I do not own the rights to any WarCraft characters, weapons, etc. I am writing this fanfic solely for entertainment purposes and nothing else. I do however own your...................................................................................soul! Enjoy the story everyone.
High, shrill, cries of agony are all around us as I and my fellow Grunt warriors are chasing down a group of cowardly peons, who have been honored with the privilege of being transformed into soldiers of the dead. An excess of these worthless peons and the advance of a human army have prompted our clan chiefs Rend and Maim to make this decision. One particular peon has been giving me a hard time, slipping through my hands twice and displaying speed far greater than the average peon, but a colleague and I have now cornered the cowardly dog between us and a large red tree. I look at his face and his nerveless eyes brim with tears. He closes his eyes tightly and one quick slice of my battle-ax does the job. His ugly fear filled face is a frozen expression as his head pops clean off, a geyser of thick red blood shooting from his dismembered neck. His body quickly turns limp and sinks to the blood soaked ground with a soft thud.
"I have one!" I shout out loud as my fellow Grunt and I grin at each other.
We wait but only for a moment, when a large, two-headed Ogre comes rumbling along making a thunderous noise and smashing the ground underneath its enormous feet as it arrives at our dead corpse. The bumbling Ogre has been freshly dosed with a bloodlust spell, a spell of lethal proportions which raises his thirst for combat, the humans must be close now.
"Out of the way Grunt!" The bigger of the two ugly horned heads barks at me and he gives me a quick shove. His cycloptic eye stares at me from one head while his other head surveys our fresh kill. I can only sit there and grin, for to challenge this two-headed ogre would be a pointless endeavor. The Ogre stands over the corpse in his black attire, a battle worn sheet that has many gaping holes, each with their own story to tell. A bag of gold lies maybe twenty feet away where the peon had thrown it in his futile attempt to escape his destiny. The Ogre stares at the bag of gold, his primitive brain taking several seconds to register the information. Then he finally turns to us, a scowl on his face.
"You, Grunt. Take that gold to the Great Hall." The Ogre directs the warrior beside me.
But this Grunt is obviously one of the dim-whited creatures of the horde and he stubbornly stands still.
"I am a soldier, not a peon. Go move the gold yourself."
He turns to me with a satisfied smile, his last expression as a dark and winding coil of pure energy wraps its icy hands of death around his body. In an instant his lifeless body falls to the ground, his armor clattering as his face smashes into the dirt. Behind him is the culprit responsible for his death, a being which put fear in even me. He stared at me with his glowing, steel eyes, a black sheet of cloth draped over his head. The Death Knight sat on a creature as fearless an intimidating as he, a large horse-like creature with a fleshless head, just bone, and two large horns jutting upward, as well as two hanging downward as if sharpened ears. The eyes of the beast emitted upon me the true look of death.
"Move that gold." The menacing eyes of the Death Knight commanded me as much as his raspy, deepened words.
I reluctantly walked toward the bag of gold, as I did not want to share the fate of my fellow Orc. If I was to die in battle than it would be while fighting the putrid human race. As I picked up the bag of gold I glanced over to the knight of death, who still stood over the body of the dead peon, next to the gigantic Ogre. The Death Knight was chanting wildly, an incantation from the realm of the dead. The corpse began shaking wildly, as if the skeleton was trying to escape the bag of flesh which encased him. Then within the next instant the skeleton broke free of its former flesh covering, ripping through the skin of the dead corpse, and leaving a heap of piled flesh piled on the ground. The soldier of the dead was now ready to command, bits of green skin hanging off of his bones like miniature waterfalls trying to drip away. A living skeleton with lifeless red eyes and no mind of its own, a new puppet for the Orcish Horde to control. A shiver of cold ice runs down my spine. However many times I have seen the transformation from both Human and Orc alike to a soldier of the dead, I am still not used to it. Immediately following the peon's transformation into an efficient fighting machine, another lowly peon slave shuffles to the Death Knight and hands him a fresh sword from the blacksmith shop. A shop where the finest weapons are crafted by our more veteran warriors. The peon slinks before the Death Knight, hoping that this "brave" deed will spare his life. He is wrong, the Death Knight strikes the peon down as easily as the Grunt before him, and both will be turned into new soldiers of the dead. I look away and return the gold, walking past the foolish peons as they turn in their bags as well. I leave our Great Hall, which is now being upgraded to a more sturdy structure known as a stronghold. I have but a few minutes before the battle begins, and I survey the busy preparation around me. Great catapults are being loaded with flaming incendiary shot, the heat from the fire will scorch any human who is hit by this great weapon. The dragons are being handled to the fullest extent of our talents, their great, fearsome cries ring throughout the whole camp. A band of three little goblins run across my path, suited fully with lethal explosives. However annoying these living bombs may be, they are important to our success. They each glare at me with their beady little eyes as they run off to cause more mischief. I am delighted to see everyone preparing for this next battle, the taste of blood runs on everyone's tongues. I join a group of eight other Orc Grunts, their blood stained armor still gleaming in the sun. We all watch the cleared path in the forest anxiously, the fallen trees clearing a way for the Humans to get here. Then we see them, the first lines of the Human army. Rows upon rows of Human footmen who are marching in their noisy armor, pitiful creatures who will all die before the day is done. Beside them are their large, feeble ballistas that creak noisily as the Humans prepare to launch their sharpened tipped projectiles. A large cheer rings throughout our camp at the sight of battle. Now we will fight!
