Warsong Gulch: A Rogue's Tale
May 20, 2009
I was in a Warsong Gulch tied 2-2 last night. During a particular middlemap fight, I managed to land a crippling poison on their flag carrier, followed by a flurry of hemorrhages and autoattacks. He was defeated thusly. Just as I was about to return our flag, I found my feet encased in thick ice, and I was unable to cover the two to three feet necessary to grab the flag. From my periphery I saw a flash of bright light, and a man surrounded by a glowing magical shield appeared just ahead of me. In a fluid motion he picked up our flag and continued with it into his base! I was standing their helpless and aghast! I had failed in my mission, and our flag was running away. Just seconds before I had begun to fantasize about the shouts of praise and celebration as I returned to Ogrimmar, victorious, a mighty defender of our sacred lands! As I saw the magician disappear into an underground tunnel that presumably led back to his fortress, I heard the battle cries of several night elves coming from behind me. I turned to see two white tigers and a hulking grizzly charging at me with their teeth bared, and claws glinting in the reflected sunlight. From behind these three I was able to glimpse an equal number of night elves stringing a variety of deadly arrows, preparing to end my misery. My feet were still encased in a foot of ice. I knew that it was only magical, and that it would break shortly after the first blows struck my body, but I had no more energy for this fight. What reason did I have to defend myself, to survive? Survival alone is not enough to sustain the spirit of an orc. I bent my shoulders, and closed my eyes. My thoughts turned inward and the physical plane became distant. My years of battle training had conditioned me to not fear physical pain. A scar is a badge of courage, and a more grievous wound, say a missing eye, is a sign of true dedication to the fight. The raking claws and gnashing teeth of the savage war beasts began to shred my leather jerkin, but I welcomed it. I would die quickly. Abruptly, I was jolted back from my miserable fantasy as a poisoned arrow pierced my abdomen. I was again aware of the physical world, aware of my fate. I felt the insidious sting of viper's venom as it seeped into the wound. Blood rushed to my head and my heart began to pound as I was filled with a primal instinct. It was panic! The meaning of my own mortality was completely lucid, and my animal instinct urged me to struggle, to live! I only felt it briefly though, for the next arrow was a well-aimed shot, and it ended all feeling. The ice around my feet shattered and disappeared, and my body fell to the earth. I tarried briefly, observing the arrow protruding from my forehead, then departed from my body and drifted toward the graveyard. But this was not the end...
The Warchief would not allow his army to be beaten so easily this day. To ensure our victory, he had blessed us with the aid of a spirit healer, one who may resurrect the fallen to fight again! In my resignation I had forgotten of this possibility! Upon realizing that I would receive another chance, my thoughts turned to a single goal. I would not allow my defeat to be the end of this story. After a few moments of focused meditation, my ears were filled with the warm invigorating voice of the spirit, "Arise, Grimtoes, and fight! For the Horde!!!" In a cacophany of sound, smell, and light, I was reborn into Azeroth, completely healed, in spirit and in body! I made quick preparations in the safety of my base, including a bite of enchanted kabob to strengthen my attacks, before calling my black wolf to bear me across the valley of battle, into the territory of the alliance. I was able to ride safely past most of the enemy combatants fighting in the valley as they were already engaged by the main forces of our army. My horde brothers and sisters fought well, and I was tempted to join their battle, but my task lay elsewhere, and I could not be deterred. I made my way into enemy territory, and I headed straight to the underground tunnel through which I had last seen the mage disappear. Here I was met with a difficult choice: Would it be advantageous to sprint into the heart of the fort before slipping into the shadows, or should I begin silently creeping while still in this underground tunnel? It was a question of time, and I did not know how much I would have. Judging by the alliance numbers I had witnessed fighting in the valley, I decided that few could have made it very far into our lands, and I probably still had some time before my own fortress would be under heavy assault. I slipped into the shadows and continued up the underground tunnel, moving as quickly as I could without breaking concealment. Not more than a minute had past before I was grateful for my decision. A human warrior carrying a large bloodied battleaxe popped in to the tunnel from an exit a few feet ahead along the eastern wall. He turned and looked in the direction opposite me, then turned back in my direction and began running toward me. I noticed the edge of his axe was dripping blood, and he had a dopey, sadistic grin spread across his face. No doubt he had just slain one of my brethren. I was filled with a surge of anger; my loyalty to my fallen brother compelled me to vengeance! I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and began to meditate:
The rage of an orc is undoubtedly why we are feared on the battlefield as terrifying forces of carnage, but while all orcs are trained to use our anger to fuel our attacks, orc rogues are trained further to contain our fury until it is most prudent to unleash it. Among civilians, we are never held in the same regard as the mighty warriors and shaman whose open displays of brute strength exemplify the proudest virtues of our people, but among the military ranks we are still treated with honor, and dare I say, reverence. Veterans of our army have seen the impact a rogue may have in battle, methodically assassinating deadly magicians who might otherwise be unreachable.
