Grikk on his back in the middle of them, cursing in a rough, unfamiliar language. The young Quel-Dorei girl was on her knees, trying to staunch the bleeding, and the bearded one was still trying to shake off the effects of the satyr spell. Her sentinels stood and watched warily, arrows on their bows in case the invaders tried any tricks. She grinned and languidly guided her Nightsaber panther forward until she stared down at the fallen warrior.
“That is one life repaid,” she smiled at him. He reached weakly for his axe, but let it lie. The Quel-Dorei girl gasped and stared at Anea, but she ignored her. Now that she was in control she looked closely at the green skinned warrior. He had stood against a group of accursed ones alone, and still lived! Her eyes moved to the veins standing out on his powerful arms, and then followed them up to the broad shoulders, the massive chest moving with every ragged breath as dark blood flowed down his stomach… blushing she shook the awe off and got off her panther. Her hand went to her belt, and she looked over at Linie in case she tried to challenge her again.
“Here, warrior, drink this,” she said and held out a crystal flask. “The tears of Elune.” The warrior stared uncomprehendingly at her, but accepted the flask. A suspicious look at her face, and then he pulled the stopper out and drank deeply, emptying the flask. Anea could feel Linie’s accusing stare on her back as the warrior sighed, eyes fluttering before they shut completely.
“What did you do?!” the Quel-Dorei girl asked frantically as the warrior stilled. “You killed him!” She reached to pick up her spear, but Anea took a step forward, planting her foot on the shaft.
“Do not be so hasty, little girl,” Anea said with contempt in her voice. “He still breathes, does he not?” The girl put a hand on the warrior’s chest, and then bent over, ear to his chest to listen for the heart, and Anea felt the fire rise in her, urging her to crush the girl’s head in rage. Again she shook herself. Envy? Jealousy? What was wrong with her?! She turned her back, avoiding the looks of the archers. What would they think if they knew…?
“Gneiss! Gneiss! Look! He is… look!” Kiniea said with surprised glee as the horrible wounds on Grikk’s chest slowly closed up. “Grikk is going to live!” and she smiled widely at Anea’s back. “Thank you!” she almost laughed, but Anea only waved her hand as to say it was nothing. Grikk is going to live…

Roka floated through the air, weightless, with occational flashes of light before her eyes. She didn’t feel any pain, not even… there. No pain at all. She could hear echoes of voices, voices she knew she should recognize, but right now it didn’t matter. A faint smell of flowers suffused her. Is this what death was? What about the eternal battlefield they all knew waited for them at the end? Was that wrong? It was good that they were wrong, she thought idly, with faint traces of shame for not wanting the battlefield anymore.
“Is she awake?… wake… wake...” a closer echo came to her. She turned her head trying to see if there were others in this place. The clouds lifted and a burning sun entered her eyes, making her blink and tear up.
“The potion may have affected her badly…ly…ly…ly” another echo came, and again she turned her head. “Think nothing of what she says until it is gone from her blood… blood…blood…” Her eyes opened fully, and the blurred images focused.
“Thrall!” she whispered, and the sound of it sounded weak and somewhat eerie in her head. He stood by her, arms crossed and a grim look on his face. Idly she looked around before focusing on him again. She didn’t know where she was, certainly not in the house of the Warmaids. Then her eyes locked on the human leader, Jaina Proudmoore. What was she doing here?
“I do not need fools, or weaklings. I need strong warriors. Which are you?” she heard Thrall ask gruffly. Roka whimpered and looked away, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “The Warmaids are strong, fierce and proud,” he continued. “And I need you to lead them.” Then he glanced over at Jaina momentarily before returning to Roka. “And I need you to work with us, not against us,” he said sternly. “We do not accept enemies within our own camp, do you understand me?” Then he turned and left the room. Roka shuddered and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t they have let her die? Now she had ruined everything, made things even worse!
“He has been watching over you ever since they brought you here. Almost two whole days without sleeping,” she heard Jaina say off-handedly.
“Just… just go away,” Roka croaked, trying to sound strong, but failing.
“Why should I?” Jaina chuckled. “It’s my house!”

