A Drop of Blood

[Taronim-moon-guard]

Three months; that is how long the defense of Elwynn has held unabated. Week after week, savage groups of orcs, elves, and their allies found themselves charging from the shadows of the forests straight to their deaths time and time again in a futile attempt to take lands in which they have no right to even breathe. They did not send mere chaff, however, as many battles were hard fought, and victories paid in full with the blood of the Alliance’s stoic defenders. At first the interlopers were resolved; fierce battles would only reclaim mere inches of land at a time, from the gates of Stormwind through to Goldshire, then unto the Tower of Azora, then unto the border of Redridge and Duskwood, until the savages found themselves broken and fleeing into the jungles of Stranglethorn in which they made their escape - but not before leaving many of their fighters and healers to die to cover the escape of their leader time and time again. Valiant - touching, almost, that they’d die for a commander willing to trade their lives away for a single takeaway meal from the Incontinental Hotel.

As weeks gave way to months, the fervor of the aggressors slowly began to wane… What began as fierce battles soon faded into fiery skirmishes before ultimately shrinking down to nothing more than guerilla warfare at fleeting, fluid flash points. Ultimately, the invaders had decided to call off their campaign - pulling back all personnel and abandoning all infrastructure, leaving their hopes of conquest to die as quietly and solitarily as those abandoned for death in their withdrawal. Based on reports from both scouts and double agents, it had been surmised that the invaders were out to bolster their numbers and return rearmed, retrained, and redicsiplined. One week of peace turned into two - and two nearly into three before any would see the savages emerge from the tree lines once more.

Upon hearing of the newest incursion, the commander of the Alliance’s Defense Pact was once again called to the frontlines to lead the valiant defenders of the Alliance against the barbaric orcs and elves that once again sought to bring war to the peaceful forests of Elwynn. Like clockwork - as though three weeks of peace had never passed - their commander amassed a strike force to drive a final blade deep into the heart of the assailants’ operations once and for all. Geared for total war and prepared to take the fight beyond the forests, the Alliance mounted up and charged perilously into the fray as the Horde entered the city once more.

The Horde found themselves ejected from the city almost faster than they had made their initial entrance - a fierce and bloody retaliation pushing the assaulting forces back into the forests of Elwynn. Stragglers were hunted down, and their fighters abandoned just like the consecutive months prior - except this time, something seemed different. Upon their initial withdrawal, the Alliance were confused; surely, they thought, the Horde would not be defeated so easily - not after weeks of planning this invasion. Scouts were sent out, and their positions acquired as the Horde were chased from the Eastern Kingdoms back into Kalimdor. This was it - this was the Alliance’s moment to strike, and a systemic siege of Orgrimmar began from two points of entry.

Indeed, the Alliance strike force made their way deep into Horde territory with a group of about twenty - various combatants from all walks of life specialized in their own crafts of war and magic, led by the same commander that continued to hold them together the past three months in their defense. The forces the Alliance sought were found, and pushed deeper and deeper into the raging, fiery chasms of their own desert city; surely, the Alliance thought, the Horde would not be defeated so easily yet again. Taking the opportunity, the strike force began to ransack the city, sending back both useful and valuable plunder via various forms of telemancy to their respective holdings. Even the invading Horde’s war room was raided - valuable details of current and future endeavors, tactics, and supply routes meticulously gathered, safekept, and transported away.

However, something wasn’t quite right - and it wasn’t some half-hearted illusion in the middle of Suramar. After leaving the city in a near state of ruin, the Alliance forces finally began to withdraw from the city with all of their stated goals accomplished and more. Right before they could exit the back of the city, however, the enemy had finally, finally emerged from their hiding, ambushing the Alliance forces with overwhelming numbers compared to their small strike team. It seemed all of the blood - all of the lives the Horde had sacrificed on their way back into their home territory - it all finally began to pay off - even if the cost staggeringly outweighed the single victory after months of ruinous defeat. After a ferocious and bloody battle, the Alliance were pushed out of the ruined Orgrimmar with new scars to tell the tales of both their success and failure, and forced back into their defended homeland once more.