There it was. My focus was back. Kill the mage. I cleared the warrior from my thoughts. I flattened against the wall as best I could so as not to be spotted, and to allow the enemy to pass me by. He would have been a formidable foe, and I could not risk my mission on the frivolous urge to notch my belt with another kill. Once he passed I slipped out the doorway through which he had come. I found myself at the bottom of a slope, outside again. The fort had been built into a hill, and this part had been left as a natural ramp. The only addition was a cobblestone path that wound up the slope back toward the fort, where it met the rooftop. As I crept onto the roof, I became very cautious. From this vantage point I would be able to survey most of the fort, to learn the extent of the defenses, and possibly to ascertain the whereabouts of our stolen flag. The rooftop itself would have been a defendable location, but after scouting the perimeter, I determined that I was alone up there. Making my way back to the northeastern edge, I lay flat on my stomach and peered under the roof to the second floor. I had hoped to find a window of some kind, to possibly catch a glimpse of a guard patrolling a hallway, but I found nothing of the sort. Below me, standing on an unprotected patio, were three robed members of the Alliance, including the mage who had stolen our flag; he was still carrying it! Quivering with anticipation, I nearly jumped down immediately, thinking that I could easily overwhelm them with an onslaught driven by my raging blood fury. Fortunately, I was able to calm myself a second time, and, once again, it proved quite useful. Taking another minute to observe the trio, I was able to determine that it was a group of two mages and a warlock, but I also learned something much more important. Through my advanced training as an assassin, I had become adept at perceiving small details in a scene, details that might be invaluable in calculating a plan of attack. It was in these few moments that I noticed a slight wave of vapor, almost like a heat wave, at waist-height to my target and a couple feet to his left. Through my experience, I knew these movements to be the only signs that could betray the presence of a camouflaged night elf. She must have just moved her arm, slightly. Taking a moment to consider the possibilities, I decided it was safest to assume that the hidden night elf was a healer of some type, be it a druid or a priest. The mage maintained his mana shield, so it was difficult to know if he was further protected by the powerful words of shielding utilized by a priest. I also noted that the mage kept his back straight against the wall behind him, eliminating the possibility of a quick ambush. While the human warlock and the other mage, a gnome (who by his appearance was still an apprentice), did not concern me terribly, the presence of a healer raised the difficulty of the proposition considerably. How much time did I have? Could I wait long enough for reinforcements to arrive? If I acted alone would I be able to finish the mage before the healer could turn the fight? I was starting to ask more and more questions. I had already taken considerable time in gaining my current advantage, and I was quite sure that there were no others en route to aid me. Tapping my fingers nervously against my belt, I began to doubt whether I could overcome the foursome. Then I hit it. That's right, I hit it. I was tapping my fingers against my belt pouch, and I realized that therein did I contain my one hope. Normally, flash powder is utilized by rogues to allow time to vanish from sight, and thereby escape a direct onslaught by an enemy force, but I had recently become aware of another use. It was a simple thought really, and it played to one of the most defining of all human traits, curiousity. Since my adversary was both a mage and a human, I had surely struck upon one of his intrinsic weaknesses. It was a decent plan, better than I could hope for with such poor odds and little time. Now was the time for action.
I dropped down from the roof, landing as light as a leaf on the far edge of the patio, several feet away from the mage and his allies. My heart began to race. I started to creep forward, my premeditated plan flipping through my mind like a series of still images. I gripped my dagger firmly and held it low at my side, preparing to deliver a lethal blow. Slowly with my other hand, I pulled a small bag of flash powder from my belt. I cupped it gently, not wanting to agitate the volatile substance. I picked a spot on the wall behind the mage. Now just several steps from the group, I raised my arm and flung the pouch, hitting the spot precisely. It smacked the wall, creating a loud popping noise and a puff of smoke, like a tiny stick of goblin dynamite. Almost in perfect unison, the group of mages looked up at the wall and at the light black spot that was becoming visible as the smoke blew away. My target turned just enough to catch a glimpse of the distraction, slightly exposing his vulnerable backside. Slipping between the shoulder of the warlock and the head of the young gnome, both of whom were gawking dully at the spot I had made, I began to swell with the rage I would need to finish my task. Blood rushed to my arms and legs, filling me with the strength of the mighty kodo! In a single, precise move, I grabbed the mage by his frail shoulder and simultaneously plunged my dagger into his backside, burying it to the hilt in his lower torso. The mage cried out in despair, and I let loose my own cry, a bloodcurdling roar that was surely heard throughout the encampment. My eyes burned red, and I was nearly overcome by my lust for blood and revenge! Fully exposed but no doubt terrifying to my enemies, I had but a split second to capitalize on their hesitation. I pulled my sword from where it hung sheathed at my side. I looked into my enemies eyes, and with a single mighty blow, I eviscerated his stomach, spilling his entrails to the ground, and I grabbed the flag from his hand as he fell. The magical flag instantly disappeared from my hand, returning to its rightful place in our base!
Almost immediately after my victory, I found my feet in a familiar situation, encased in magical ice. The young gnome had apparently conjured a single frost nova before blinking out of sight and fleeing. His allies however, were not too terrified to fight. The night elf exposed herself and at the same time conjured several twisting vines that rooted my feet in place. While she may have been braver than the useless gnome, it was apparent that I had yet again benefitted from the element of surprise, for her move was not well considered. What good did it do to waste time rooting me to the ground while I was already stuck? One of the team members, however, did not waste time. The warlock began conjuring a spell of fear, powerful shadow magic that would cause me to flee in terror and lose all rationality, making it impossible to defend myself. I had to act quickly. I pulled another, larger sack of flash powder from my belt, and threw it to the ground, creating a cloud of smoke that completely concealed me. The explosion shattered the magical ice, and I was able to unwind my feet from the binding roots. When the smoke cleared, the warlock and druid saw only each other. Each was staring in disbelief. I had dropped to the ground level of the fort, and I had found the interior entrance to the underground tunnel that led back to the valley. I had gotten my revenge, and more importantly, I had restored the emblem of my people. Sprinting down the tunnel, I was flush with pride! As I came to the exit, my ears were filled with the victorious shouts of my comrades in the valley.