Grikk woke slowly from his potion-induced sleep. He could hear the clash of wood and heavy breathing a little away from him. A weather bitten hand held a water skin to his mouth, and he choked briefly before he managed to swallow. Looking up he saw Gneiss beside him. The dwarf grinned as Grikk grabbed the water skin and sat up. The noise he heard turned out to be the Night elf huntress and Kiniea practicing, substituting wooden staffs for spears. The other archers were sitting around a small campfire nearby, watching silently. Grikk rubbed the sand out of his eyes and watched the two elf women more intently. They were both crouched low, warily circling each other, moving on their toes, staffs held like spears, at the end of the shaft, giving them longer reach. The Night elf had cast off most of her armor, wearing a sleeveless tunic that reached to mid-thigh, boots and metal braces on her forearms. Kiniea wore her bodice and ragged skirt, although she had tied her hair back and seemed to have some painting or something on her face in broad stripes, giving her a catlike and feral look. Grikk had no idea how long this training had gone on, but Kiniea was running with sweat and breathing heavily, so it must have been quite a while. But he could see that her skill and confidence was increased, for she was not timid like before, just wary. Although she was not as sure on her footing or spear work as the Night elf, she had improved a lot. The night elf moved like a cat, however, and it was clear that she was both highly skilled and dangerous. The tip of the staff wove through the air like a snake looking for a target, and her eyes were cold and calculating. From time to time she spoke in elven to her student, illustrating with short and sharp movements. Kiniea seemed to pick up quickly, and Grikk smiled as he saw her dodge and roll a move that would have sent her to the ground gasping for breath the day before. The elven race seemed to have a natural grace and agility that was very well suited to this kind of fighting, and Kiniea was using it for all she was worth. But she was in no way a match for the Night elf if the match was real, he could see that. The Night elf woman was more experienced, more ruthless, and stronger than her student, and Grikk knew the humans would consider her to be very beautiful. She wasn’t to him, though. Her teeth were too small, her jaw too narrow, and even though she was well conditioned, she was not muscular like the Orc women. And those long pointy ears were ridiculous. And of course, instead of beautiful green her skin was almost bluish and pale. Her breasts were too small, and her hips too narrow. Not like the War maids and Riksha in particular. He remembered well the first time he had seen her. His brain had fused and he had just stood there, gaping at her beauty. Even after he realized that the human scum had ruined her, he still couldn’t keep his mind off her. But the War maids were all hostile to males, and he had never approached her. How awful that she had been hurt so badly! He would have fought the whole Horde for her hand, and there were many young males in the ranks. With a sigh his eyes returned to the two fighting women.
“She has improved a lot, don’t you think?” Gneiss whispered as they both watched. Grikk nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes… now she fights like an elf,” he mused. “I wonder…” he said thoughtfully as he stood up and picked up his axe lying beside him. Kiniea’s spear lay nearby, and he picked it up as well while his eyes locked on the Night elf.
“Grikk, don’t mess about…” Gneiss said hesitantly as both elf women turned questioningly towards the Orc. Kiniea looked quickly at her new teacher, fearing a confrontation, but was taken aback at what she saw. A soft, almost invisible blush had come over the Night elf, and her left hand fluttered nervously at her throat. A certain tenseness had come over her body, and although most men had no idea what to look for it was clear as glass to another woman. The night elf was… Ugh! How could she?! That was disgusting! Grikk was ugly, and even worse, he was an Orc! Quickly she glanced at the night elf archers, but they seemed oblivious to their leader, their eyes were watching Grikk warily. Kiniea looked back at the night elf leader, and her eyes spoke volumes of disgust and loathing. She must have read her eyes, for the blush deepened, and then her eyes turned hard and cold, with a very clear message: “Speak and die.”
Grikk moved up to the Night elf, holding out the spear. Hesitantly she took it, avoiding his eyes. Grikk stepped back, readying his axe.
“Grikk, what are you doing?” Kiniea asked hesitantly. “Are you going to kill her after she helped us?” Grikk frowned, still annoyed that these “allies” had so little faith in him.
“It is a testing… want to see if what she teaches you is good,” he said in that peculiar broken accent. “Tell her, Kini. Tell her no kill,” he said as his eyes locked on the opponent. Kiniea spoke briefly, and the night elf nodded. The archers relaxed, but still held their hands on their bows and arrows, just in case. Grikk grinned as the elf woman grabbed the spear and crouched, her eyes wary. Then he roared and charged forward to strike, and the elf took a step back before ducking and sidestepping his lethal swing. Grikk recovered and spun around, ready to parry the counter that was sure to come. Their weapons clashed just inches from his face, and he stepped back as the elf pressed the attack with several short jabs at his stomach. He broke her advance with a vicious swing of the butt of the axe, the sharp spike lashing out, but she avoided it and ducked again as he lunged forward swinging the axe diagonally down. Again he spun to defend, but her assault was different this time, her foot striking the back of his knee, felling him to the ground. Amazed he rolled quickly as the spear jabbed down into the ground by his throat. He got on his feet as the elf smiled in triumph. Apparently the brute strength approach wouldn’t help him here. He nodded in acknowledgment of her skill as he started circling warily. Although the spear was not as good at bashing through shield and armor as the war axe, it was just as deadly against lightly armored enemies, and the weight and range of it gave her the advantage, since the war axe was both shorter and heavier, leaving him little room for error. Once the axe was swung, it stayed swung, and recovery time was greater for him, despite his superior size and strength. Time to use the brain instead of the arm, he thought briefly before the elf lunged forward, the spear jabbing high low and middle in consecutive strikes. Although it had no serious power behind it, the spear was quick as lightning in her hands, and he had to strain to keep up with it. Growling he retaliated with short alternate strikes of the head and butt of the axe, but the elf danced and dodged away from his lunge, spinning her spear around. It crashed down on Grikk’s left shoulder plate, doing no damage, but scoring a hit in the informal match. Grikk cursed as he heard the other night elves giggle, and saw the grin of the Huntress. He charged again, but instead of swinging the axe, he waited for the expected dodge and followed it, grabbing the elf with one hand and pulling her back into the one handed axe swing that halted right before the blade cut into her face. They stopped there, his hand on her chest and the axe right before her eyes. She was blushing furiously, and at first he didn’t understand why, until he felt her chest move as she breathed heavily. Quickly he removed his hand and looked away.
“Why do you help us, miss?” Gneiss broke in, and Anea turned, grateful for the distraction. She had no idea what the dwarf said, and looked questioningly at Kiniea, who translated. She nodded thoughtfully as she heard the translation.
“The Burning Legion is the enemy of all life… should we help them win by destroying each other first? Do not misunderstand, we still have unfinished business with you intruders, but that will have to wait. For now we face the same enemy.”

Riksha fumed impatiently in the dwelling of the War Maids. Stupid, stupid woman! If Roka had not done such a foolish thing Thrall would not have ordered the War Maids to stay inside, and sent the Tauren warriors to guard their every move! Now they couldn’t even go out into the forest to heed the call of nature without one or two grim faced guardians. If Roka had only forsaken her foolish dreams and hardened her heart to their grim existence they could have been in the front line of the army, gaining honor and glory alongside the males! She clenched her fists in her frustration. She was bigger and stronger than Roka, although Roka was the better warrior, but she felt a distinct urge to challenge the stupid woman for the ruler ship of the War maids. But the other women held Roka higher, both for her skills and because she was the first burned. The others were as usual chatting in low voices among themselves. Growling in anger Riksha opened the door, and the others watched in silence. Almost immediately the light was blotted out by the large bulk of one of the Tauren warriors.
“Yes?” he rumbled slowly. Riksha held back her frustration.
“We need fresh air, and sun. There is no room to practice in this place,” she said as calmly as she could. The bull-head just looked at her, as if he had to find the words from a long way off, but that was just their way.
“No. The War chief has commanded that you stay inside, Riksha,” he rumbled. She gritted her teeth, biting down her cry of outrage.
“Please, it is cramped in here, and the air is getting heavy. Can’t we get some fresh air outside, there are many of you to make sure we will not stray,” she smiled pleasantly, hating herself for it. But the Tauren would not be rushed in either thought or deed, so she had to almost plead for them to change their mind.
“No, the War chief has com-“ he started.
“No male tells me what to do!” Riksha roared, her patience snapping. “You get him over here and see if he wants to tell me what I can and cannot do!” and she slammed the door shut in the Tauren warrior’s face. Her rage inflamed the pain down below, but she almost welcomed it, using the pain to build her rage to such level that she wanted to grab her axe and chop through the wall!

Roka lay in the human leader’s bed, watching Jaina looking through her books and tomes. The incision she had made in her own chest was almost healed, and it had gone so incredibly fast. It still stung a little bit if she moved suddenly, but considering how fast it had healed up to now, she would be fine by morning. Idly she kept looking over at Jaina as the small human woman seemed to scour through her books, looking for something in particular. Finally she seemed to find it, for she clenched her fist in some sort of victory gesture. Roka inched backwards as Jaina came towards her, exaltation in her blue eyes.
“I have found it!” she almost cheered and shoved the book in Roka’s face, almost bumping her nose. Dutifully Roka glanced at the open page, but she had no idea what the scribbles on the page meant.
“Found what?” she asked, uncomfortable to have the human so close to her.
“I can make you whole again, Roka!” Jaina grinned widely.

