"Orcs! Orcs spotted by the river!" A young boy stumbled into the camp. His cheeks were red and a fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead, he was gasping for breath with a hand flat against his heart.

Metal chinked and clanged as fifteen soldiers reached for their weapons instinctively.

"What?!"

"How dare they dirty Alliance soil!"

"Horde scum!"

"We'll slaughter them all!"

The resounding roars of outrage came thick and fast, men of all races shouting over one another.

"Quiet down! At ease!" Rhoderen, a large Draenei paladin stood and hurried to the young human. The top of his head barely reached his chest.

"A... A gold breastplate! You're in charge, Sir? Please... Please help us!" The boy rushed forward.

"Calm down. I need to know what you're talking about. How did you find us?"

"My Father... He'd seen your soldiers on the road just yesterday eve. He had hoped you would still be in the area – thank the Light he was right!" The young boy wiped his face and gave a short laugh.

"Fortunate indeed. How many?" The paladin fixed his gaze on the boy.

"Thirty or so, Sir." The boy panted, eyes wide with panic. "A group of farm hands saw them, they were going to the river to replenish their water skins... Only one made it back. Sheer luck it was Sir, he was tailing behind the others and... A-and.." He swallowed.

"Can you tell me which part of the river exactly?" The paladin found his hand tightening around the handle of his sword.

"The river, Sir. Between Westfall and Elwynn."

"And you said there were thirty of them?" The paladin ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. The skin was rough with a day and a half of stubble.

"Yes, Sir." The boy replied, finally having caught his breath, he slumped forwards with his hands on his knees.

"Then they're either a special task force or acting on their own. If they wanted Alliance territory, there would be more than thirty, especially so close to Stormwind. They're here for another reason."

Rhoderen paused, a dark expression crossing his face as he put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"I'm tempted to think this troupe of Orcs are acting alone. If they were in fact a special task force, they'd be in and out, clean and efficient. Not loitering out in the open, killing innocent farm labourers." Rhoderen shook his head.

"But it's not just Orcs, Sir." The young messenger piped up, "I mean, it's mostly Orcs, but there are others."

The paladin glanced over his shoulder at the small group of soldiers stood at his back.

"All of you – gather your gear. Keep it light, we're going to travel quickly and on foot."

The camp burst into life; the air filled with cheers as soldiers hurried to collect their battle equipment. Rhoderen sucked in a deep breath.

Third day appointed as Captain – the Horde invades. Nothing like being thrown in at the deep end...

"Explain, boy."

"The surviving farm hand got back into town about half hour ago. I ran here as fast as my legs could carry me! He said they were mostly Orcs, but he definitely saw... Trolls, Sir."

"Fucking Trolls..." Rhoderen muttered under his breath. He turned his attention back to the boy. "Do you have a safe route home?"

"Yes Sir. The Horde are down near the water, my Father instructed me to run along the old mountain track." The boy nodded.

"Alright, you return the same way you came. It's not safe to go on foot, you'll take one of our scouting horses. Return to your family, and tell everyone to remain indoors and stockpile any weapons they have. They're only to use them in matters of self defence, clear?" Rhoderen ordered.

"Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!" The boy beamed.

Rhoderen caught the eye of a Human paladin through the crowds and he gestured him over.

"Give the boy one of the horses, we'll collect it from the farm when this is all over. I need you to make sure a message gets to Stormwind. Should this go south, we're going to need the back up. The Horde outnumber us, but we need to move out. They're too close to the farming land to wait for reinforcements."

"Yes, Sir." The paladin nodded and steered the young boy through the camp. Rhoderen watched them leaving, deep in thought.

It would be suicidal for a team of thirty to try and get closer to Stormwind... They must be trying to get to either Westfall or Darkshire. They surely wouldn't have made their journey via the waterways if Darkshire was their goal... Which means they're going for Westfall. We're going to need-

"They're going for Westfall. We're going to need to drive them back into Duskwood. It's over-run with the undead, but there will be less chance of innocent casualties."

