The Skirmish

ALLIANCE

Young Ser Thorn rode his destrier forward as the Alliance patrol made its way deeper into the forest. He took off his helmet, which had a long red plume, before he wiped away the sweat from his brow. His tabard bore the black bull on a red field which marked him as a member of the House of Karland.

Thorn was getting bored, he signed up to kill orcs not to ride around aimlessly. He whetted his steel against gnolls and bandits but he longed for a REAL challenge, like the green skinned monsters his father fought years ago. When news came the Orcs had rebelled and were breaking out of their camps Thorn was the first to sign up with Lord Blackmoore’s new taskforce to hunt down any escaped orcs and bring them in, dead or alive. In particular he wanted his pet slave orc back which had escaped several seasons ago. Ser Thorn and his group went around the Arathi Highlands for almost a week but found no trace of any orcs…until recently.

Two hours before, the patrol had found the abandoned ship on the beach that was reported missing from Menethil harbor. According to the gryphon rider who bore the message the ship was stolen in the night by a group of orcs. Few guards were slain but most seemed to have been immobilized by some kind of poison that nearly drove them mad with vivid hallucinations.

“Bleeding Hollow.” The trapper/scout next to Thorn said. The trapper was a older man, a conscript from Stormwind who had fought in the previous two wars. He was send along with a few other Stormwind forces to aid their Lordearonian allies with the Orc resurgence that troubled the kingdom.

“Bleeding Hollow?” one of the footman turned to the trapper.” What makes you say that?”

The trapper placed his crossbow on his shoulder and spat to his before he told the tale.” I fought them both when they attacked Stormwind first time round and again when Lothar’s forces, Light bless his soul, liberated Khaz Modan.”

“Savages are savages…” Ser Thorn turned around.” What does it matter if you give them a name?”

“My people underestimated them at first and paid a terrible price for that, my lord.” The trapper said.” If you do not learn from the mistakes made in the past, you will be doomed to repeat them.”

The knight was getting intrigued, at least it was something to stave off the boredom.

“So who are these Bleeding Hollow then, old man?” Thorn asked.

“They are very dangerous.” The trapper looked to the knight.” So savage even the other orc clans think they are primitive. They wear tattoos instead of armour, they practice a dark heathen religion and above all they are masters of poisons and venoms. When I saw the guards at Menethil I knew what we were facing.”

“So we are going up against lightly armoured forces? That’s…droll..” Thorn sighed.” I was expecting a challenge.”

“The Bleeding Hollow sacked dwarven cities in the past and are masters of guerrilla warfare. Even despite the aid of elven rangers none could find their Chieftain, Kilrogg Deadeye, until he showed himself. They were with many and they did not fear death.”

“Even so, like you said they WERE with many. Most of those wretches died in the cold of Khaz Modan or in Draenor when it was destroyed or are in the camps.” Thorne frowned.” We are probably facing just a handful of grunts who got lucky once. But not anymore.”

“As you say, my lord.” The trapper bowed his head and that was the end of it.

Thorne snorted and looked at his patrol. He had a group of plate clad footmen led by a experienced captain. A mob of militia from a nearby village joined them since for every orc brought or killed was worth more than a day’s work. They would serve best as fodder. Two more knights from lower families joined them and besides the trapper a few dwarven riflemen.

Thorne smirked. Let them come, he thought, let those green bastards come.

HORDE

“Alliance patrol incoming.” Algra said. Despite her having only one eye, the rest of the war party respected her eyesight more than their own senses. It was as if the ritual the shaman inflicted upon her had given her remaining eye the same eyesight of that of a raven. He had heard from the Far Seer that the spirits had many things planned for her. Of course they did, she was of the line of Deadeye. All you could do when a Deadeye led, was follow.

She turned to him.” Gorvar, are the poisons ready?”

The young orc nodded and handed each of the war party a vial. He heard the raptors snattering as they had caught the smell of their pursuers…their prey. Most of the war band coated their bone spears and clubs while the rest, like Gorvar, placed their vial in a scabbard on their wrist, next to their bone dagger, as to dip in their arrows they would unleash from their bows.

They were all armoured the same, as in they practically wore none. White and green tattoos covered their half-naked bodies and they wore leather trousers or wrist guards. A few had a scabbard on their backs which held their weapons but that was it. One did look a little different. Old Gray (as the older orc called himself) wore a red sash he claimed to have stolen from a human sailor during the Khaz Modan campaign and claimed the sash was not red to begin with. Also out of all of the war party he used a proper steel sword, a cutlass which again he claimed from said sailor.

