I do not own Warcraft, or any of its characters. However, I do own the ideas in this story.
Oh and this is my first Fan Fic, so be gentle in the reviews and such.
The Death of a Noble Footman.
He could smell the god-awful stench of the members of the Horde; they were so close. The arrows of the Elves were whirring by, the cries of wounded comrades filled his ears. The man to his right just dropped, he had no chance. To the left, a dwarf was just shot threw the heart-three times. A second wave of Rangers had just entered, but it was far too late. The Horde had taken over. He cleanly stabbed the Orc in front of him, but he was tired. Too tired.
Wave after wave of Horde members ran over the hill. What little chance they had before was now gone. Knights were shouting for the Footmen, like himself, to form lines, but there wasn't enough time to stop fighting. He would keep fighting until he was killed, or could fight no more, whichever happened to come first.
The Alliance was no longer fighting for the township now, for it was destroyed. No, they were not fighting for the township, but for their lives. The farms and lumber mills and stables were burned; the Town Hall had been deserted of all peasants, who were now fighting as well; the blacksmith and barracks had been torn down to the dirt ridden ground.
None of this mattered to the Footman though. No, all he cared about right now was killing or being killed. He showed no mercy. An Orc was foolish enough to come in front of him; he killed him easily with his short sword. Another came; he struck it down after a short battle. More and more came, too many to fight. One jabbed at his neck; he parried and made a large gash in its side. Another swung for his neck; he blocked the attack and stabbed the creature through the heart. Before he had time to remove his sword from the Orc he had just murdered, a knife was stuck in his side. He screamed in agony and his sword fell to the ground.
A dozen Orcs pounced on his wounded body. They searched his body for valuable items. After not finding anything they did not kill him, but left him to suffer.
It was not long before the cold of death took him. The last thing he saw was one of his strongest comrades falling to his death; then the cold grip of death overtook him.