He perched silently in the bows of the large fir tree overlooking the fields of Hillsbrad.
On the horizon, great plumes of smoke rose from the border outpost of Tarren Mill and the human settlement of Southshore. The distant clash of metal punctuated by the screams of the dead an dying, floated across the open landscape.
The orc tilted his head to the sky and sniffed the air. The smell of blood and death, palpaple to his senses, drew a snarl from his lips. With a deep breath, he quelled the rising blood lust inherent to his kind and pondered the situation before him.
For years he had used his talents in the service of his clan. Watching, always from the shadows, the movements and activity of the human alliance. Reporting to his Warchief on the degredation of the tenuous peace that had until recently settled over the land. He knew the day would once again come, when hatred would turn the green fields red with the blood of the masses. That day had come.
With a sigh, he dropped lightly to the ground. Pulling his daggers from their sheath, he set off towards the sounds of battle. He skirted the well worn paths and roads that criss-crossed the lush valley, keeping always to the woods, he moved among the shadows.
The din of battle rose in his ears as he neared the walls of Southshore. He paused a moment to survey the scene. The ground was littered with the dead. Bodies of every race of Azeroth lay smashed and broken upon the field, their lifeblood pooling together with no regard for boundaries.
The scrape of boot on stone snapped his attention back to his immediate surroundings. With a silent curse he flattened himself against the coarse bark of a nearby tree and waited. His breath slowing, his body rigid, he made himself nearly indistinguishable from the trunk itself.
The orc saw an elderly human mage stumble around an outcropping of rock. His robes were tattered and bloodstained, his skin scorched near black. With a heavy sigh, the old man collapsed, his back to the stone, his breath ragged.
How many of his kin had fallen to the caster's magic the orc thought to himself. He slipped silently away from the tree and circled the near unconcious mage. Coming up behind the oblivious caster, he slipped one of his daggers silently back into its sheath.
The man's eyes widened in terror as the orc clamped his hand over his mouth. The acknowledgement of his impending death played across the old man's eyes the instant before the orc assassin slipped his dagger up under his ribcage and pierced his heart, silencing him forever.
The orc, wiped his blade on the dead caster's robes and gently closed the old man's eyes. With a prayer to the Blood God Shakhah, he sheathed his dagger and headed warily into Southshore.
The battle in Southshore was chaotic, pockets of alliance and horde alike battled ceaselessly back and forth, rallying to their respective banners. The orc saw an embattled horde party begin a retreat from the pressing counter attack of the alliance. As they worked methodically to safety, their rearguard, a mighty tauren warrior and an orc shaman found themselves cut off from the main party. Outnumbered and surrounded they fought valiantly, knowing their odds for survival were bleak.
The orc assassin cursed himself once again and sprinted towards the pair. Luck smiled upon him for he closed within melee range before the alliance soldiers caught sight of him. He snapped his right hand dagger into the back of the closest human, severing his spinal chord and dropping him paralyzed to the ground. Spinning, about he caught the blade of a charging warrior with his left and with a flick of his wrist disarmed the clumsy human. He brought his right hand around completing the circle and plunged the dagger deep into the surprised warrior's throat. His unexpected and ferocious assault caused momentary panic and confusion among the alliance. The shock lasting long enough for the mighty Tauren and Shaman to break free to relative safety. The orc, not pausing to see how they fared, sprinted headlong for the confines of the surrounding woods and using innate magic taught to him at birth promptly vanished into the shadows.
The orc dropped his concealment as he crested the hill away from the battlefield. Pausing once more he took in the scene. The fires still raged, the warrior's still fought and magic scorched the earth.
War had come once again to Azeroth....