Out of all, the young Gorvar was arguably more armoured since he wore a mask made out of his first true kill. A wolf’s head which covered his face and gave him his strength. He swore a oath to the spirits that he would never remove the mask, or almost never anyway.

“Gorv, you lead the marksmen this time.” Algra slapped him on the shoulder, a smirk on her lips as she gave him a knowing wink as if they shared a secret.” Save some for the rest of us, eh?”

Gorvar thanked the fact his mask hid his blush. “Swobu and good luck.” He managed to say before he climbed his way up with the other marksmen. He looked to one of the Raptors they brought with them. His was a creature with scales as red as blood and sharpened talons and claws. Above many things, Gorvar was no poet nor a storyteller hence he dubbed his raptor ‘Bloodclaws’. Unoriginal but it got the point across.

This would be the first time Master and companion would go up against humans. The jungle trolls, goblins and their ogre lackeys in Stranglethorn were good enough practice but never did they go up against true armoured combatants. Even their victory in Menethil was largely to thank due to the guards who wore nearly no armour due to the hot summer. But here it was different.

“Lok Tar Ogar!” he heard Algra cry out.” Victory or death!”

“Lok tar ogar!” the Bleeding Hollow joined in and prepared for the ambush. Gorvar drew his bow and arrow from his quiver. He dipped the arrow into his vial and knocked it. It took nearly a month cultivating this much venom but the results would be worth it. He saw the patrol nearing and immediately picked a target. “Pick off the horses first…” he whispered.” The knights will be useless then.”

“And the footmen?” Uldran asked. He wore a necklace of cheetah teeth as he believed it would grant him the speed and cunning of said animal.

“Aim for where the armour is weakest…” Gorvar replied.

“Where is that?”

“How the hell should I know?!” the young orc cursed.

“They are nearing our range…” Drasta said as she knocked her arrow.” Say the word…”

Gorvar cleared his mind and picked his target, the horse which bore the knight with a red tabard.” Pick your targets…and make sure you hit them, that venom was hard to gather.”

He heard the other marksmen pick their victims.

”I’ll take the left knight, going for his eyes.” Uldran said.

“I got the other one, going for his horse.” Drasta whispered.

“I go for one of the dwarves.” Fat Dollo gasped.

“Alright….Lok Narosh!” Gorvar cried out.” Attack!”

He unleashed his arrow and struck the horse. The creature reared it’s front legs into the air which made the knight fall off. Other arrows found their marks as one arrow pierced through the knight’ skull and the other’s horse fell on them. The remaining arrows managed to wound a soldier, who soon enough began frothing at the mouth, but the other arrows fell upon the trees or shields.

“For the Bleeding Hollow! Mok-thorin ka!” Algra charged from the woods and led the warriors and the raptors into the enemy. The lesser armed humans, who barely had any combat training Gorvar noticed, almost immediately fled when a few of their number fell to Orcish weapons or raptor claws. Not to say they were unsuccessful but for every Bleeding Hollow that fell, three more humans had died.

The captain called out something in the human tongue and a shield wall was formed as the riflemen took cover behind them. The militia ran past despite the angry calls of the remaining knight. Gorvar told the marksmen to rain down arrows on the wall, cowards deserved no honourable death. A older human with a crossbow fired a bolt along with the dwarven riflemen. Gorvar heard Uldran cry out in pain before he saw his friend fall down from his tree. The marksmen hit every possible tree branch along the way before he came to a complete stop.

“Take cover!” Gorvar shouted as a few more shots tore at his tree.

Algra and her group rallied and charged into the shield wall. Several more Bleeding Hollow fell but the sheer force knocked the shield wall back. The raptors leaped overhead, a few were shot down my dwarven fire, and tore at the enemy behind their lines. It did not take long or Gorvar ran out of arrows as did the other marksmen. He put his bow away and drew his dagger before he climbed down and joined in the fray. From far away it was easy to negate the blood lust that was common for the orcish people but when his dagger was embedded in his first victim, all semblance of coherence fled his mind and he joined his war party into a blood crazed frenzy.

“ARE WE THE PREY?!” He heard Algra shout.

“NO, WE ARE THE HUNTERS!” all of the Bleeding Hollow replied.

ALLIANCE

Thorn was fighting for dear life and cursed the lowborn for all eternity. These orcs, these savages attacked with no warning and were actually WINNING. He was trained for actual warfare, not ambushes!

