It's been a good two weeks since I retired from the restless life of an adventurer, probably longer than that if I counted my previous life. My name is High Warlord Darkhin Sinsword. I was once a warrior and I am a Forsaken. My life story is filled with excitement and adventure. I was a helping hand against Illidan himself, I grew to the highest honorable rank known to the Horde and became one of the most skilled of armorsmiths. My reputation has spread across even to Alliance lands. You could say I am somewhat of a celebrity, if I'm not being too bold.

"I can't believe you just wrote that!" A teasing voice broke the pale skinned creature's concentration.

Darkhin's lips formed a sour scowl when he realized the orc reading over his shoulder. "This is my memoirs after all." He hinted back at her.

"You are so full of yourself." She poked a light green finger into his scalp.

"Well I'm being truthful. I have a fan club and everything." He grinned smugly.

The orc smirked. "You call three naïve, obsessive zombie girls your fan club?"

Darkhin turned to face the grinning, pointy-toothed visage. "Why not?"

She chuckled. "Just because you're retiring doesn't mean you have to write an autobiography."

"When I die, I want people to remember me. I lived a great life, people should know."

The orc just laughed harder.

"What about you Gortha? You don't want people to remember you after you die?"

"Hey, as long as I'm happy with my life, I can die without a care."

Darkhin rolled his eyes and sighed slightly annoyed that she didn't see his point of view. "What are you doing here anyway? I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm a rogue, not a lot of people hear me. I came to see if you wanted to accompany me in one more battleground before you retire."

Darkhin placed his quill on the table, rolled up his parchments and leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. He let out a grunt as he replied, "I suppose I could join you for one more."

Darkhin Sinsword geared up in his heavy plate armor once more. The blackened armor was named 'Onslaught'. It was thick and kept Darkhin's small and skinny frame well protected. Though he was a frail looking Forsaken, he was a mighty warrior. His strength was unmatched and he could wield any weapon. His weapons of choice were two glowing, legendary glaives taken from Illidan's cold corpse. They crossed over his back, ready to be unsheathed and brought down against anyone who he deemed fit to destroy.

His armor left very little vulnerability. His face plate covered the lower half of his pale, thinned face. He only had one grey eye; the other was just a dark, empty socket. There was a hole where is nose had once been. His cheek bones protruded from the hollows of his face and were rigid and sharp like the rest of his features. His hair was ragged and continuously reminded him that he was once human. While most Forsaken had thin, balding hair, his was full and shaggy, almost touching his shoulders. It was the color of charcoal and though it seemed he never cared for it, it was one of his favorite aspects of his look and not many Forsaken have anything that they would deem favorable about how they look. The rest of his body was compared to your average male Forsaken. Bones protruded out from certain places, his waist was so thin that his belt hung loosely on his prominent hip bones and his skin was pale and dead.

Darkhin picked up his twine-bound parchment with his long, thin fingers and stuffed it in his boot. He figured he could work on it if he got bored with the battle.

Gortha and her retiring guild companion stepped out of the Forsaken's home, which was on the outskirts of Brill and began heading towards the Undercity.

"Darkhin!!" Three shrill voices called out in unison.

"Who knew they'd be waiting for you outside." Gortha grumbled in an annoyed tone.

Three Forsaken women dashed towards their idol. Gortha watched, disgusted as Darkhin put on his suave, masculine persona.

"Ladies," he took off his helmet to greet them properly. "And how are you this fine evening, uh…"

Hearing the trouble with remembering their names, each of them spoke up.

"Ashiz"

"Grayve"

"Mortuaria"

"Yes, that's right. Well, I would love to stay with you lovely women, but I have been summoned to battle, I must take my leave." Each of them whimpered like lost puppies in response.

Gortha couldn't bear to watch Darkhin make each of the girls' knees weak by kissing one of each of their hands.

As they left the girls in awe over their encounter with their hero, the orc woman watched her friend continue on his path to the city, with a cocky strut in his stride. Gortha shook her head.

"It's okay to be jealous Gortha, a lot of people are."

Gortha's small, yet sharp tusks dug into her upper lip over his narcissistic comment. "Don't be surprised when your memoirs aren't on every bookshelf in Orgrimmar."

Darkhin just laughed absently as they made their way through the city and to the war quarter. They spoke with the Warsong battlemaster.

"Darkhin Sinsword didn't think you were ever coming back to battle." He said, giving Darkhin a gentle shove in the shoulder. The shove didn't even unbalance him through his thick armor.

"I thought I'd give Gortha here the pleasure of fighting along side of me once more."

Gortha rolled her eyes. "Why did I ever ask you to come along?"

"You know you love it." He taunted.

"Well, a warrior like you doesn't need to wait; I'll get you straight to the first battle."

In an instant, Gortha and Darkhin were teleported to Warsong Gulch. They appeared in the Horde base as other members of their randomly selected team materialized before them.

"I'm going to sneak in and grab their flag." Gortha said to her undead friend.

"I'll distract some goons in the center of the field." Darkhin finished.

The battle started and their team poured out of the base, charging towards the Alliance's side. Darkhin barreled down the right side of the field as he saw the Alliance team come into view. He turned his head to make sure Gortha was on her way into their base. Just as he wasn't looking, he ran into something. He had been running so fast that whatever he it knocked him on his back into a tumbled roll. His helmet and weapons were thrown from their places. He took a moment to let his head stop throbbing and he looked at the thing that knocked him to his rear. It was a night elf. A druid he guessed. How she knocked him back so hard, he had no clue. She had fallen back too, her weapon, helmet and shoulder pads were scattered around her.

Their eyes suddenly locked on each other's. Darkhin glared at her, weary to make any sudden movements. She could have something up her sleeve.

"Sorry." She murmured and stood up.

Darkhin cocked his head and spoke in Common. A language he learned through out his travels. "Are you going to attack me while I'm vulnerable?" He stayed seated, though he knew he wasn't as vulnerable as he made himself seem. He was ready to jump for his glaive at any moment.

She smiled at him, a bit surprised that he spoke Common. "I don't attack people when they're down. It's not honorable." She began to slowly pick up her armor as she finished. "I hope you can do the same."

He watched her slender body lean down to pick up her staff, unsure of what to do. She brushed her long, royal purple hair off her shoulder as she strapped the staff to her back. Her glowing eyes moved back on the confused Forsaken. She grinned at him, seeing him still on the ground dumbfounded. As he continued to watch her, his thoughts wandered and he could help but think, 'She has a beautiful smile'. Shocked with himself for ever thinking the enemy could be anything but despicable, he finally stood up.

"You are honorable after all, a worthy competitor. I hope we meet again in a fair battle, Sir…" She held her hand in a gesture of learning her opponent's name.

"High Warlord Darkhin Sinsword" He took her hand cautiously.

She grasped his cold, clammy fingers without hesitation. Darkhin wondered why it didn't seem to bother her that she was holding a dead hand. In Darkhin's opinion, compared to his, her hands were silky and warm. It was a forbidden pleasure to enjoy the touch of the elf's hand.

"That's a mouthful." She chuckled lightly. "I am Tyrena Moonleaf and titles are of no importance to me."

She released his hand and he opened his mouth as if to ask her something but an arrow whizzed by his head and lodged into the elf's arm. His eyes widened, he was almost ready to defend her, but he had to come to his senses. The troll hunter from behind kept firing at her, her tall body formed into a sleek golden cat with black spots and she ran towards the Alliance base, the Forsaken and the elf's eyes didn't meet again in their time within the gulch.

To be continued