Post by rothome on Nov 25, 2014 18:27:47 GMT
The Iron Horde orc war party had left the fort four days ago on what they assumed would be a regular patrol. That meant scouring Gorgrond for any plunder, engaging in rapine and mayhem, and bringing the fear of the Warchief to any of his foes. The party had been a twenty in number. Now they were three. As the Blackhand leader Karrok noted bitterly, the famed discipline and order of his clan was beginning to fray around the edges from the relentless assault by a foe that had assassinated nearly his entire squad but had yet to be seen by any of them.
Their hunter had no qualms about resorting to trickery. The mayhem began with a sprung trap that sent a sapling five feet in length straight through Karrok’s lead soldier. The first warpriest who knelt to tend to him died noiselessly a moment later when an arrow abruptly appeared in his neck. He fell, wide-eyed and stupid, into death along the road. Two more of the Blackrocks died making for cover, laid low with arrows that arched from above to conceal the firer’s position. One went right through the top of a Blackrock’s head, leaving the orc tottering about, already dead but his body not yet having received the message. Then he flopped to the ground, a string-cut marionette.
They had torn the area apart looking for their attacker, carefully hiding behind tower shields. They found tracks, followed them, and Karrok lost another soldier to a vicious deadfall trap that left the victim broken and howling. With the warpriest already dead and the soldier’s wounds too grave, he beheaded the injured orc and then called for his men to hunker down for the night. He learned not to follow those tracks anymore – if they were visible, it was because the archer wanted them to be.
The sniper was relentless. They were being watched, and any time one of his men made any sort of mistake, leaving himself open or vulnerable, he was dead. To spread out his rapidly-dwindling squad and give them time to rest, Karrok at first had set only one orc on watch for the second night. The soldier relieving his fellow from the first watch of the night found him staring sightlessly into the gloom, his neck connected to a tree by another arrow. It had to be a party of skirmishers, taking turns harrying us, Karrok thought. No one could snipe with the sort of pinpoint accuracy he was seeing without resting, and the attacks simply did not stop...
Karrok barked an order to the orcs marching behind him. When he received no reply, he already knew what had happened. He was oddly calm. He looked behind him, and now there were not even any corpses to be seen. The men had simply vanished, without a word. Karrok knew he was dead, but drew his blade. “Show yourselves!” he snarled. He wanted to at least see his killer and die on his feet.
Shockingly, the archer – Hellscream’s tusks, he was alone! – revealed himself. He emerged from the gloom, a lanky, tow-headed undead in mismatched dull-black mail.
Karrok howled, and had taken only three steps before a wolf bounded out of the gloom and leaped, closing its jaws around his throat. As he died, his final observation was that he could see the stars above twinkling through the animal's ethereal form.
“Hey, nice stuff ya bought me this time, rotbrain!” Outside Rizkin’s shop was the seemingly endless buzz of activity of Orgimmar. The swarmy goblin pawnbroker greedily walked around the small pile of orc weapons. “Iron Horde Blackrock? Nice stuff, nice. Where’d ya get it?”
The Forsaken answered softly. “Beyond the Dark Portal.”
The goblin looked up, eyes wide, and then his demeanor changed and he burst into laughter. “HA! An idiot like you wouldn’t last a minute there. Makes me wonder how someone as dumb as you manages to survive at all...” He continued running his hands along the cold steel of the weapons.
Randy said nothing.