Anea led her sentinels north alongside the strangers. Although all three of them were hardy runners, the Orc and the Dwarf made so much noise they could wake a graveyard. Although the Quel-Dorei girl was less noisy, even her footsteps rumbled in Anea’s ears. How these three had come so far from their outpost without being waylaid by the darker denizens of the forest was beyond her. She was still awkward and nervous about the Orc, and her eyes kept stealing sideways to look at him. He ran relentlessly, his heavy footsteps booming on the ground, and it seemed as he was actually looking for twigs and dead leaves to run on, as if he was announcing his presence for all to hear. Or maybe it was just ignorance on his part. The dwarf with his shorter legs was struggling a bit to keep up, since he had to move twice as fast to maintain the same speed, but he grimly kept going, not saying a word. But the Quel-Dorei girl fascinated her. She had learned so much in such a short time, and Anea would stake a good bet that if you changed the color of her skin and her reddish brown hair, she could pass as one of the Kaldorei in only a few hundred years.
Suddenly she felt a chill go through her body, and the hair on the back of her neck tingled. Warily she looked around, narrowing her eyes. It had felt like… like someone was watching her. But nothing moved as the small group kept heading north. And unseen, unnoticed, the sleepless eye of a Sentry ward watched them disappear around a bend in the trail.

“Better be moven, mon,” Uguru the witchdoctor told the leader of the small forward scouting party. “We be getting some visitors soon. They be comen up the path by da big rock.” Torg stroked the head of his dire wolf and checked the nets that hung by the saddle. The knights that were with them got to their horses and mounted up. Although they were too big and noisy to act as scouts, the small group were also considered a strikeforce to delay the enemy while the main base was notified. Torg nodded in approval.
“Tell me more, old one,” he asked respectfully and the Witchdoctor smiled.
“They be around a dozen women with bows, an Orc warrior, a longbeard with his rifle, some sort of spearman, and a woman riding a big cat.”
“Eh? You sure old man? An orc with night elves? Was he captured?”
“I don’t know that, mon. Perhaps… perhaps not. The trap be where I set it, and if we hurry we can be waiting for them there.” Torg nodded, curious to what was going on.
“We will go and wait for them, old one, while you signal to the main camp. Better do this safely in case it is a trap,” he said and then nodded to the human knights. “Ride out!”

Grikk and the small group were heading steadily north. He did not know how long the Night elves would keep up with them, since they were getting closer to the camp, and although he had never seen it himself, having stayed behind at the outpost, he knew that it couldn’t be far. The night elves didn’t speak much, but he could see in their eyes that they were getting wary. The camp was bound to have some sort of sentry system going to alert of enemies. Pretty soon there would be a challenge from the guards.
The Stasis trap appeared out of nowhere in front of them, and Grikk knew enough about them to know that there was only a few moments before it would go off.
“Watch out! Tra-“ he yelled, in Orcish or human, he didn’t know as the stasis went off with a high pitched buzzing sound. Although the traps had once stunned everything but orcs and trolls, they had been adjusted so they wouldn’t affect dwarves, humans or Quel-Dorei anymore. Something in the blood of the protected races was added to the trap to keep them out of harm, or something. Grikk had never really cared about such things. When the trap went off, Grikk, Gneiss and Kiniea kept running, not able to stop in time, but the Kaldorei were not so fortunate. Although elven, they had been apart for so long that minute changes had altered their blood. Even so, the effect of the trap only jolted them briefly, making their bodies quiver for a moment, and they were able to keep going. Not so for Anea’s panther though. It was completely stunned in the middle of running, and both it and Anea tumbled over on the ground, landing in a sprawl. Almost instantaneously the Archers disappeared among the trees as Anea groggily struggled to get free of her panther who lay half on top of her. Then her eyes widened as a wolf-riding orc and a group of heavily armored knights charged towards them, and before she had time to react or even reach for her glaive a thick net trapped her on the ground.
“Run sisters! It’s a trap!” she yelled as she tried to disentangle herself.
Grikk and his friends stood to face the scout party as they circled Anea.
“What the hell is going on?!” Gneiss demanded angrily of one of the knights. “We are on the same side, fools!” but the knights dismounted and pushed him aside as they went to grab Anea. Kiniea stood there agape, watching in stunned amazement as Anea was lifted up on her feet, still helpless in the net.
“Well, well, what do we have here? An enemy girl all alone?” one of the knights leered at her. She just stared back imperiously. Torg and Grikk looked at each other briefly in silent agreement. They both knew what human males did to females, of any race. There was no honor in that.
“I will handle the prisoner, knight,” Torg said commandingly as both he and Grikk moved in between Anea and the knights.
“I don’t think so, greenskin! Those women have attacked several of the outposts, and its time for one of them to learn a lesson, isn’t it, lads?” he looked at his fellow knights, who all backed him up. Grikk looked at Kiniea, who stared in horror at the thought of what would come. He glanced at Torg.
“There are archers among the trees. They can cut us down in the blink of an eye. They too understand honor,” he muttered in Orcish, and saw the almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment from Torg. “We cannot let the human scum defile her,” Grikk muttered, his low tone clearly showing where he stood.
“I am in command here, human,” Torg said calmly. “The prisoner is my responsibility, not yours.” The leader of the knights put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You think so, blackblood? There are five of us… and only two of you,” he grinned threateningly as his friends also reached for their swords. “I trust you understand what I mean. Of course… soon she will be your responsibility, when we are done with her.” And he reached out to touch the Nightelf, who shirked back from his hand. Anea had expected beatings, perhaps torture… but not that! By Elune what beasts were these pink skins?!
However, Grikk already had his axe in hand, and it took but a moment to glance over at Kiniea and Gneiss. Their eyes told him everything he needed to know. He swung his axe hard.

Uguru got an almost audible shout from one of his Sentry wards, and quickly his mind unraveled and his vision blurred. After a moment his mind was filled with images from the ward, images of blood, rage, fighting and people screaming. Getting his bearings quickly he pulled back from it and his mind reached out for the network of sentry wards that connected the Witchdoctors together. Calling his brethren he relayed the situation, and then turned back to view what was going on.