"You really have to stop doing that." Rhoderen chuckled quietly, turning to face the only person in his team of fifteen that could have made a suggestion so close to his own.

"Apologies, did I interrupt your train of thought? It was just a suggestion." The small Draenei warrior-woman stared back at him, almost defiantly.

"No need to apologise, Halena." Rhoderen cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "Actually, you merely voiced what I was already strategising in my mind."

"A group of thirty will be contained. They'll be easy to flank. If we come in from the East in mass, with a few blocking the South we can drive them West." The warrior flicked a long strand of dark, glossy hair back, tucking it behind a small, neatly curled horn. Rhoderen followed the motion with his eyes.

"And if we lose them, and they go North?" He challenged.

"Unlikely. They'd have to wade through the thick mud on the riverbanks – but should that happen, there is at least a mile of open plain before any civilisation in Westfall." Halena licked her lips and Rhoderen fought to keep his eyes fixed on hers.

"It's closer than I'd personally like to be, but you're right – it wouldn't be a disaster. I am concerned the undead in Duskwood could, potentially, be more of a hindrance than a help." Rhoderen ran a hand over his chin once more.

"It is a potential hazard, however in the few encounters I have had with the undead, I have learnt one thing."

"Oh? And what's that?" Rhoderen asked, cocking an eyebrow. It was still mind-boggling that a creature that appeared so delicate and almost painfully feminine could have such a brutal history.

"They like fresh meat." Halena's lips quirked into a smile.

"I'm not following..."

"Strike the first blood and the undead do the rest. They're mindless animals; they smell blood and are drawn like a moth to the flame. So long as we ensure the Horde sustain the worst injuries, we shouldn't have to worry too much."

"Until the Horde are done, and the monsters turn their attention to us? We'll be tired, injured and then faced with a potentially unlimited army of zombies to outrun?" Rhoderen countered.

"Like I said, it was only a suggestion... Sir." Halena replied curtly. The paladin clenched his fists, by the Light did that warrior make his blood boil. Even after all this time...

He and Halena had a history. Once upon a time, they'd been sparing partners back when they were training in Ironforge.

As a younger man, he'd lusted after her shamelessly. He'd even thought they might have had a real 'thing' going, but other than one (or two) drunken kisses, he'd never had the chance to find out for sure. A few short months after he'd met her, he'd been enlisted into the forces and shipped out to Warsong Gulch.

It was a dark period of his life where every day had been consumed with bloodshed and brutal violence. It never let up, he and his squad lived their lives on the edge – barely sleeping, death was a constant threat.

Even as a man of the Light, he was changed. Halena, happier days and everything else had dimmed to a distant memory.

Five and a half long years later, Warsong Gulch had reached a stalemate. Neither the Alliance nor the Horde was progressing, their troupe was diseased and half-dead with exhaustion. His squad leader had made the gracious decision to retreat his men, instead recruiting fresh warriors from various Alliance cities. Rhoderen had been relieved of his duties after total of six years service. A rarity – Warsong Gulch soldiers were affectionately named 'fodder' for a reason.

When he had returned to Ironforge, everyone he had once known had moved on to greater things. Even his trainer, Beldruk Doombrow, had retired and moved to the sunny shores of Tanaris.

Rhoderen had been alone... or so he had thought.

He could still remember it now. Rhoderen had found himself returning to the frozen training pitch on a daily basis. He had thought the area to be abandoned; the new trainers preferred to use the attack dummies inside – presumably because they were located next to a pit of hot coals as opposed to out in the elements!

Sometimes he'd only sit there for a few moments, other days he'd stay for hours – staring out at the frozen landscape, soaking in the nostalgia.