Though they could not tear their enemies heart’s out once and for all, the Alliance returned home battered and bloodied - but excited and ready. It had been an entire season of peace, and though many fight to maintain peace and tranquility - it couldn’t be denied that the war hardened veterans who knew nothing more than bloodshed, conflict, and plunder, were excited for what may come. Surely, the Alliance thought, this can’t just be a fluke; surely, they thought, the Horde was finally ready to bring a war worth fighting back to their table. For blood and honor, glory and conquest. Or, perhaps, this really was all the Horde could muster - that all the pain wrought, lives lost, and bridges burnt across these three months really were all for just a drop of blood…

"Ah, but only time shall tell if you are truly ready to bring the fight outside of your decrepit holes and back into the fields of glory. Indeed, I have forgotten just how… Invigorating a true war can be. That I finally have my wish granted after three long months - to know the taste of defeat even if only for a fleeting second… You have performed well, Shieldmaiden, and we look forward to your continued cultivation and… Improvement. Until we meet again, Kulgosh, please do not disappoint us once more.

• Taronim Arabviir"

[Rado-moon-guard]

“They smashed all me pumpkins, stole all my booze, and married my pigs!” the poor Elwynn farmer wailed. “And the Stormwind Guard won’t do nothin’ about it!”

“You said this happened how many weeks in a row? Oh, you poor thing,” Rado Morningvalor dabbed a handkerchief in ointment and patted a cut on the farmer’s face. He whispered a nearly forgotten Evlish prayer. The farmer’s eyes to well up with tears, realizing he now owned little more than mud and rubble. “There are champions still in this world.”

At Lion’s Pride, I spoke with several ladies and gentlemen from the world’s oldest profession. “One of those Orcs just ran right up into the room while I was with a client and just left a big ol’ chocolate cobbler right on the bed. Didn’t even pay the usual fee.” Another one said, “at least its pet wolf came and ate it up!” They laughed. Oh, to understand the humor of humanity. No blessings for those two.

But this was just the beginning. The Orc incursions had even begun to infiltrate Stormwind proper. I was walking past the markets when I saw the fresh remains of a young Gnome, barely recognizable.

Before I could respond in any coherent manner, an arrow whizzed several yards to my right into a wall, and I noticed several Horde had beset themselves upon me. It rose as a matter of duty to remove these creatures from the lands of the Grand Alliance at once.

And so it was for three months. Each time the Orcs would show up only to be summarily defeated thereafter. Each time the Horde came, they yelled and emitted odors in a loud manner. Each time, the champions of the Alliance would smear the resistance against the cobble. These champions who had risen to this moment would do so many times over, and the Horde would always fall like a tent weighed down by its own banners.

The farmers started marrying their pigs to other pigs once again, the smell was washed out of the Lion’s Pride floorboards, and the streets were safe to walk once again. We had even made a foray into Orgrimmar, facing minimal resistance.

And so it was on this night, like many others the Horde had come to Elwynn to destroy mended fences, marry pigs, and let their pets run unsupervised. One Horde soldier dressed in blue even made the peculiar choice to flap its arms and refer to me as a chicken in the Orcish tongue. Perhaps it was a question? A request? Unfathomable.

As other champions rallied at my side, the Horde was once again batted down in the space of seconds. This was not enough for us. It was baffling that the Alliance military paid such little attention to these incursions without inflaming full blown conflict with the Horde once again.

At the urging of my comrades, I agreed to make an emergency expedition to Orgrimmar. We would try to uncover the nature of these attacks and to determine if they had any legitimate sanctioning from the Horde military proper.

Our foray was mostly successful. We retrieved war plans, we evaded detection of the guards… until we did not. Still, the only Orcs remaining in Orgrimmar are among the very weakest at this point. We dispatched them handily. We even recognized a large contingent of perpetrators from the Elwynn and Stormwind raids.

The Horde soldier in blue caught my eye! I found myself flapping my wings and making a clucking noise for a moment, an attempt at communication. The fury in that creature’s button-like eyes made me realize this was no time for diplomacy, and we quickly came to blows.

At once, success. We had dispatched our enemies and send them scattering. A few of our operatives insisted we had more information to collect, more work to do. This would prove to be a mistake. Even as we accounted for every champion, the Horde was forming an ambush as we escaped on foot through the long, winding corridor to Azshara.

Warriors leaped from the crags. Archers knocked their bows. We paid the price of pride. Many of us escaped, scarred, and injured as we were. A few would never take a breath of fresh air again.

It seemed an impossibility, after so many months without a battle lost. We had thought the Orcs tamed and Trollkind sedated.

Those of us survived, however, vowed that the plots of Orgrimmar would be stifled with blood. “You’re covered in green blood, you will need to wash up at a running river immediately, then sprinkle yourself with this holy water,” I consoled one of the champions as we rode out to Ashenvale.

“Thanks… but why are you covered in… feathers?” the champion replied.