Tarren Mill. An old, decrepit farming town in Hillsbrad Foothills. Once a staging ground of Alliance forces fighting off the Horde, Tarren Mill fell to the Scourge during the Third War. Claimed by the newly freed Forsaken shortly after, the town would serve as a base of operations for the Forsaken's assault on the nearby human and dwarf settlements.
At just a couple of miles north of the only surviving human town in the area, the port of Southshore, frequent clashes between the Alliance and Horde were common, with all-out war being just as common. As the Forsaken gained support from their Horde allies, and humans of Southshore were bolstered by reinforcements from as far away as Ironforge and Stormwind.
Increasing numbers were met with even greater numbers. The small and relatively quiet countryside of Hillsbrad would become a bloodbath of epic proportions. To this day, veterans of the historic conflicts continue to sing praises of, and recoil in horror at the memories of Southshore vs. Tarren Mill.
Wooden planks splintered violently inside of the small house. Lead pellets flew through the wall, embedding themselves in the wood work of the opposite wall. How the window did not break, Gremmosh would never know. It was an impressive shot regardless, being almost a sixty yards from the wall to the road. An aging orc soldier, Gremmosh served in the Second War and fought bravely against the Alliance on numerous occasions. Still, a shot like that was too close for comfort.
Peering out the long blown-out door arch, he could see the Alliance lining up on the road. Nearly fifteen wide and at least four, maybe six rows deep, the Horde forces were taking their positions in the old town to meet the crowing army. Specialists in ranged combat, much like himself, took sniping positions inside and around the crumbling buildings. The warriors and raiders, front-line soldiers, began lining up at the town entrance, as priests and shaman stood behind.
Gremmosh stared into the eyes of a dwarf on the hill – the same dwarf whose pellets just barely missed the orc moments ago. After dozens of battles defending Tarren Mill, Gremmosh had come to learn just part of this fellow marksman's name; Hunter Joe. An experienced dwarven mountaineer, was staring down the orc, loading another shot into his blunderbuss.
Gremmosh leaned back into the house. Looking across the field he could see their leader; an old undead mage. In the intervening years since the battle, Gremmosh has forgotten the name of the undead that would lead them to victory. What he would never forget however was the look of this mage and the air he carried. Everyone addressed him as High Warlord, a title and position that none could purchase or come by undeserving. Only the most successful and valiant of Horde soldiers could be granted such a status, earned from years of constant victory. Much like himself, this High Warlord had been a grunt, but rose through the ranks to become one of the most formidable warriors of the Horde. Never before and never since had Gremmosh been in such awe.
Black silk robes adorned the creature and a blackened skull, glowing with red eyes sat upon his head. Large spikes grew from his shoulders and an eerie red mist seemed to waft from his body upwards.
The Forsaken pulled his arm upwards, decaying flesh hanging unceremoniously from it, and pointed at the enemy. Gremmosh lit the fuse of his rifle.
In a guttural unholy voice, finally, the order they had been waiting for; "CHARGE!"
The frontline soldiers rushed forward. Gremmosh again peaked out the doorway of the hut he was huddled in. He could see the Alliance dogs rushing to meet the Horde soldiers.
Pink and purple, tall and short, humanoid and bears and cats descended. Massive tauren, brave orcs, blue-skinned trolls and decaying undead rushed forward to meet their enemy. This would certainly be a battle for the ages.
Lifting his rifle to meet them, Gremmosh scanned the Alliance forces.
"There you are."
Pointing the barrel directly at the dwarf, Gremmosh pulled the trigger, firing one of many rounds forward.
Bolts of ice, bolts of fire and the sound of lead pellets flew past the doorway; some towards the Alliance and some towards him. The sound of steel and armor clashing filled the air.
His shot just barely missed the dwarf, and Gremmosh quickly duck back into the house. Not a moment too soon as a pellet struck the wooden frame just behind his head. He began to reload.
"FORWARD!" the Forsaken Warlord proclaimed.
The Horde was beginning to push them back. As Gremmosh poked out of the house again, he let off another shot, this time randomly. For the brief moment he saw the battlefield, he knew the tide was about to change. Cavalry was mounting up behind the Alliance lines and an opening was beginning to form.
As he reloaded his rifle, the Alliance forces charged forward. Soldiers mounted on horses, rams, nightsabers and mechanical chickens rushed into the town.
Changing position, Gremmosh jumped to the other side of the doorway. The Alliance cavalry hadn't noticed him yet. Firing a shot into their ranks, he managed to knock a night elf off of his mount.
As the Alliance and Horde forces met in the center of the town, he took advantage of the chaos to quickly escape out of the house, taking up a position behind hit.