As it turned out, there was still one 'old school' warrior who wasn't afraid to face below freezing conditions. Rhoderen had recognised her instantly. They'd only known one another a few months when he'd been enlisted, and even in that short relationship they'd found plenty to disagree on - but that day, Halena had run to his arms like he'd meant something.

They'd spent a few weeks getting to know one another again, chatting easily about the past – and, to Rhoderen's surprise, they still had plenty in common in the present too. Warsong may have changed him, but Halena was exactly as he remembered her – feisty, determined and just the sort of woman he should be with.

Naturally, word had gotten around that he had been one of the few lucky individuals to survive a full term posted in Warsong Gulch and it wasn't long until he'd been offered a post with the Order in Stormwind.

Rhoderen had taken the offer, and shortly after had recommended Halena to his superiors. A few months later, he had been promoted to Captain.

His career may have advanced, but the relationship he and Halena had seemed halted. Rhoderen wasn't sure why he hesitated taking things further with her – she was perfect for him, they'd had a good thing once, he was sure they could have it again. But he always felt like he was missing something with the woman, like he couldn't quite get a handle on her.

Could he trust her completely? Warriors were renowned for being unreliable and too wholly driven by their lust for battle. Was Halena the same?

"Don't be like that, you know I appreciate your opinions." Rhoderen smiled tightly, "I'd just rather not end up as dessert. I don't know about this, Halena. We're not prepared for a battle, not yet..."

"You wouldn't make a very good dessert, Captain. You're a bit bitter." Halena turned on her heel, leaving his other doubts unanswered.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." He replied, barely keeping a straight face.

"Hear what?" She looked over her shoulder at him with faux-innocence. It was a disturbingly good look on her.

"Exactly." Rhoderen grinned, "Now, where is your helmet?"

"Ugh, I don't need it. I'll be fine – no one ever gets close enough to hit my head anyway." The girl shrugged nonchalantly, toeing the dirt. "Besides, it's uncomfortable and makes my hair messy."

"Too bad." Rhoderen replied sternly, internally both amused and shocked by her feminine admission. "I quite like your head on your body. Is your kit still with mine?"

The paladin started off through the camp towards his own armour, but not before he heard a heavy sigh of irritation from behind him.

Within moments he'd reached the large boulder he'd rested his heavier armour pieces against just a few hours ago. Rhoderen had to admit he wasn't exactly looking forward to putting his thick plate back on either, but he only had to look at the deep cleaves in the surfaces to remind himself how important good quality armour is in the fray.

"Your helmet is over there." The paladin nodded his head towards a rather ornate headpiece that had been unceremoniously dumped in a patch of long scrub grass.

Halena grumbled something under her breath, but obediently retrieved the helmet.

As Rhoderen pulled on the thick leather straps to tighten his armour plates, his mind returned once again to the battle ahead of his troupe. They hadn't had time to bond like he'd hoped before their first horde encounter, but he felt positive. The group were strong and were, mostly, level headed and obedient. Despite this, he still sent a silent pray to the Light – requesting protection for the group.

"Rhoderen, do you mind?" Halena interrupted, "If you're going to make me wear this stupid thing, you can at least help me do the buckle up. It's really stiff."

The warrior slid her helmet on, taking great care to carefully adjust her hair underneath it. A laugh escaped Rhoderen before he could hold it back.

"It's not funny!" The warrior scowled.

"It is a bit." Rhoderen gestured the woman forward with a flick of his fingers. Halena obeyed, tilting her chin up. "And this buckle wouldn't be so stiff if you wore your helmet more often. I don't know why you hate it so much, it's a really nice piece of plate."

"I agree. It's a fantastic piece of armour – but that doesn't make it any less uncomfortable." Halena grumbled.

"This would be much easier if you'd shut up for two seconds you know..." Rhoderen chided. Halena shot him a playfully venomous look.

"There." Rhoderen tucked the slack leather strap in and took a step back.

Halena held his eye contact for a few heated seconds longer than was strictly necessary before turning on her heel abruptly. Rhoderen averted his gaze uncomfortably.

