AN: My very first attempt at a Fan-Fic, spare me the flames.

"FOR GLORY AND HONOR!" Came the cry of a stalwart human, his sword raised high in the air, his voice raspy and deep. The man pointed his great longsword directly forward, toward the mass of soldiers before him, his solid plate armor glistening in the afternoon sun.

The sounds of his men behind him were quite heartening, war-cries and the clattering of shields upon swords was deafening. As he listened to the battlecries of his men, he stared into the throngs of opponents set before him. Countless disfigured beings all either green, blue, decomposing, or furry. All were just faceless nameless pawns in the slaughter to come. Sure, he was outnumbered two-hundred to one, but his men were so well trained, so unbelievably well-suited with the densest armor the grand and true Alliance could possibly forge.

With one last deafening cry, Rhodark Rehban, Grand Marshal of the Alliance Expeditionary Forces in Central Kalimador, ordered his men to charge, the Horde forces scattering like so man leaves in the wind. The glorious battle then began to fade, Rhodark's mind blurring slowly, the images of men chasing down tauren and Undead disappearing as suddenly as they appeared. Rhodark closed his eyes for one instantaneous moment, then opened them.

His armor was gone, replaced with tired old chain garments and a very strong helmet. The sounds of men cheering and Horde being gored was replaced with a very light tinking all about him. The vast savannas of the Barrens was replaced with the damp coolness of the rocky Fargodeep Mines.

Rhodark Rheban was back at work. And apparently he had been slacking off. How did he know that?

"RHO! GET BACK TO WORK YOU LAZY GOOD FOR NOTHING SON OF A BITCH!"

That's how. His boss, a tall, narrow, red bearded dwarf, was yelling at him between his daydreams.

Seeing no reason to deny his boss, Rhodark picked up his Pick-ax and began hopelessly slamming down upon the slab of wall that had been assigned to him. Not a chunk of copper for months. While Big Bad Bruno two stations down was rollin' out gold and Iron like it was clay. But Rhodark did not complain, he couldn't, it was either this, fishing or farming. And he was bad at one of those and god awful at the other.

Two hours, he worked the mines just two hours more than he'd be out, He could go back to his cozy little cottage in Goldshire, sit on his cozy little chair, bask in his cozy little fire and dream his cozy little violent epic dreams.

But not now! No, no. Now he mined, swinging his pick in a monotonous rythym, never ever getting anything done, no new ores, no decent stones, not even a shard of Tigerseye to be seen. Still he mined on, just working his way, counting his swings and the seconds till his freedom from the damp coolness of the cave into the fresh, warmth of the Elwynn Forest spring.

Turning to the man on his right, who had far to much ore in his cart, Rhodark declared, "Oy, Yeh think ye could mehbeh toss me a couple o' them chunks a metal? Jes sos I kin make quota?" Okay, so his oratory skills were not as well practiced as he would've liked them to be. The basic gist of the message got through.

"Wha-? Oh... Right, help yer self." said the slightly spaced out miner of at most 20 winters.

Rhodark wasted no time unloading half of the boy's surplus into his cart and then going back to his mining.

One hour, then he'd get to go home, to his cozy little cottage.

At about a quarter-hour until the end of his shift, the tall, narrow dwarf from earlier came up to Rhodark, a solemn look on his face.

"Rho! Get ov'r 'ere!"

"Yes sir?" asked Rhodark, exited, perhaps he'd finally get that promaotion! Or maybe they were switching his and Bruno's mining spots! So many thoughts went whirling through his mind that he missed what the dwarf said the first time.

"'scues me? You 'peat that please?"

"'eh said yer fired Rho, yer contract is up and mah superiours say yer too old teh work for us any more, sorry bub."

"Buh...buh... Yeh dont have superiours! yer the bosS! Bosses dont have super-ers."

"Listen. Rhodark. As of this coming Friday, you are no longer an employee of the Venture Company. Now please return to your post and finish out your week."

Returning to the slab of rock assigned to him, Rhodark almost instantly forgot about the conversation he'd had with his dwarven superior. Wether he was just repressing it, or if his memory was truly frail enough to forget about it was yet to be seen.

Finally the whistle blew, and it was time for him to go home. To his cozy little cottage, in his cozy little neck of the wood, just outside of Goldshire.

Upon reaching his place of residence, Rhodark unloaded his equipment onto the floor. Pick-ax, helmet, flimsy chainmail he'd invested in after the first (and apparently only) "mine brawl", and boots.

After relieving himself of all the extra weight, Rhodark settled into his chair and drifted off into a very soft sleep, dreaming of epic battles, retreating horde, and - most of all - of the endless glory to come from the battles.

Little did he know, evil was afoot just outside his home.

---End Chapter---

AN: Do not worry, I know that action wise the first chappie was a failure, but fret not my friends, there will be plenty of that in the next chapters, Kolbolds, Defias, everything.