The proud arrogant knights never expected that the two Orcs would challenge them, so when Grikk suddenly cut one of them down with a vicious attack they were taken aback for a moment, but they rallied quickly. Yelling with rage they drew their swords as Torg also joined the fray, his heavy war blade clanging against the arm brace of one of them, but not doing much damage.
“Grikk, you stupid bastard!” Gneiss roared as he pulled the hammer back on his rifle and fired at the leg of another knight, the bullet punching through the metal greave and ripping into the soft part of the thigh. The knight staggered back with a groan of pain, but surged forward, his sword raised as Gneiss frantically tried to reload the rifle.
“Kill her!” the second knight yelled in rage and went for Anea who had fallen to the ground, still entangled in the net. But her panther, now free of the stasis trap effect roared and stood over her, ready to defend its master.
“Run Gneiss!” Kiniea shouted as she pushed him aside, confronting the wounded knight. Her stomach was like ice, and her hands shivered on the makeshift spear, but she stood fast, glaring at the knight. He batted the spear to the side with his shield, and swung his broadsword viciously, and Kiniea barely avoided it, the tip ripping her left shoulder. It didn’t hurt much in her adrenaline rush, and she whipped around, the spear jabbing at the knight’s leg. It glanced off the armor, and the knight pressed the attack. Dodging and weaving like Anea had taught her she kept the spear moving and darting at the knight, keeping out of the shorter reach of the sword. But now Gneiss was ready, and fired again at the same leg, finally putting the knight down, screaming in pain at his torn up thigh.
Anea had pulled her knife and was frantically cutting through the strands of the net, trying to free herself as the battle raged around her. She could see Grikk and the other Orc battling three of the human knights, trying to protect her, and doing a good job of it too. Apart from the incident with the satyrs and the mock fight with Grikk, she had not seen the brutal and savage way the Orcs fought before, and again she was amazed at their raw power. One of the knights staggered back, his metal shod foot treading heavily on her ankle, and she had to suppress a cry of pain as he stumbled backwards over her legs. Grikk took advantage of the situation and his axe crashed down hard on the hastily raised shield, numbing the knight’s arm from the impact and almost shattering the shield.
Torg who was still astride his dire wolf was unused to such close combat, being trained in sweeping attacks and raids with the speed and maneuverability of his wolf, was crowded by the two remaining knights. His wolf could not move around, being blocked by them, and as he frantically tried to disengage one of the knights moved in behind him and cut his wolf, felling it and dragging Torg down with it. Just as the other knight raised his broadsword to kill him, the air was filled with buzzing and flashing lights.

Thrall had been notified of what was going on by a Headhunter messenger, and immediately he ran towards Jaina Proudmoore’s house. He was accompanied by Jubei and Koran, two of his bodyguards, as well as the messenger. When he came to her door he didn’t worry about the guards, who startled tried to ask his business. He just slammed the door open without breaking stride, and charged inside.
“Thrall!? What’s-“ Jaina exclaimed, while Roka sat up quickly, staring at the group.
“No time! Hurry, we must go to the second scout group!” Thrall yelled, and Jaina stood up.
“Why? What’s going on?” she asked, now a little upset that she had been so rudely interrupted from her research.
“Just do it!” Thrall commanded urgently, and Jaina concentrated, making a note to let him have a piece of her mind later for his rudeness. The room blurred as the magic unfolded, and the familiar lurch in her belly came as the Teleport spell jerked them away.

The fighting stopped as the teleport spell reached them, all of them watching the bright light coalescence into several shapes. Anea hurriedly finished freeing herself and tried to stand up, ignoring the pain in her ankle. The shimmering forms seemed to be three more Orcs, a blue skinned creature, and a human female. A little behind those another Orc appeared seeming to sit on thin air, and fell to the ground with a groan.
“What the hell is going on here?!” Thrall roared angrily, taking in the scene. Two knights were down, someone was trapped inside a net, and one of his raiders was on the ground with two knights standing over him, swords raised. A little apart a warrior was confronting a third knight. There was a dwarf messing with his rifle, and some sort of female was holding a spear uncertainly. His two bodyguards drew their long swords with an ominous hiss.

Linie and the other archers watched from the trees as the fight erupted, and then saw the appearance of the newcomers. Among them the rumored leader of the green skins, clad in black plate armor. Grimly Linie drew an arrow, aiming carefully. They may have captured Anea, but they won’t get away free, she thought to herself as she let loose.

“No!” Anea yelled in shock as she saw the single arrow streak out of the trees. Everyone stood still, mesmerized by the arrow that unerringly headed straight for Thrall. Everyone but Grikk. Dropping his axe he ran as fast as he had ever done, ignoring the knight who took his chance to stab him in the back. He felt the pain briefly, but kept running, desperately trying to outrun the arrow. The two bodyguards tried to block his path, but with one last effort he launched himself through the air, crashing into Thrall and bringing him down. The arrow struck him right between the shoulder blades.
“Run, Anea, run!” Kiniea yelled at the night elf who had just thrown the net to the ground. Anea didn’t even take the time to think, she just jumped onto her panther and rushed towards the forest. The only thing that followed her was a spear thrown by the Headhunter, but it fell short as everyone else stared in shock at Grikk and Thrall on the ground. Grikk laid still, blood flowing from the cowardly stab the knight had given him, and the arrow in his back stood straight up. Carefully Jubei and Koran lifted him off and laid him face down on the ground, careful not to disturb the arrow. Then they readied their swords, glaring at the knights as Thrall grumbling got to his feet. Jaina stared at the fallen Orc as Kiniea ran forward, kneeling beside him and crying.
“What happened here?” Jaina asked sternly, looking at her knights. One of the three still standing stepped forward.
“We were going to interrogate the prisoner, but the black bloods interfered,” he said viciously, glancing at Grikk. “Without provocation that one killed Sir Levin,” he said and spat on the ground. “We had to fight.”
“He is lying!” Kiniea shouted with tears running down her face. “We know what you were going to do!” Jaina stared surprised at her. She had never seen such a bedraggled sight. The woman was dirty, her clothes torn, and she held a spear as if she knew how to use it. But she was clearly a High elf.
“Yeah, right, you are going to take a woman’s word over mine…?” the knight started, but caught himself as he saw Jaina’s eyes harden.
“Kini’s words are true,” Gneiss interrupted. “These ‘noble’ knights were going to have their fun with the prisoner. Grikk… disapproved,” he smiled grimly.
“Do you see, Thrall? Do you see what they are? I told you we shouldn’t ally with the humans,” Roka said triumphantly behind him. Thrall sighed in frustration. Just the thing we need right now, he thought. Of course Roka would jump at the chance of sowing discontent.
“You shut up, bitch! Who cares what you think!” the knight snarled viciously.
“I do,” Thrall growled menacingly and stepped forward, flanked by his guard. Gneiss looked around nervously, seeing the tense grips on the weapons.
“Look, lads, lets just calm down here, right? We can-“
“He still breathes! Grikk breathes!” Kiniea cried in relief.