"Are we going to kick some Horde ass, or what?" She shouted over her shoulder. Two Dwarven men stood a few feet away cheered.

Rhoderen let go of the breath he wasn't even aware he was holding.

That woman...

He shook his head defeated, before snatching his own helmet from the ground and shoving it roughly over his horns.


It didn't take long to find the Horde invaders.

"Not exactly conspicuous are they, Sir?" A Night Elf muttered dryly from beside Rhoderen as his small splinter team crept closer in the undergrowth.

"No, these Horde definitely weren't sent here by Thrall. That's for certain." The paladin agreed.

The young farm boy had been right. The group was mostly made up of Orcs; loud, senseless, dirty beasts. Rhoderen shuddered. This group seemed particularly 'Orc-ish' – even if they'd been silent, Rhoderen could have tracked them here by smell alone.

One particularly ugly Orc stood and yelled a lewd comment across the make-shift camp. Several others laughed – a horrendous rattling, guttural sound.

Rhoderen wrinkled his nose and wished for the thousandth time he couldn't understand Orcish.

From their vantage point, the paladin could make out a smattering of other races amongst the Orcs – five or six Trolls, a handful of Tauren... None of the more 'civilised' Horde races.

The paladin was both relieved and disappointed there were no Blood Elves in the mix. He'd fought his fair share of them in his Warsong days. They were clever enemies – one he was proud to have mastered, and now took particular pleasure in obliterating.

In the short time he'd spent observing the group, Rhoderen had come to the conclusion they weren't even a splinter faction of the Horde. These were just hired mercenary's, seemingly pulled together from all corners of Azeroth.

Why are they here? Who has hired them?

"Stay focussed." The paladin whispered to his team and looked out across the plains for signs of the others. "They still outnumber us – don't forget that."

He fought a fresh wave of doubt. He didn't like not being certain... Was he making a mistake?

Rhoderen glanced back at the small group of men he had accompanying him. They were young, fresh to the ugly face of war. He'd done his best to prepare them... He hope Halena was right and that that would be enough.

A few moments later he spotted the rest of his battalion, one team was crouched behind a gently curved mound of grass; using the hill to their full advantage. The larger of the splinter teams moved into position shortly after.

They were the offensive – and, naturally, they were headed by Halena. Rhoderen didn't often approve of the warrior-woman's vicious fighting style, but in situations like this there was no one better.

A bright flash caught his attention in the long grass. Halena had angled the smooth, polished surface of one of her dual blades to the sun, shining sunlight up at him.

It was their pre-arranged sign – she was ready.

"Hold steady until they break cover – then we move in. Keep to the flank, we're putting pressure on the Horde. Don't forget yourselves in the heat of the moment." He muttered, pulling his own own sword free from it's scabbard. Rhoderen carefully rested the tip of his shield on the ground as he rocked onto his feet, keeping his body as low as he could manage in his restrictive plate armour.

His movement was the only encouragement Halena needed. Her team crept slowly closer to the Horde group – who were, thankfully, still blissfully unaware of their presence.

The woods seemed to fall deathly silent. The birds ceased singing, even the wind died; leaving the atmosphere heavy and thick with tension. A bead of sweat tracked down Rhoderen's nose as he and his men remained crouched, ready to spring.

There was a loud whoop that cut through the tension like a knife. In the blink of an eye, Halena – flanked on either side by three of his men – charged forward through the grass.

He watched, frozen, as the warrior plunged her sword clean through an unsuspecting Orc's throat. A second later, that same blade was pulled free and driven through a Tauren's abdomen – her other blade arcing gracefully to slice a deep gouge into the animal's hamstring. The beast fell forward with a grunt, bright, fresh blood pooling in the grass.

Rhoderen didn't have time to think after that. He shot forwards from the undergrowth, running headlong at the Horde. He couldn't hear his own battle-fueled roar over the blood pounding in his ears.

