Episode 7: Assault on Tiragarde Keep

I must have been spotted by a patrol! They were coming closer to investigate. I gripped the shaft of my hammer tightly, and prepared to defend myself, but it was hopeless. It was far too dark out here for me to see.

I knew that I should try to run away from the hold and lead the guards away from Johnny, but I was at too much of a disadvantage in the dark. My only hope was to run towards him, into the torchlight.

I set off towards the hold as quickly and as quietly as I could manage. I tried to stick to the darkest shadows, and as far away from the men as I could. I probably had a good lead on the patrol, but I knew they would be close behind me as I rounded the corner into the dim torchlight of the keep.

Today's battle must have raged right where I was standing. The dead of the defenders and the pirates as well littered the ground. At least there were no living guards here... yet.

A silent figure stepped out into the torchlight. The light hit his face and reflected off translucent skin.

Johnny pointed towards an alcove and I backed in as far as I could. I lifted my hammer over my head and worked to slow my breath. I tried to be as silent as possible. Thank goodness the ceiling was high! I don't think I could fight in an Orcish building if I had to.

Johnny stood in the middle of the room and stared out into the darkness with both daggers at the ready... watching... waiting.

Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. I gasped in surprise. I did not see what had cut him down. He lay there, motionless among the dead. I wanted to call out to him, but resisted.

A moment later, two guards rushed in. It had to be the patrol that had spotted me earlier. They were a man and a woman, dressed in heavy leather armor. Each had a short sword in hand. It didn't look good; two to one now, and I was unarmored. I hoped they didn't see me.

Their voices were quiet, but I had no problem hearing them in the silence of the keep. Look there, check there, I guessed they were saying. Their words were harsh and foreign.

My pulse pounded in my ears and sweat rolled down my arms. I tightened my grip around the hammer's handle.

The hammer was no thing of beauty. In fact, it was little more than an oak log on a stick. My father and I had made it two months before, when I learned that I would be leaving for Orgrimmar. It was a good day; the sun was shining, the sky was clear, the conversation natural. I felt closer to him than I had in a long time.

When the hammer was ready, I had wanted to carve some images into its sides. My people don't have a written language - we say that anything worth telling someone is worth saying in person - but we believe in the power of pictures. He told me not to.

He said, "This weapon suits you well. It may not be fast, and it may not be graceful, but it uses what the Tauren have in great abundance; pure strength. Keep it close and it will protect you... all the way to Orgrimmar."

I remember that seeming like a strange thing to say.

"Today was a wonderful day, and we'll think back on it fondly while you are away, but this hammer is just a tool. Do not get attached to it just because it reminds you of home.

"When you get to Orgrimmar, they will be able to provide better weapons for you; better than anything we have for you in this humble village. And that is what you should use, the best weapons you can find. Use them to protect your fellow soldiers. Use them to protect yourself.

"That way you can return to us in one piece, when all this fighting is past."

He was a very quiet man - even by Tauren standards - but when he chose to speak, his words were well thought out. I hoped he was right, and that the hammer would protect me this day.