Anea rode hard into the forest, trying to find her archers. She had never been so afraid, so angry and so sad in all her life. Grikk was dead, trying to protect her against his own allies, and it was one of her archers who had felled him. Part of her was relieved that the object of her unnatural desire was gone, yet another part of her screamed with pain and loss.
“Anea! Thank Elune you are safe!” Line said in relief as the archers appeared among the trees. In fury Anea rode right up to her, pulling back so hard her panther growled and smashed her gauntleted fist right into Linies face, sending her sprawling on the ground with a yelp of pain. The others stared in shock as Anea jumped off her panther and grabbed Linie, pulling her up with one hand and slamming her fist into her face again.
“I know you fired that arrow, you stupid wench! I did not order it!” she yelled harshly.
“I was trying to-“ Linie squealed, but another hard fist silenced her, knocking her unconscious. Anea let her drop to the ground, standing up and looking at the remaining archers. They all stared at her, wondering if their leader had lost her wits.
“By Elune, what is wrong with you?” Alane asked nervously. “You used to be one of the nicest Huntresses we knew.” The others nodded in timid agreement.
“You have all seen the power and might of the invaders, have you not?” Anea asked harshly. “Yes, we can fight them, and yes, we can fight the burning legion, but we cannot afford to fight both, do you understand?!” she almost yelled, her pain and grief over Grikk almost overwhelming her.
“But Priestess Tyrande wants the invaders destroyed, Anea,” Alane reminded her.
“You like those three invaders, don’t you?” another archer asked.
“Don’t be foolish! That’s nonsense!” Anea blurted out, but the treacherous blush betrayed her. “I just think they would make better allies than enemies!”
“Linie was right,” Alane said accusingly. “You are a traitor!”
“Say what?” Anea said angrily, her hand going to her glaive.
“Are you going to attack US now, Huntress?” Alane growled and reached for an arrow. “You can stay here with the invaders, for all we care. We are going to let Tyrande know we have found the invader’s main base. Come, sisters, we must leave before they send out scouts to find us!” Alane beckoned the sentinels, and hesitantly they turned to leave. Anea sat on her panther, watching them walk away stoically, but inside she was in turmoil. Oh, mother Elune, what was going on? Everything had turned into such a mess!
“Come with us, Anea,” Onaya said pleadingly as the others disappeared among the trees. “You are still our leader, no matter what Linie and Alane says.”
“No… let them go. They will see that I am right,” Anea said, steeling herself so that Onaya wouldn’t see her confusion and anguish.
“Huntress… please. We need you… I… need you,” Onaya pleaded. She was the youngest of the archers, barely into womanhood, just like the Quel-Dorei girl.
“You should go with them, Onaya,” Anea said gently, forcing down her feelings. “Otherwise they will label you a traitor also.”
“Why, Anea? Why do you stay? Was Linie right? Do you really like these invaders after all that they have done?”
“What do you think?” Anea snapped, her guilt making her angry. Onaya shirked back for a moment, and then she smiled uncertainly.
“I think I will follow my leader, whatever she decides to do.”

Jaina had transported them back to the camp, into the Priests quarters, since Grikk was in dire need of healing. After he was brought back from the edge of death, Thrall had ordered the two groups interred separately, Grikk, Kiniea, Torg and Gneiss in one hut, and the four surviving Knights in another, after the wounded knight had been treated for his leg. As always, the Tauren was trusted to be impartial, and thus now guarded three huts. The War Maids had heard about the incident, and it fueled their hate of human males even more. And thus again the fragile alliance was in danger of breaking up. Thrall, Cairne, Jaina and Roka had withdrawn to the council building to discuss matters and try to figure out what to do about the last incident. Of course Roka was all over it like a wolf on a wounded lamb.
“Didn’t I say so? Maybe you too can see it now that our own warriors protect the enemy from the humans’ horrible doings!” Thrall groaned and shook his head. Could she never let it lie?! Now of all times they needed cool heads and deep thought, not to make things worse!” But it was Cairne who responded.
“Humph… humph… calm yourself, young one. Not all Tauren know honor either. Does that mean that all Tauren are honorless?”
“That is not the same!” Roka brushed him off.
“I know full well what evil lurks in the hearts of men,” Jaina said quietly. “Bad things happen in war,” she said with gritted teeth. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But it is not always easy to stop it.”
“Grikk or whatever his name is sure stopped it, didn’t he?” Roka grinned approvingly.
“He went against my direct orders to keep the peace!” Thrall said angrily.
“What, he should just stand there and watch those beasts violate another woman?” Roka shot back angrily.
“How do you know the dwarf and high elf wasn’t wrong? Maybe the knights only tried to scare the night elf woman?” Thrall countered. Roka bristled and went to argue, but Jaina interrupted.
“I don’t think they were, and we all know that. Men thing with their… you know...” she said and blushed, but continued. “What we have to do is interrogate all of them and find out what really happened, so we can decide what to do with them.”

Kiniea was sitting on a small bed in the hut they were interred in, with Gneiss pacing the floor, grumbling angrily. Grikk lay on one of the beds, still unconscious although his wounds had been healed.
“That Orc is the luckiest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet!” Gneiss grumbled, adding more unpleasant epithets as he came to think of them. Kiniea said nothing, she just kept wiping Grikk’s forehead with a damp cloth. She wondered how that Night elf woman could ever desire him. She knew of some elves that had relationships with humans, even though the humans were so short lived and… different. She could almost see why, for some of the human males were attractive in their own way, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine someone ever loving an Orc. They were big, brutish, and ugly as sin with their small pig like eyes and tusks. What children would such an unholy union create? Green elves or pink Orcs? Some twisted mix of the two? Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, and she looked up as Gneiss stopped his angry pacing. Thrall, Jaina, Cairne and Roka came into the room, looking around in silence. Kiniea quickly removed her hand from Grikk’s brow, afraid they would misunderstand. She didn’t want ANYONE to think she was like Anea.
“Wake him up,” Thrall commanded gruffly, and Kiniea shook Grikk by the shoulder. It took a little while, but Grikk seemed to rouse from the slumber. Slowly he sat up, his eyes widening as he saw Thrall and Roka.
“Explain what happened,” Thrall commanded, and Grikk started talking, but was interrupted. “In Human, so Jaina understands.” Thrall said irritably.
Slowly Grikk started explaining, from the moment they left the outpost up until he had fallen with the arrow in his back. Gneiss and Kiniea filled in everything they could think of as the four leaders listened and asked questions intermittently. Kiniea even told Jaina of her loss of magic, causing Jaina to start in compassion and empathy. When the full story was revealed, the leaders took their leave and headed to the knights’ hut, and questioned them. After that, they returned to the council hall.