Within seconds, his heavy shield splintered a Troll's skull who'd had the misfortune of sitting with his back to Rhoderen's advance. Hot blood spurted forwards in jets, shining wet and slick in the summer sunshine.

The silence was filled with the clattering of weapons and the roars of war.

It didn't take the Horde long to react to the ambush. Rhoderen charged into the fray, slashing out with his sword. This time it collided with an Orcish mace, sending painful vibrations through his bones. The paladin gripped the hilt of his sword tighter and pushed forward, striking half a second later with his shield.

The blow staggered the Orc, forcing him to fall onto his back foot. Rhoderen gritted his teeth, ducked his head and heaved forward with his body weight. His assailant didn't stand a chance. The Orc was down, landing heavily on his back. Before he even hit the floor, Rhoderen's sword was forcing its way between the Orc's ribs. Rhoderen exhaled with the satisfying cracking noise.

He had no time to rest. The Captain glanced quickly across the field at his men, just in time to see a Tauren plunge a blade into the chest of one of his warriors. The Human spluttered, exhaling a fine red mist into the air.

Before Rhoderen had managed to think, he saw Halena lunge forward – scissoring her blades at either side of the Tauren's neck. With a grunt of effort, the deadly weapons sliced deep into the enemy's body. The warrior didn't waste energy decapitating him completely, instead she chose to let him suffer. The Tauren would bleed out in seconds, but Halena had ensured they would be agonising.

The warrior looked right through him, but Rhoderen saw a flash of sorrow in her expression as she glanced down at their fallen comrade. The Human was already gone, his eyes glassy and skin clammy and sallow.

An Orc leapt forward, slamming the hilt of his sword into the base of Halena's skull. Before he'd even noticed his body moving, Rhoderen was burying his sword through the Orc's eye socket. The enemy's body slumped forward, and he gave it a hefty shove to prevent it falling onto the dazed warrior-woman.

"He didn't see that coming, did he?" Halena shouted, her voice hoarse.

A laugh burst from Rhoderen's chest.

"Watch yourself next time, warrior!" He shouted back. Halena shot him a beaming smile before darting forwards with her blades, driving them straight through the kidney's of a Troll who was assaulting an injured Dwarf.

Within the blink of an eye, Halena disappeared. Rhoderen turned his attention back to the war-zone laid in front of him.

He drove himself forward, striking out with his sword to assist others where he could. He desperately needed to find a landmark – where were they? How far had they driven the Horde?

The paladin was struck off course, something hard colliding with his chest plate knocked him clean off his feet. There was a sickening crunch as three of his ribs cracked.

"Fancy gold breastplate. This one's important."

Rhoderen leapt to his feet quickly, narrowly dodging another blow. The 'particularly ugly' Orc was wielding a huge, heavy mace.

"Fuck, you're the ugliest bastard I've ever seen!" Rhoderen yelled, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the grass.

"A pretty-boy Draenei!" The Orc laughed, bearing his teeth, "I didn't notice with your pretty face in the dirt!"

The Orc swung out with his mace once again. Rhoderen dodged it easily this time – a weapon that size was deadly when used to take enemies by surprise, but in a close-combat situation it was far too slow and unwieldy.

"Ooh, pretty-boy Captain can dance!" The Orc taunted, swinging his mace again. This time, as Rhoderen darted to the side, the Orc anticipated it and kicked out viciously.

The paladin's sword flew from his hand and slid across the blood-slicked grass.

"Uh-oh, pretty-boy's in trouble now, what y—uggh!"

Rhoderen struck out, his fist colliding square with the Orc's jaw. The mace swung awkwardly to the side, knocking a Night Elf off his feet.

The paladin lunged forward with another hard jab, this time angling upwards. Something in the Orc's face cracked and Rhoderen felt the flesh give way under his knuckles.