The Karland knight swung with his sword madly, all his training forgot save for one. Stick them with the pointy end. One of his footmen was being pounded on by a crazed Bleeding Hollow. The man was calling for his help. The knight stopped before he stabbed the orc in the back. The creature cried out in pain before it turned around, it’s one eye filled with hatred. It snarled at him before it lunged. Some remnant of courage returned as Thorn roared back incoherently and began hacking at his opponent. The bone mace struck his armour, although it hurt it did not kill him. He let his adrenaline take over and entered his own little bloodlust. He grabbed the creature by the arm and stabbed it in the gut. The creature looked dazed for a moment as she, he just now noticed, looked down at the sword in her stomach as she dropped the blood covered mace. The snarl returned however as both her hands were around the man’s neck and tightened itself around it. Thorn cried out in pain and punched her in the face with his gauntlet. The creature bled as teeth fell out of her mouth but she kept choking him. His world began to darken but Thorn tapped into his last energies and pounded into her face with his gauntlet, again and again and again. “WHY DON’T YOU DIE?!” He cried out as he felt her grip loosen.” WHY DON’T YOU DIE?!”

Finally the she-orc let go as she slumped to the floor, her face a broken mess of blood and flesh. He panted for air as he fell to his knees. He barely noticed the trapper from before firing a bolt at a raptor that tried to leap on him. The predator crashed nearby, sliding into Thorn’s point of view. He heard the distant sounds of war horns, he thought. For all he knew his hearing was giving out from the chaos.

“Are you alright, my lord?” the old man asked as he helped the young Karland knight up. Thorn could barely stand, let alone speak. He managed a nod and that was it. The old man nodded and guided his backward.

“Captain!” the trapper shouted.” Sound the retreat!”

The Lordearonian looked at the trapper with a sign of contempt.” You dare give me orders, lowborn? We almost won!”

“Your men are nearly all dead, you daft bastard! Also aren’t you hearing those warhorns?! Their pals are coming along!”

“We will hold the line unless Lord Karland tells us oth-“ the captain stopped when Thorn grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Sound…the retreat…” Thorn grunted.” Sound it…damn you…” his sudden burst of power went as he let go of the Captain.

The captain nodded before he brought a horn to his lips and blew twice. The call of retreat came as the survivors doubled back, away from the forest.

“You were right…” Thorn gasped. He looked to the old trapper.” You were right.”

“As you say, my lord…” the old man replied.

HORDE

Gorvar watched the dead being placed on the pyre. The Bleeding Hollow and their raptor companions alike. They left the human corpses where they were so the wolves had something to feast on. Or they were there for their allies to reclaim the bodies.

The young orc’s eyes fell to Algra’s corpse as the fires were lit. He did not understand why she fell. She was a Deadeye, the spirits said they had great plans for her. Now she burned alongside Uldran and his cheetah tooth necklace and several more of their kin. Bloodclaws rubbed her head at her master’ side. Gorvar petted her head gently as he watches the fires consume the bodies of the fallen.

Several orcs, Frostwolves he assumed from their snow white wolf companions, stood vigil for a while before they moved on.

Old Gray came by to express his sympathies.

“I know you two were…close.” The old orc said.

The younger orc turned his head to face the veteran.” You knew?”

“There’s a reason our clan used to be with so many, especially those who claimed to have the Deadeye blood in them.” Old Gray smirked a little before his smile faded.” She saw her death in honourable combat. She knew her life would end faster than expected. So her claiming you…” the older orc paused.” Well it means something I suppose.”

“Thank you Old Gray, your wise words are lifting my spirits higher than any eagle can soar.”

“Really?”

“No…” Gorvar chuckled sadly before he watched the pyres again.” I’ll stay until her skull cracks in half, so I know her spirit will have gone in the afterlife.”

Old Gray nodded.” Zug zug.” He paused.” Doomhammer died as well this day.” He motioned to the other pyres lit alongside the one meant for the Bleeding Hollow.” Their new Warchief has called every clan together to march on a place they call Durnholde Keep. Once more the Bleeding Hollow while fight alongside the Blackrocks, the Frostwolves, the Warsong and the Shattered Hand. We’re part of the Horde again, my young friend. A real one, a proper one. ”

“You believe this….Lord of the clans will lead us to victory?” Gorvar asked.

Old Gray nodded and added.” I believe he will lead us to salvation.”

Gorvar turned his head back to Algra's corpse and saw her skull snap from the heat. He swore upon her departing spirit he would follow this new warchief to salvation...and perhaps to vengeance as well.