I wasn’t five minutes inside Warsong Hold when some lowly orc shoved an axe into my hands and ordered me to the front lines to support the war effort.
Mind you, it’d been barely a day since I awoke in Silvermoon. I wasn’t aware there was still a war to fight, let alone that I was actually this close to the front line.
Seems my understanding of ‘war’ and ‘front line’ needed some adjustment. The cool crisp tundra air was joined by a rancid stench and the occasional clash of steel on carapace. Looking down the ramparts I spotted nothing less than a legion of Scourge locked in battle with Orcish defenders.
The front line was also the front door.
I won’t bore you with the sorded details of spellcraft, or the ways in which i obliterated my foes. It should only be said that the carnage was great, the bodies were many and that I still had ‘it’.
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