This was written absolutely ages ago and, although my writing has improved considerably since then, I couldn't be bothered to edit it. Thus, it's not that great, but I think it's amusing anyway. =P
Silence dawns, as the Horde stride out from the mist, all that can be heard is the clinking of the mail, the shuffle of the leather and a faint bleat in the distance. The Orc's draw their clubs, the Tauren their bows. Undead unfurl their staves, the Trolls their guns and the Blood Elves bring out their blades.
The bleat grows louder, the Horde look around in confusion... Where are the Alliance, are they all defending their flag?
Suddenly, from the mist, comes a looming shape. Closer and closer... It's... It's... A sheep!
The Horde, relax, they re-sheath their weapons and begin to chatter amongst themselves. As the sheep reaches the border, Thazgun moves closer. As he leans in the sheep gazes up into his large, black eyes.
With one final bleat, the sheep explodes! In a flurry of mechanics and wool cloth the Horde are blown back to the entrance of their base and the Alliance charge!
Trampled by boots of all sizes and the occasional paw, the Horde are unable to hold them off.
The red banner of the Horde is taken and Warsong Gulch belongs to the Night Elves once again, but for how long?