A swift, plate armour encased knee to the groin and the Orc released his hold on the mace. By a stroke of good fortune, the Orc seemed to have removed his groin-plate. Rhoderen didn't want to think too much about why, but he was thankful nonetheless.

The Orc fell to his knees and Rhoderen didn't hesitate to lash out with his shield, driving one of the sharpened spikes that lined the front of the weapon into his enemy's face.

And I didn't think he could get any more ugly...

Rhoderen fought not to gag as he was enveloped in the choking stench of fresh Orc's blood. The paladin had seen more than his fair share of battle gore over the years, but he still couldn't get used to the smell of a dead Orc – and this Orc had been a particularly ripe individual even before he'd lost his face.

Holding his breath, Rhoderen glanced for his sword. His eyes burnt, his vision was blurred... Where was it? He knew he had a matter of seconds until another Horde monster realised he was disarmed.

A glint of metal caught his eye, but it wasn't his sword... It was a highly polished dagger hilt, buried deep in a thick, well-muscled thigh. Blue blood dripped freely from the wound, sparkling in the sunlight.

Rhoderen stopped breathing.

Halena cried out in pain as she hobbled slowly away from the battle field. She was already a way out of the fray, seemingly she had managed to sneak by unnoticed.

The dagger was only small, but the entirety of the blade was in her leg. From the positioning, Rhoderen could tell it had probably severed the femoral artery. The warrior leant against the trunk of the tree and gripped the dagger with shaking hands. She was going to remove it.

Maybe if he could get to her in time... He might be able to use one of his healing spells. It wasn't his strong suite, but although the dagger was in a deadly position, the injury shouldn't be too extensive. He could manage a stab wound - it would take a lot out of him, and Rhoderen would have to be cautious afterwards, but at least Halena wouldn't bleed out.

He felt like he was running through treacle. The battle seemed to race on around him, but he couldn't get to Halena fast enough. Rhoderen lost his footing on the slick, gore-covered grass and stumbled.

His mouth went dry.

Rhoderen watched on in horror as a Troll materialised from thin air behind Halena.

A Rogue...

He tried to shout, but there was no air in his lungs. She hadn't seen him – of course she hadn't. The Rogue had a sickeningly calm expression. His eyes were glinting with excitement... He was going to enjoy it...

With more strength than he knew he had, Rhoderen charged forward, slipping his arm free from his shield and throwing it forward with as much force as he could physically muster.

The heavy metal shot forward in a blur, until there was a loud crunch. The Rogue grunted in a foreign tongue, Halena cried out in surprise.

Rhoderen didn't stop to think, with adrenaline pumping furiously through his veins – he just acted. With a roar that sounded more like a beast than a man, he lunged forwards and slammed his helmet into the Rogue's skull.

The Rogue stumbled backwards, but didn't fall. Before he could even take a breath, a foot collided with Rhoderen's stomach, swiftly followed by a fist to his face.

The paladin's ears were ringing, inky splotches dirtied his vision and still he pushed forward.

Won't... Can't... Let him hurt her...

Rhoderen didn't even feel the blade buried into the meaty muscle between his neck and shoulder. The Rogue, clearly expecting a different reaction, lost his grip on the dagger.

One less to stick in Halena...

The paladin struck out, slamming his elbow into the Troll's chin. Rhoderen didn't let him recover, instead drove his elbow into the Rogue's temple, then into the back of his skull.

The Troll lashed forward, and unlike the blade still sticking out of his neck – Rhoderen felt the tiny throwing blades bite into his skin. In seconds, the entry sites were on fire.

Poison...

He didn't have long. Rhoderen had to take the Troll down now. In minutes he could be paralysed or unconscious... Halena would be defenceless. He prayed to the Light the Rogue was using poisons designed for merely inflicting agonising pain. He could take pain.

With a brutal yell, Rhoderen overpowered the Troll. The Rogue was clearly a skilled fighter, but he was built for sneaking in the shadows. When it came to brute strength, Rhoderen would win hands down.

