The predawn hours of Feralas are terribly dark and the air is thick with emerald-hued dew. I had spent the night on a small outcropping of stone with two Darnassian scouts named Kindal and Jer’kai, overlooking a small base-camp of the perverse tribe of Tauren outcasts known as the Grimtotem Clan. I rose a few hours before the sun specifically for the task of exacting vengeance on these Bull-men.

I had but the other night successfully freed a clutch of captive sprite-darter whelps that they had gathered with the help of a friendly mannish priest named Kirek. What exactly the Grimtotem’s plans were for the fey  dragonlings I could only guess, but they were ceaselessly harvesting the reclusive creatures and placing them into a large wooden cage in the center of their encampment. This atrocity was taking place in a secluded grove just below the road west of the larger Tauren camp called Mojache.

I came here in search of these sprite-darters, a race of diminutive dragonkin known to be friendly to the Kalidorei. I have heard legends that elves who have proven themselves to these creatures are sometimes granted stewardship over their orphaned young. Such a distinction is a great honor amongst my kin, the Night Elves of Darnassus, and I sought to earn such a mark for myself.

I prefer to hunt in the hours just before the sun rises, as I find that I can in this way avoid much of the remnants of the Burning Legion scum known as the Horde. But this early morn was different. I had only just begun to exact the vengeance Jer’kai asked of me upon the predatorial Tauren when a gaggle of Horde bowled their way into the grove. A Tauren warrior, probably from the Thunder Bluff tribe was traveling with a Troll wizard and two of those putrescent minions of the Lich-King. By their tattered garments I took them to be the priests of some fell god.

I hid in the crook of a tree-root with my companion Agarwaen, a sturdy beast well versed in the art of stealth. They came, slaughtered a few of the wayward Grimtotem, then proceeded to sit around the corpses, drinking and dancing, taunting the others to come out and join their fallen brethren. For what seemed like an hour they stayed in that blood-soaked grove, drunk with bloodlust and cheap orcish grog. Against such numbers there was little I could do but get myself killed, so I contented myself by scrying to watch their movements, lest they stumble upon my hiding-spot.

Eventually the gaggle grew bored with the slow-witted Tauren outcasts and turned their attention to other creatures of the forest. After a while they rambled back onto the road, most likely off to some dank hole to spend their ill-gotten loot. When I was sure they had left, I emerged. The Grimtotem were still carting off their fallen comrades and resuming their tasks when I struck. Foolish cretins. They had only just been attacked, yet even now I was still able to strike them unawares, stalking them in the shadows and bringing them down within eyesight of their fellows, never the wiser.

I had just lured a Tauren Shammaness out away from her fellows and was in the process of burying a few shafts in her massive back, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted the hulking figure of an orcish warrior coming down from off the road above us. Grunting as he jumped down into the grove, I could see him turn as he spotted me at my task. By his size and the quality of his equipment, I could see that he was much stronger then I.

“I am Warrgen, Champion of Orgrimmar!” he shouted as he charged, “49 seasons am I, and the 44th you shall never see!”

I spun around and tried to bury an Arcane-charged shaft into his abdomen as my reply, but his charge had already thrust him atop of me, his heavily runed two-hander pulsating with an icy-blue fire. The force of his charge knocked the wind from me and I fell back, stunned and bleeding. I grabbed at my Corporal’s Insignia, it’s sharp edges biting into my hand, forcing me to focus. Dropping my bow, I pulled out my daggers and slashed at his right hamstring, bringing him up short and slowing his movement for the moment. But even as I tried to get some distance, the awful reach of that fell blade hacked at my back.

I could see Agarwaen finishing up the Shammaness and look up to see the orc, his maw still soaked in the sow’s blood. He leaped, dashing with amazing speed to tackle the orc. But so intent was this warrior on finishing what he thought would be an easy prey, he strode forward, oblivious to the flurry of claws at his back.  I knew that the tight quarters afforded by this secluded grove would not allow me enough room to maneuver. I had just decided to meet him head on, when he charged me yet again. Never had I met a warrior with such stamina as to be able to charge twice in the same battle, yet charge he did.

Stunned yet again, he should have had me right there. But his power was eclipsed by his arrogance, for rather then finish me then and there with a steady diet of Orgrimmarian iron, he stomped his foot into the ground with a mighty and thunderous energy, knocking me from my stupor as it knocked Agarwaen off his feet. So mighty was that hammer-like stomp that it even threw a nearby adult sprite-darter to the ground.

These normally passive creatures can become quite ferocious when disturbed, as the reaver called Warrgen soon found out. Now I had a new ally, and the foolish ‘Champion of Orgrimmar’ found himself beset on three sides. Darnassian steel from the front, tiger’s claws from the rear and the needle-like teeth and talons of the pseudodragon at his left all dug in and stripped him of his life.

I chugged a healing potion and set into his midsection, determined not to meet my fate alone. Now it was the orc’s turn to seek distance, for the tables had turned. I felt the icy claws of death wrap around me, but I saw the light fading even more swiftly from Warrgen’s eyes. I pressed, and he fell back, finally slamming into the ground, bleeding from scores of wounds. It was as it is with all big warrior types. They make a lot of noise, but when they fall, they fall hard, and rarely do they ever get back up. When I saw that Warrgan was dead, I turned and thanked the psuedodragon for his help. He chirped something in his eldritch tongue and flew off. I do not know what it is that he said, but I can only think that this battle boded well for my quest.

After a few minutes I was sitting some ways away from the fallen orc, licking my wounds and keeping well out of sight when I saw movement in his limbs. Some damned necromantic charm had kept his soul from the Twisting Nether. Soon, he sat up, still bleeding profusely, but alive yet again to fight another battle. I stayed hidden, watching him. He sat there, bandaging his wounds, looking like a dog who had just been beaten for leaving droppings on his master’s floor.

I was ready for another round if need be. He stood there for a few seconds, his thick brain struggling to think beyond the normal pattern of “see – charge – thump with metal stick – scream obscenities – get drunk.” He had tried to ambush an elf who was many seasons lower then him, looking for an easy kill, but found only his own death instead. It was only by the fell magics of the Outland that he still breathed.

He peered around nervously, not even daring to explore deeper into the small grove where I still crouched, hidden. Agarwaen was perched on an outcropping of rock nearby, stealthed and waiting for my signal to pounce. I could see the hunger in his eyes, for he had long ago developed a taste for orcish blood. There was a frost trap lain between the Orgrimmarian reaver and myself, and I had an arcane-charged shaft aimed right at the point where his clavicles met, string pulled taut. Apparently having no other business there that couldn’t wait, he scrambled back up to the path and ran off to whatever goddess-forsaken hell-hole his kind frequents.

I finished up my business with the Grimtotem and paid a final visit to the Darnassian scouts. With their blessings and Jer’kai’s signet ring as proof of my deeds, I left for the Temple of the Moon in Darnassus to gain approval from the High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind for my quest.

S.E.F.A.