The sound of battle echoed around the rocky cliffs of Stormheim, the clash of metal, the yells of the dying, the piercing howl of the war horns.
Deep in a passing through the mountains a group of Horde warriors were fiercely fighting for their lives as they got ambushed by felsworn Vrykul. Despite their bravery, they were outnumbered, the wall of the crazed Vrykul slowly pushing them back towards the edge of the cliffs, and slowly to their impeding death.
The Horde warriors lost their courage bit by bit with each fallen comrade and with each enemy that took the place of the one they killed before.
Strength slowly left their bodies, fear taking over as they began to swing their weapons careless towards their enemies in a failed attempt to save their life or even prolong it for just a bit.
Suddenly, a volley of arrows rained over them, taking down a good number of orcs, tauren, trolls and other proud member of the Horde. Only a few remained, all covered in blood and sweat from the tiresome fight.
As they got closer to the end of the cliff, more started to try and get to the front, only to get struck down by the Vrykul. There was no escape for them, there was no hope. There was no order to be given to lead them to safety, nothing but chaotic fighting for their lives.
The Vrykul slowed down their push as another volley of arrows struck the warriors, killing and wounding what remained of their small group.
Suddenly, a loud roar echoed from their line as one orc slowly made his way to the frontline. With one hand he broke the arrow that pierced his shoulder while keeping a firm grip on his giant bearded axe. He bared his fangs as he slowly made his way forward, his eyes shinning red with rage.
He set his look on the Vrykul as they stopped in confusion.
With each step he picked up the pace, building up for a straight charge towards the enemy. If he was to die that day, he would die like a real warrior, not like a cornered beast.
He roared and charged gripping his axe with both hands now, letting the rage fuel his body and give him strength.
As he reached the first of the Vrykul he leaped towards them and carved down a couple unlucky foes that got caught in the swing.
Seeing this charge, a bit of hope filled the remaining Horde warriors, as they started to charge also, all yelling in unison "FOR THE HORDE!".
This took by surprise the Vrykul, as they thought they had easily won the fight, but they were wrong. One by one, they fell down to the strikes of Horde warriors, as even the slight chance of survival gave them strength to push forward.
It was now the Vrykul that started to lose their moral, seeing that the gift of fel did not make them invincible as they promised. Their advance stopped and soon they started to get pushed back.
It didn't take long after the tables have turned before the Vrykul scattered, the battle meeting it's end. The mountain pass was left covered in bodies, blood and broken weapons. The handful of Horde members started to scout around the battlefield for survivors, helping their own and ending their enemies.
The orc that started the charge looked around, setting his gaze on a dying Vrykul that looked like a leader of somesort, with ornate armor and a big fur cloak. He slowly made his way towards the felsworn, axe ready in his hand.
As he reached the dying foe he took off his Rylak skull headdress and placed it on a rock near him. He wiped the sweat and blood from the side of his head with his forearm, revealing a tattoo: a wolf head with the tail of a serpent.
"When will you giants learn that the bigger you are, the harder you fall? Even with the help of your demon masters you all bleed and die the same. Regardless of your efforts, it is not my destiny to die today. My story is far from it's end." the orc said before raising his axe and swinging it at the head of the Vrykul.
To be continued...
Deep in a passing through the mountains a group of Horde warriors were fiercely fighting for their lives as they got ambushed by felsworn Vrykul. Despite their bravery, they were outnumbered, the wall of the crazed Vrykul slowly pushing them back towards the edge of the cliffs, and slowly to their impeding death.
The Horde warriors lost their courage bit by bit with each fallen comrade and with each enemy that took the place of the one they killed before.
Strength slowly left their bodies, fear taking over as they began to swing their weapons careless towards their enemies in a failed attempt to save their life or even prolong it for just a bit.
Suddenly, a volley of arrows rained over them, taking down a good number of orcs, tauren, trolls and other proud member of the Horde. Only a few remained, all covered in blood and sweat from the tiresome fight.
As they got closer to the end of the cliff, more started to try and get to the front, only to get struck down by the Vrykul. There was no escape for them, there was no hope. There was no order to be given to lead them to safety, nothing but chaotic fighting for their lives.
The Vrykul slowed down their push as another volley of arrows struck the warriors, killing and wounding what remained of their small group.
Suddenly, a loud roar echoed from their line as one orc slowly made his way to the frontline. With one hand he broke the arrow that pierced his shoulder while keeping a firm grip on his giant bearded axe. He bared his fangs as he slowly made his way forward, his eyes shinning red with rage.
He set his look on the Vrykul as they stopped in confusion.
With each step he picked up the pace, building up for a straight charge towards the enemy. If he was to die that day, he would die like a real warrior, not like a cornered beast.
He roared and charged gripping his axe with both hands now, letting the rage fuel his body and give him strength.
As he reached the first of the Vrykul he leaped towards them and carved down a couple unlucky foes that got caught in the swing.
Seeing this charge, a bit of hope filled the remaining Horde warriors, as they started to charge also, all yelling in unison "FOR THE HORDE!".
This took by surprise the Vrykul, as they thought they had easily won the fight, but they were wrong. One by one, they fell down to the strikes of Horde warriors, as even the slight chance of survival gave them strength to push forward.
It was now the Vrykul that started to lose their moral, seeing that the gift of fel did not make them invincible as they promised. Their advance stopped and soon they started to get pushed back.
It didn't take long after the tables have turned before the Vrykul scattered, the battle meeting it's end. The mountain pass was left covered in bodies, blood and broken weapons. The handful of Horde members started to scout around the battlefield for survivors, helping their own and ending their enemies.
The orc that started the charge looked around, setting his gaze on a dying Vrykul that looked like a leader of somesort, with ornate armor and a big fur cloak. He slowly made his way towards the felsworn, axe ready in his hand.
As he reached the dying foe he took off his Rylak skull headdress and placed it on a rock near him. He wiped the sweat and blood from the side of his head with his forearm, revealing a tattoo: a wolf head with the tail of a serpent.
"When will you giants learn that the bigger you are, the harder you fall? Even with the help of your demon masters you all bleed and die the same. Regardless of your efforts, it is not my destiny to die today. My story is far from it's end." the orc said before raising his axe and swinging it at the head of the Vrykul.
To be continued...