“Onaya, have you ever had feelings that you couldn’t control, couldn’t help, but you knew were wrong?” Anea asked the remaining archer hesitantly. They had moved closer to the enemy encampment, and were looking to see if the dwarf and Quel-dorei girl were anywhere in sight. It was twilight now, the best time for scouting, since the still lit sky contrasted with the dark forest, making it hard for eyes to adjust to the shadows. They would be hard to see now. Anea also had her owl flying over the encampment, noting buildings and people moving about.
“I don’t know,” Onaya hesitated. Could Anea see that? Did she know? Would she be angry? Maybe she would send her away! “Uh… what do you mean?” she stalled.
“Oh, you know, wanting something you knew was wrong,” Anea said off handedly.
“Yes…” Onaya said timidly. “I want… I want to have hair and skin like that Quel-Dorei girl,” she burst out, ready to sink or swim. “She was beautiful!”
“Oh, you want to have pale skin and brown hair instead of bluish and black?” Anea said and smiled.
“Are you angry, Anea?” Onaya asked hesitantly. “Do you think I am wrong?”
“Hah! No, that is nothing compared to…” she started but halted herself just in time. But the blush came back.
“Compared to what?” Onaya asked curiously, noting the blush.
“Never mind,” Anea said. “It is no longer important,” she almost choked, thinking of Grikk lying dead with an arrow in his back.
“Oh, I know! You want to help your invader friends!” Onaya smiled. “I don’t think that is wrong, no matter what Linie says.”
“That is true, but not exactly what I was thinking,” Anea said seriously. “Have you ever thought of the druids and… you know… marriage?” she asked slowly, and she saw Onaya blush at the implications of marriage.
“Well… yes… yes I have,” she said and giggled. “You know, Tyrande went with most of the others to wake the druids,” she hinted.
“I don’t want the druids,” Anea said in a broken voice.
“Oh? Why not?” Onaya asked curiously.
“I wanted…” Anea started, looking at Onaya’s expectant face. “I wanted Grikk.”

The raven flew over Kalimdor almost impossibly fast. Below it was verdant forests, laughing rivers and mighty mountains. Leaving the forests the raven flew over the weather bitten Barrens, with its rolling hills and valleys of brown earth. There was a stain over Kalimdor now, a dark cancer spreading rapidly. The legion had returned, and before them came the Scourge, spreading the unholy blight that sucked the life out of the land, leaving only dust and withered trees behind. As the raven watched, small lights of resistance were winked out by the dark as the invaders made their way towards Mount Hyjal and the Great Tree. How long until the Tree itself was attacked? Maybe a week, maybe less. It was time to do something, to bring the three factions together to try and hold it back, no matter the cost. The raven turned north with all haste.

Kiniea walked towards the training area nervously. The first thing Gneiss had done when they had been released was to drag her over to the dwarven smithies, and had argued and commanded until the smiths had scrounged up some old armor for her, along with an excellent quality Spetum spearhead. It was but a moments work to carve a shaft for it. The armor was something else; it was originally designed for the Dwarven heavy infantry that was all but decimated during the second war. The heavy infantry customarily wore a double layer of chain and plate, but everyone agreed that it would be almost impossible for Kiniea to bear that weight on her slender frame, and even so, the plate was made for a different body type, and would not fit without extensive modifications. So they went for just the chain mail. However, the mail was designed for a much broader, but shorter torso, and thus hung like a tent on her, ending just by her bellybutton. The industrious dwarves led by Gneiss were quick to fix it though, cutting links and using wire to tighten the fit better. The arms were removed, leaving her with bare arms, although they added some of the left over chain mail to the shoulders, strengthening them. For her arms, they modified some heavy leather bracers, and finally her thighs were covered by metal plates, strapped around the back. They had no helmet available in her size, and she didn’t really want one either. When she was fully armored, Gneiss had advised her to go practice, but when she asked him to come; she saw one of the smiths bring him a large tanker of the preciously hoarded dwarven beer. She didn’t ask again.

Grikk sat a little nervously in Thrall’s longhouse. The Warchief was there, along with the Tauren chieftain. The grim Blade masters were guarding the entrance stoically, not deigning to look at him, since they had demanded he surrender his axe upon entering. He had never been this close to Thrall before the interrogation at the guard house. Uncomfortably he cleared his throat as both Thrall and Cairne watched him in silence.
“Tell us about the Night elves, warrior,” Thrall rumbled.
“Yes, Warchief!” Grikk barked nervously. Hurriedly he started recounting the tale of their trek towards the main camp, but after a few seconds Thrall held his hand up for silence.
“Yes, I know all that, you told us earlier,” Thrall smiled. “What we want to know is how do they fight? How do they think? Why did they accompany you here? Are they a threat to us, or would we benefit from their help?”
“Yes, Warchief,” Grikk responded slowly, going over everything from the encounters in his head. He had given reports before, of course, so he knew the importance of them, but this was the first time he had been asked to do a strategic or tactical evaluation of another force, and he didn’t want to mess it up.
“Take your time, warrior,” Thrall said kindly. “Everything you remember, even the smallest thing is important to know.”
“Wait a moment, good Orcs,” Cairne rumbled slowly. “This is important information here, we should share it with our allies.” Grikk just looked surprised at him, but Thrall nodded thoughtfully.
“Jubei, please send runners to Thane Stoneaxe and the Paladin Arius,” Thrall commanded, and the blademaster bowed and left the longhouse for a moment before returning.
“It is done, Warchief,” he said respectfully while Grikk sat waiting nervously.