As he tried to reload his rifle the worst happened; a jam in the barrel. The spirits of Azeroth we're looking out for him however as he kept a bow and arrows on hand. Discarding the rifle, Gremmosh nocked an arrow in his bow and took aim.
As he searched for a target, Gremmosh surveyed the battlefield. The formerly quiet town was a warzone, Alliance and Horde soldiers striking at each other violently. He couldn't find his dwarven nemesis, but the next best thing was just a couple of feet before him. A gnome mage, completely unaware of his presence was casting frost bolts violently into the fray.
One well-placed shot would all it take. With a careful aim, Gremmosh was ready to let the arrow slip from his grasp. But this was no way for an orc to fight. There was no honor in killing an enemy from behind. Aiming just in front of the gnome, Gremmosh let loose the arrow and quickly drew his axe.
The arrow struck just inches from the gnome's feet. Quickly turning around, the gnome began speaking incantations, but it was too late.
Gremmosh was upon the gnome and brought his axe down upon the diminutive creature. A direct blow to the skull ended the arcanist.
Not unnoticed however, an Alliance paladin rushed towards him. Gremmosh readied his axe again to meet the human head on.
Just barely missing the orc, Gremmosh dodge the paladin's war hammer. An attempted counterattack just barely missed, striking the paladin's cloak. Their positions changed and the bloodbath stood behind Gremmosh. Preparing his axe for another strike, he knew that at any moment a dishonorable Alliance soldier could strike him down from behind.
He charged forward, hoping to at least make a dent in the human before he himself would fall. A couple strides forward and a ball of fire flew past his head.
Striking the human's skull, the once "noble" paladin burst into flames and fell to the ground.
Quickly spinning around, Gremmosh saw the High Warlord at the entrance to the burned out inn.
"TO THE INN!" he cried out.
Taking the first opportunity that presented itself, Gremmosh rushed through the Alliance forces to the doorway of the inn. Through all the fire bolts and shot pellets, all the hammers and swords, he made it.
He looked back out the doorway. Not many of his fellow soldiers were so lucky, but it was not without payment. There on the battlefield, scores of Alliance and Horde soldiers alike lay on the blood-soaked ground.
As the Horde soldiers retreated farther into the inn, they knew the Alliance forces would not risk entering the building. Every soldier was ready to bombard the door with bullets, arrows, magic and steel the moment someone stepped through it.
Not completely incompetent in the art of war however, the Alliance mages gathered and began casting fire bolts upon the wooden structure. As the building began to burn, the Horde forces seemed hopeless. For the same reason the Alliance would not enter, the Horde would not exit. The first step outside the door would be met with certain death.
"This is it…" the High Warlord uttered. "Prepare to charge!"
We proud soldiers of the Horde would not die like sheep huddled in a burning barn! We would face our deaths with honor!
Then, the tide changed. At the last moment, Horde reinforcements arrived from the air. So preoccupied with the inn, the Alliance forces never checked the skies. Raining death on the town below, the soldiers began to scatter!
Taking the opportunity presented, a flood of the downtrodden and rejected spilled out from the Inn. The Alliance attempted to reform, facing attacks from both the north and west.
Quickly realizing the battle was lost, the human general shouted. In a moment, the Alliance forces began running south to escape the town.
The Horde soldiers began their cleanup, striking down all those who did not escape in time. Gremmosh noticed a muzzle-blast from the house he had taken cover in. In the same exact spot that Gremmosh had stood not long before, just behind the house was Hunter Joe, reloading his blunderbuss.
Quickly knocking an arrow, Gremmosh fired at the dwarf's forehead. In a near miss, the arrow lodged itself into the house. The dwarf quickly mounted his ram and fled with the rest of the Alliance…
The massive Alliance force had fled the town, and Tarren Mill stood.
As Horde shaman began calling down rainstorms to dowse the inn, some of the soldiers began scouting the area to finalize clean up. A handful headed towards the old barn, the direction of the Alliance retreat.
The soldiers approached the barn, knowing that some unfortunate Alliance could have been hiding within. They entered the doorway and… nothing. Pressing further in, they found nothing again. As they began looking through hay piles, a small group of Alliance soldiers, about three or four dropped from the rafters. Being no match for Horde soldiers in close quarters, they were quickly dealt with.
Exiting the barn with trophies of their victory in hand, Gremmosh and the Horde soldiers reported to the center of town. The High Warlord was in the center of the gathered forces.
"Now, we begin our counter-attack," he spoke. "Rest for a moment, then rejoin at the ruined tower to the south in twenty minutes. Southshore falls today!"
The gathered Horde forces cheered! A brief respite to grab a drink and some food, and soon the Alliance would pay for their treachery…