A storm of death and fury had fallen upon the city of Stormwind. It's white stone walls and grey cobblestone roads were painted in blood, and sounds of battle carried on the wind. The night was dark, the lamps and lanterns that usually illuminated the busy walkways and shop fronts were dwarfed by the flames eating away at the city. Rain fell in great reams from the black clouds above, coating everything in a glossy reflection that shined in the firelight. The sound of water rain beating on plated armour and rooftops mingled with that of dying men and frightened innocents.

The orcs had attacked the city before. When they first arrived in Azeroth, they were filled with bloodlust and hungry to devour a new world as they left the carcass of their dead one behind. Stormwind was the first large city in their path, and they attacked in great numbers. The humans of Azeroth rose up to meet them, and in battles fought across the lands, the orcs were defeated. Now, they had returned, with the same anger, the same madness. Yet this time, there losses had taught them what they had lacked. They respected their human defenders, and had attacked the city with intelligence. Chieftens and clan leaders lead the attacks with strategy.

Far Bigger and far stronger than any human, orcs are fearsome in battle. The knights and warriors of Stormwind had held the city for as long as they could. But the walls of the city had fallen, citizens had fled to the harbour as their homes burnt and their friends died, and many of the defenders lay still on the ground, armour battered and bodies broken.

Varian Wrynn, only son to the king Llane Wrynn, stood by the gates of the keep, watching his home burn. At eight years of age, he had heard talk of the orcs, of their ferocity and evil, but had never seem them himself. To him, they seemed to be crafted from the titans own hands for the sole purpose of murder. They showed no emotion except battle-forged anger, even in death. They scared Varian. His father had told him everyone should fear their enemies, but to never let it control you. Varian tried, but he could not deny how he felt. He had fallen into a nightmare, with no hope of awakening.

"We have lost the trade district my king." A knight said as he ran up to the Varian's father. "The orcs have pushed into the canal roads. We can no longer contain them, there is too much ground to cover and not enough of us left. They are spilling into the southern side of the city." His silver and blue armour, adorned with the fierce lion that is Stormwind's sigil, was splattered with blood.

Llane's reply was quick and decisive. "Take the men from the north, those guarding the cathedral. Keep them in the narrow roads by the tailors shops as long as you can, we should have an advantage there."

"My king, those men have already left. They went to the city gates." Llane looked grimly up at the sky. His kingdom was being destroyed, and any efforts to stop it felt hopeless. The men who went to the gates would all be dead by now. Llane had heard how bloody the fighting had been. Bodies piled near as high as the buildings, blood running from men's faces like water… Once the orcs were in the canals, there would be no containing them. It was time for them all to flee, Llane decided. He nodded to the knight. "Rally all the fighting men left, we will hold the docks for as long as we can. All we can do now is save as many as possible." The knight ran off briskly to the king's orders. Llane sighed deeply. He hoped to have never seen a day such as this one. "The city has fallen". He said to no one in particular. He looked down at his only child, protected behind a small group of royal guards, and managed a slight smile. He was watching the smoke rise to the sky, and the people who ran, fleeing the city. They pushed and shouted and cried as they went, some with wounds, others carrying all they could from their homes. The rain poured down on them all.

Varian watched his father walk over to one of the guards.

"Get Varian to the ships. Keep him safe." Llane shouted over the sounds of the city. The royal guards formed up around him then.

"Stay strong, Varian. We'll be out of here soon, safe in Lordaeron. We'll retake our home back from these beasts." His father said as Varian was escorted past. All he could manage in reply was a nod of his head. The terror was all around him then, men women and children pushing and screaming, an unrelenting desperate struggle to escape the city. The guards kept a tight formation around Varian, the swords buckled to their hips ready and waiting. The boy prince was alert and on edge, and he spied an orc sneaking towards his father. Varian nearly shouted in alarm, before realising it was Garona, the half-orc who had been spying on the orc clan's activity. The king and the half-orc exchanged words that Varian could not hear over the rush of bodies, but after they had finished, the king turned away and Garona produced a knife from her ragged clothing. For a moment, the half-orc stood alone and unnoticed, a weapon by her side. Her green skin and bulky body were alien to this world. As Llane turned back towards her, she stepped up to Varian's father and arced the knife upwards, thrusting the blade into the king's chest, through the mail armour he wore. Another push, and she drove the knife to its hilt. Horror spread across the kings face, as his blood seeped around the knife and began to drip to the floor. The crowd obscured Varian's view, the madness spilled around him as he stopped and stood still. The guards stopped with him, asking him to move on. They didn't know. The half-orc pulled the knife sharply back, and Varian watched as his father fell to his knees, and then slumped over to the cold, wet stone. The orc fled before anyone noticed the dying king. Llane turned his head, his own blood had turned the water that ran from his face red. He turned his head, and looked to his son who stared back, transfixed. The king's eyes closed, as others noticed him. Suddenly, all the guards were moving, the knights and advisors who followed the king were shouting and calling out, some kneeled before Llane, turning him over and holding the hole in his chest. But Varian knew it was useless; he had seen the life leave his father's eyes. Another knight came over and hastily instructed the guards to get Varian out of the city, but the boy barely heard it. He stared at his father as he was lifted and carried through the city. A lost child left the city that dark night, his father murdered and his home burned. The rain fell throughout the darkness, as a boat carried him from the nightmare, towards a new life in a distant land.