Kiniea stood and watched the people training from a little distance, unsure of what to do. She could see human knights and footmen sparring and jousting, with Paladins and Mountain Thanes a little apart. On the other side of the large area were the Orcs and Trolls, roaring their war cries as they clashed in mock battles. The trolls threw their spears at straw targets also. The dwarves with their limited ammunition were basically just watching and cheering, more often than not with large tankards in hand. But there were not a single elf in sight. Timidly she shrank back, wanting to let the whole stupid idea go. But she had faced the accursed Satyrs! She had fought a fully armored knight! Well, the last fight might have been unwise, from a political standpoint, but she had! These people here were if not friends, at least allies. Clenching her jaw she stepped into plain sight. It took a little while for the others to notice her, but slowly activity ceased as everyone turned to look at her. Kiniea swallowed deeply, steeling herself.
“This is the training area, right?” Oh, so stupid! Of course it was! Nervously she licked her dry lips. “Only Gneiss said I had to practice…” she faltered at their stares. Then one of the knights started laughing at the unbelievable sight of a slender elf woman decked out in heavy armor with a Spetum in her hand. In the blink of an eye the laughter spread all over the Alliance group, and Kiniea blushed in humiliation and embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to throw the spear down and run away.
“Get back to your books, little girl, and leave the men’s work to us!” one of the Footmen mocked her, and the laughter increased.
“Yeah, go and bake us a pie, woman!” another joined in. Other words were spoken less loudly, but yet Kiniea’s keen elven ears heard them, and her blush deepened. Totally devastated by the welcome she turned to leave, her head bent and tears already running down her face.
“You let dogs speak to you this way?! Kill them!” another voice roared, but this was harsh, raw with anger, and not human. Surprised Kiniea turned around again, and saw one of the Orc warriors stride briskly towards her, a massive war axe in his hands. The laughter increased at the words “kill them” as if Kiniea could no more do so than turn her head around full circle. Kiniea stared at the Orc as he came closer, although he seemed different than Grikk. A few others like him followed, and as they came closer Kiniea realized they were females! They wore leather shirts, covering their breasts from view, but apart from that wore the same armor as the males. Even though they were female, they were still more muscular than human males, and about the same height. The one who spoke to her stood right in front of her, staring down sternly, axe in hand. Behind her the others waited, carrying a variety of weapons.
“Did they burn you?” the leader rumbled deeply, something tender in her eyes that Kiniea didn’t expect.
“Huh? What?” Kiniea stammered, intimidated by the much larger Orcs.
“Did they burn you, so you can’t…” the Orc said hesitantly, as if she was thinking of something else.
“No… no,” Kiniea said slowly, misunderstanding the Orc. “I burned myself.” She could hear the women gasp as they stared at her, but their eyes were full of respect and compassion. What did they know of it? They were savage brutes, just like Grikk. How could they know what it was to lose the magic?
“Sister!” the leader said and grabbed Kiniea by the forearm, surprising her. Before she knew it, the Orc woman pulled her into an almost crushing embrace, and Kiniea balked at having her face pressed against the larger woman’s chest. Then she was released, but before she could recover her wits, the other women crowded her, giving their rough support and acceptance. As they were smothering her, the leader bent down to look right into her eyes.
“The Warchief said no vengeance on human weaklings,” she said in a broken accent. “Roka disobeyed, and she is locked inside the human leader’s house. I lead the War maids now. I am Riksha.” Then she winked and lowered her voice. “Everyone heard humans spit on you. No one can say vengeance for burning. Big dishonor. You must kill. No can walk away. Kill!” she almost growled the last word, and the other women nodded sternly.
“But…” Kiniea said hesitantly, not sure if she understood the Orc correctly. “I don’t want to kill them, I just want to practice?” The Orc women looked at her in disbelief.
“You want humans spit on you and not care for honor?” Riksha said in astonishment. “You want to bake pie? You want to get on knees and get ‘present’?” she said, coldly repeating some of the words that the footmen had spoken.
“But I cannot fight our allies!” Kiniea shot back, stung by the words. The Orc women chuckled grimly.
“Not allies, only same enemy,” Riksha said darkly. “How many of your kind have humans hurt?” That stopped Kiniea short as she thought of Anea and what the knights would have done to her. “You live on knees, baking pie and getting ‘present’ all your life, sister, or you stand up and kill, get honor back, get respect,” Riksha challenged harshly. “Roka disobey the Warchief, but Roka is right. The humans must die for what they have done!”

Roka sat up in the bed, looking curiously at Jaina who was mixing ingredients in a small bowl while chanting elven words over it. Slowly she got up and moved closer, not wanting to disturb. After a little while, Jaina sighed deeply and looked up, smiling.
“It is complete. Soon we can begin,” she said wearily.
“You can really make me whole?” Roka asked hopefully.
“Yes… but there is something we must do first, Roka,” Jaina said kindly. “The wound has to be fresh.” Roka felt her heart sink. The priests had said the same. There really was no hope, was there?
“We are going to have to make it fresh,” Jaina said uncertainly, holding up a sharp knife.

Akei, one of the War chief’s personal guard had seen the altercation with the elf woman and the human warriors, but paid no heed to it until Riksha and the War maids approached her. He watched as the women spoke and apparently something went on there, for the smaller woman was surrounded by the War maids, held and hugged briefly before Riksha talked to her. He tried to hear what was said, but only caught bits and pieces of Riksha’s broken human words, and couldn’t quite understand. Then his eyes widened in alarm as the women turned and marched back towards the center of the training area, the bigger Orc women flanking the Elf woman as some sort of escort. Quickly he strode to meet them, staring sternly at Riksha.
“There will be no fighting here, Riksha!” he growled warningly in Orcish, ignoring Kiniea. “You know what the Warchief commanded!” Riksha only smiled haughtily.
“We will not fight, that is for her to do. The human dogs dishonored her, and so they must die!” she said heatedly, also in Orcish.
“Bah! She is one of them, or close to it. What does she know of honor?” he said mockingly. Riksha glowered at him.
“You heard what they said, Akei,” she countered. “All women know that dishonor.”
“Honor...” Kiniea said the Orcish word thoughtfully, as if she was tasting it. “Grikk teach… honor,” she said in faltering Orcish, the rough words almost sticking in her throat. All of them looked at her, and Akei bowed in respect.
“So be it, elf warrior,” he said in human. “Wait here, I will speak with the human leader here,” and he turned and found Thane Grimshield who overlooked the human part of the training grounds. The dwarf was short and stocky, armed with the customary axe and hammer that the Thanes had mastered, and wore heavy armor, dented and cracked from many proud battles.
“Aye, greenhand, what’s with the elf lass there?” the Dwarf asked him and put down his tankard, wiping foam off his moustache. “She looks as if she borrowed her husband’s armor, and I didn’t know we were playing charades,” he guffawed, amused at his own joke.
“No, blackbeard,” Akei said seriously. “It is a challenge of honor. She wants to taste the rush,” he said grimly. Akei and Thorlaug Grimshield had fought side by side during the battle to save Grom Hellscream, and they had both found an admiration and respect for each other which few men know, even as they were of different races.
“Ah… yes, the rush,” Grimshield smiled with eyes alight. “It is good to kill, to be left standing when your enemy lies dead before you, to know you are so alive.” His eyes dimmed and he frowned. “Just too bad someone has to die for you to feel so good.”
“I no longer kill for pleasure,” Akei said distastefully. “Mannoroth is dead.”
“And a good thing too, lad,” Grimshield smiled. “Anyways, we can’t have open war in the camp, there has been too much of that already,” he said seriously.
“No, the War maids are out of it, only the elf warrior will fight. You heard what the humans said to her,” Akei reminded the dwarf.
“Aye, I did, greenhand,” the Dwarf said solemnly. “Too bad the humans cannot control their hunger for such things,” he said grinning. “Ask a knight if he wants a good battle or a woman and you fight alone!” they both chuckled.
“Do you think the lass is up to it, lad?” Grimshield asked as he looked at her. She seemed tense and nervous, but her hands were steady on the Spetum.
“Does it matter? Honor is not free,” Akei shrugged his shoulders.