The Rogue fought against him, slashing out wherever he could find foothold, but his situation was looking more and more desperate. The paladin willed his burning muscles to hold, gradually dragging the Rogue to the ground.

Before he could dodge the attack, the Troll lashed out – his long claw-like nails gouging into Rhoderen's cheek. The paladin felt the flesh rip and tear away, coming away under the Rogue's fingernails. He shouted in agony before sinking his fangs into the Rogue's wrist. Hot blood spurted and filled his mouth.

"Rhoderen... Watch-!"

He heard Halena's warning a fraction too late.

The Rogue had disappeared from underneath his hands. A sickening chuckle rumbled behind him. Rhoderen turned slowly, looking up from his knees.

He had Halena's throat under a blade. A small, delicate drip of blue blood ran down her neck from the vicious contact the Troll had on her.

"Y'bit me mon... An' you people call us da monstah's..." The Troll addressed them in Orcish, knowing full well, as Draenei's, they could understand every word. He glanced down at his wrist with a wince. It was bleeding freely, dripping slow, thick drops into the grass.

Rhoderen bared his teeth at him, feeling every part the monster the Troll was talking about.

"Let her go..." He growled, heaving himself to his feet.

"Y'be tenacious, I'll give ya dat, mon." The Rogue paused, a darkness flooding his eyes as his lips stretched into a grin as he lowered his mouth to Halena's ear. "I tink dat's somethin' t'do wit'chu, sweet ting."

Halena's luminescent pupils flickered to Rhoderen. The paladin didn't take his eyes of the Troll.

"Y'see beasts go crazy like dat in da wild all da time..." The Rogue chuckled, "He be protectin' his mate."

"I'm not going to ask you again." Rhoderen spat, "Let. Her. Go."

"Nah mon, dun' tink so." The Troll lowered his face into Halena's exposed neck, "Mm... She be smellin' good... Soft... Bet she tight as a fist too, mon. Dat true, Paladin?"

Rhoderen snarled.

"Mm, bet she is." A long, blue tongue darted out from the Troll's mouth as he ran it slowly along Halena's neck. The Draenei whimpered and struggled anew, despite her shaking.

"See, Paladin, she be likin' it." The Rogue fixed Rhoderen with a stare.

Fresh coppery blood flooded the Draenei's mouth as he clenched his teeth tighter.

"Any minute now, sweet ting." The Rogue grinned, "Yo' man gonna blow any minute. Then I'ma kill him, an' take you fo' a trophy. Den I'll mount ya dusk 'til dawn."

Rhoderen launched himself forward.

With a guttural yell, Halena suddenly jabbed her helmet back into the Troll's nose. Temporarily stunned, the Rogue relaxed his hold on the dagger at her throat.

The warrior grabbed the blade in her leg with both hands and, with a tortured cry, yanked it free. In one smooth motion, she turned the blade around and drove it ferociously backwards into the Troll's stomach.

"Mount that, you son of a bitch!" She growled, pushing her weight down into the blade so it tore through his flesh, her hands shaking with the effort.

The Troll crumpled forwards, lunging out wildly with his dagger. He missed her jugular by a few inches, digging a deep gouge into Halena's cheek instead.

She yelled out, and with brutal force – twisted the knife.

Rhoderen stared at her. Halena exhaled, her eyes rolling back into her head before she let go of the dagger's hilt, leaving it jutting out of the Troll at a gruesome angle. Her knees crumpled underneath her weight and she hit the floor with a heavy thud.

The Troll momentarily forgotten, Rhoderen dived forward and clamped his large hands over the wound in her leg that was now spurting blood at an alarming rate.

The Rogue dropped to the floor shortly afterwards, his breath shallow and crackling as blood filled his lungs. The paladin fixed him with a stare as cold as ice.

"I hope it's long and slow." There was no emotion in his voice. The Troll grimaced back at him, struggling to hold his abdomen closed.

"H... Hope ya lookit... dose scars e-every fuckin' day, ya bastard... Nng! S-she gon' die, Paladin..." The Rogue spluttered.

"I don't think so." Rhoderen closed his eyes and focussed. He didn't have much left to give, but it might be enough... It had to be enough. He started muttering a healing spell under his breath.

"F-fuckin' Paladins..." The Troll growled angrily, but Rhoderen couldn't hear him any more.

Light, brighter than anything Mother Nature could create, flooded out from Rhoderen's palms. He held the wound tight, feeling a familiar cold, tingling sensation as the magic left his body.

"Ngh... f-fuck..." Agony flooded every inch of him. With the last of his mana reserves depleted, the minor pain relief his magic provided vanished. He was left with cold reality.

He barely managed to finish the last words of the healing spell before he collapsed forward, narrowly avoided landing on Halena, who was now sprawled unconscious on the grass.

Rhoderen was suffering like nothing else he'd ever experienced, every cell in his being screamed in pain, and yet he couldn't escape it. The Paladin had a sneaking feeling the poison the Troll had used was designed to do just that – unconsciousness refused to envelop him, he was going to feel everything. Rhoderen roared in agony, hot tears running from his eyes as his insides twisted and burned.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The Paladin dry-heaved and coughed, his mouth was dry, his skull felt like it was about to explode... Dazed, he glanced across at the Draenei woman before him.

Halena's leg had stopped bleeding, but the wound was anything but fully healed. He grimaced realising she would be forever marred with a hideous scar – the tissue was holding together, but was still dark and raw looking. Even the best healer couldn't change scar tissue once it had been set in place by magic.

He watched, entranced as her chest slowly rose, then fell.

But she's alive...

In a moment of clarity, Rhoderen struggled to his knees. Black flooded his vision and he fell forwards onto his hands. He ran a shaking hand over his clammy face before gritting his teeth and forcing himself upright once more. He grabbed Halena under her arms and pulled her inch by agonising inch across the grass.

Must... Must hide her somewhere...

They were fortunate enough to be a reasonably safe distance from the battle now – Rhoderen's soldiers were following orders; the Horde was slowly being pushed backwards towards the dark gloom of Duskwood.

That bought them some time, but Rhoderen couldn't let her lie there, exposed on the grass. They couldn't risk being discovered by any traitorous Horde fleeing the battle.

The Troll was gone – the only sign of his presence was the large pool of dark, coagulating blood growing thick and sticky on the grass.

He wouldn't get far, that Rhoderen was certain of.

It didn't matter now, he had to get Halena somewhere before the next wave of agony hit him.

Through hazy vision, he spotted a large tree trunk surrounded by shrubs and bushes at the base. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't as far from the battle as he'd have liked, but Rhoderen doubted he could make it any further and at least it had a little more cover. With a grunt, he pulled Halena's dead weight, dragging her closer to his target.

He had to pause to rest several times in the short distance, but eventually Rhoderen collapsed with his back against the rough, cool bark of the tree.

The Paladin pulled Halena closer, holding her back to his chest. He tucked her legs out of view, gently so as not to disturb her stab wound, and exhaled.

Rhoderen was shaking, his teeth chattering violently, as he felt the poison re-group for another assault on his body. He hissed in a breath, squeezing Halena tightly and clenched his jaw.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there. All his senses were dimmed, minutes crawled by like hours. The pain was the only sensation that felt real any more.

It was a surprise when the trees began to billow around them, the air churned up by an unseen force. The undergrowth swayed and dust dirtied the air.

A piercing cry echoed overheard... It was familiar... Rhoderen looked to the sky, squinting as the bright summer sun burnt his sensitive retinas. Golden wings soared by gracefully.

Gryphons. Stormwind had received their request for back up.

Thank the Light... Rhoderen's eyes slid closed.


Chapter One of... Many!