Jaina had called for a priest and a sorceress to aid with the restoration of Roka. She thought the Orc woman would back out when she explained that she would have to cut away all the burned and ruined skin inside her in order for the salve to work, since the body would only remember what it was supposed to be, instead of what it had been, and thus could be restored from the blueprint that were in all living things. Roka had not understood half of it, and Jaina was no better at explaining, but Roka accepted that the wound had to be fresh and ‘un-healed’ for the restoration to work. She also had to remain completely still while Jaina cut, so that she would not slip and do even worse damage, and they could not give her any potion for the pain, since the salve would not work if other effects were instilled in the patient. Thus Roka had by her own suggestion been tied down on the table. The young sorceress had been called so that she could slow the bleeding with her spells, while the priest would help with the healing process.
“Oh Gods, I can’t believe the humans really did this to her!” the sorceress Kelea gasped as she saw the horrifying ruin between Roka’s legs.
“And now a human is making it right again,” Jaina said through gritted teeth as she picked up the knife. She had never been so close to it, seen it so clearly as she did now, and her heart cringed in her chest. The Orc twisted slightly in embarrassment at being scrutinized so carefully.
“Are you ready, Roka?” Jaina said hesitantly. What if she couldn’t really do it? What if she failed? The salve had been used to restore limbs and fingers after battle, not such a complicated organ as this! Would Roka be able to bear children, or would it not work?
“I am ready,” Roka said with such strength and faith that Jaina cringed. She must not fail! Kelea blinked away tears and gently took Roka’s hand in hers, smiling reassuringly down at the Orc. Roka wondered about that, was that supposed to help the healing? Then she hissed through clenched teeth as Jaina started cutting. She released the elf woman’s hand and clenched her own as the pain came in waves from down below. Faintly she head the sorceress chanting a spell as Jaina cut deeper.

Kiniea and the rude footman circled around the ring. The other knights and footmen were laughing and cheering, and the footman was eased, relaxed as he taunted her. Kiniea moved as she had been taught, low, crouched, ready to spring with the spear held in front of her. She ignored his chatter as she concentrated. The armor was heavy, and she was not used to it, but it didn’t impede her movements.
“Come, little girl, don’t you want to play with my sword?” he laughed and then lunged forward, slashing his sword downwards to frighten her. Kiniea dodged sideways and stabbed, but the footman easily parried with the shield. He laughed and swung again, making Kiniea duck and move backwards. She retaliated but as she stabbed for his chest the sword slashed down and struck her shoulder hard, but the armor deflected it with a rasp of metal against metal. Groaning in pain from the blow she staggered backwards, losing her concentration and waving the spear wildly to keep him at bay. Then she heard Riksha and the other women shout a word in Orcish, over and over again, the dark chant taken up by the other Orcs as well. Encouraged by this, she surged forward, the spear darting quickly at the footman, who laughingly backed as he parried her strikes.
“Let’s stop this little game, girl,” the footman taunted her, “and come to my tent and I will let you make it all up to me!” He backed it up with a vicious slash that hit her thigh, scratching over the metal plate to the edge where it cut into her flesh.
“Here is for your sword!” she shouted angrily, both at the cut and at his foul words. She swung the Spetum down overhead, and as the footman raised his shield to ward off the blow, she kicked low and dirty as hard as she could. Groaning with pain the footman curled up helplessly on the ground, his hands going to his groin. There was an audible groan of empathy from the other knights and footmen as she kicked him in the shoulder, rolling him over on his back before she slammed the Spetum into his chest, impaling him. The only thing that kept it from going all the way through was the metal prods on the side of the spearhead. Silence filled the air as the footman convulsed and choked, blood pouring out of his mouth and nose, and then he went still, the last sigh of his breath leaving his lungs. Shaking with adrenaline Kiniea put her foot on the metal breastplate and wrenched her Spetum out of the dead man. She stood there, staring down at him for a moment before she looked around. Everyone was staring at her, mouths open in astonishment. Then suddenly the Orcs all roared, waving their weapons in the air in a savage cheer of approval. Kiniea staggered, leaning on her Spetum as the pain from her thigh finally hit her.

Jaina had blood all over her arms and dress now, even though Kelea did her best to slow Roka’s heartbeat. They could all hear the table creaking as the Orc woman strained against the ropes, clenching her jaws hard to not scream with the horrible pain.
“Jaina, she is bleeding too badly, we must stop this and let it be,” the priest said worriedly, looking at the pale green woman on the table.
“Just a bit more, then I am done,” Jaina said as she concentrated. What remained of Roka’s privates was a horrible mess, and it was hard to see with the dark blood flowing. She could hear Kelea crying, unable to watch anymore, and she had spent her power already. There was no purpose for her in the room anymore. Jaina felt the tip of the knife scrape something, and Roka roared in pain, her tense arms jerking hard against the ropes, snapping two of them. Jaina and the priest stared in horror at the sudden surge of blood that poured out of her.
“Jaina, we must stop! She is going to die!” the priest said hurriedly before he started chanting to heal, but Roka’s weak voice interrupted him.
“No… no,” she whispered weakly, her arms limply falling back down on the table. “It is better this way… no more… pain,” and she shut her eyes.


Greinak crouched low, his eyes examining the tracks of the animal. Some sort of deer, apparently. He and his fellow Headhunters were in charge of hunting for the outpost, since the Dwarven riflemen were too noisy, and didn’t have the necessary skills to hunt well anyway. Greinak had been one of the best hunters even before his tribe of Shadow Trolls had met up with Thrall and the Horde, and thus he went further out and hunted longer than the others of his tribe. He had been tracking this animal for hours now, and it didn’t seem to act as other deer or animals, the trail was too haphazard for that. Perhaps the corruption of the Burning Legion had altered the animals in some way? Deer usually went in circles around bodies of water and good feeding grounds, but not so this one. That made it very hard to predict its movements, so Greinak had to follow the tracks carefully. His long quiver of javelins was full, so he had plenty of chances to bring down whatever he could find, even if some of the javelins broke or were damaged.
“Hi, did you drop something?” a girl’s cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts, and Greinak looked up irritably. A young girl stood behind some bushes, smiling at him. Her hair was peculiar, seemed to be covered by leaves or moss. Probably some stupid little thing girls did, he mused disinterestedly. Besides, he had seen enough weird things in the last couple of months to make a green haired girl pretty ordinary.
“You be gone, girl, you scare the hunt,” he muttered angrily. She just laughed merrily at him.
“Be gone? That is not very friendly, is it? What are you hunting anyway? There is nothing here! I have been looking for my friend for ages! Have you seen her? Elsa was supposed to meet me here two hours ago!” Greinak groaned. Stupid chattering little girls!
“