High, shrill, cries of agony are all around us as I and my fellow Grunt warriors are chasing down a group of cowardly peons, who have been honored with the privilege of being transformed into soldiers of the dead. An excess of these worthless peons and the advance of a human army have prompted our clan chiefs Rend and Maim to make this decision. One particular peon has been giving me a hard time, slipping through my hands twice and displaying speed far greater than the average peon, but a colleague and I have now cornered the cowardly dog between us and a large red tree. I look at his face and his nerveless eyes brim with tears. He closes his eyes tightly and one quick slice of my battle-ax does the job. His ugly fear filled face is a frozen expression as his head pops clean off, a geyser of thick red blood shooting from his dismembered neck. His body quickly turns limp and sinks to the blood soaked ground with a soft thud.
"I have one!" I shout out loud as my fellow Grunt and I grin at each other.
We wait but only for a moment, when a large, two-headed Ogre comes rumbling along making a thunderous noise and smashing the ground underneath its enormous feet as it arrives at our dead corpse. The bumbling Ogre has been freshly dosed with a bloodlust spell, a spell of lethal proportions which raises his thirst for combat, the humans must be close now.
"Out of the way Grunt!" The bigger of the two ugly horned heads barks at me and he gives me a quick shove. His cycloptic eye stares at me from one head while his other head surveys our fresh kill. I can only sit there and grin, for to challenge this two-headed ogre would be a pointless endeavor. The Ogre stands over the corpse in his black attire, a battle worn sheet that has many gaping holes, each with their own story to tell. A bag of gold lies maybe twenty feet away where the peon had thrown it in his futile attempt to escape his destiny. The Ogre stares at the bag of gold, his primitive brain taking several seconds to register the information. Then he finally turns to us, a scowl on his face.
"You, Grunt. Take that gold to the Great Hall." The Ogre directs the warrior beside me.
But this Grunt is obviously one of the dim-whited creatures of the horde and he stubbornly stands still.
"I am a soldier, not a peon. Go move the gold yourself."
He turns to me with a satisfied smile, his last expression as a dark and winding coil of pure energy wraps its icy hands of death around his body. In an instant his lifeless body falls to the ground, his armor clattering as his face smashes into the dirt. Behind him is the culprit responsible for his death, a being which put fear in even me. He stared at me with his glowing, steel eyes, a black sheet of cloth draped over his head. The Death Knight sat on a creature as fearless an intimidating as he, a large horse-like creature with a fleshless head, just bone, and two large horns jutting upward, as well as two hanging downward as if sharpened ears. The eyes of the beast emitted upon me the true look of death.
"Move that gold." The menacing eyes of the Death Knight commanded me as much as his raspy, deepened words.
I reluctantly walked toward the bag of gold, as I did not want to share the fate of my fellow Orc. If I was to die in battle than it would be while fighting the putrid human race. As I picked up the bag of gold I glanced over to the knight of death, who still stood over the body of the dead peon, next to the gigantic Ogre. The Death Knight was chanting wildly, an incantation from the realm of the dead. The corpse began shaking wildly, as if the skeleton was trying to escape the bag of flesh which encased him. Then within the next instant the skeleton broke free of its former flesh covering, ripping through the skin of the dead corpse, and leaving a heap of piled flesh piled on the ground. The soldier of the dead was now ready to command, bits of green skin hanging off of his bones like miniature waterfalls trying to drip away. A living skeleton with lifeless red eyes and no mind of its own, a new puppet for the Orcish Horde to control. A shiver of cold ice runs down my spine. However many times I have seen the transformation from both Human and Orc alike to a soldier of the dead, I am still not used to it. Immediately following the peon's transformation into an efficient fighting machine, another lowly peon slave shuffles to the Death Knight and hands him a fresh sword from the blacksmith shop. A shop where the finest weapons are crafted by our more veteran warriors. The peon slinks before the Death Knight, hoping that this "brave" deed will spare his life. He is wrong, the Death Knight strikes the peon down as easily as the Grunt before him, and both will be turned into new soldiers of the dead. I look away and return the gold, walking past the foolish peons as they turn in their bags as well. I leave our Great Hall, which is now being upgraded to a more sturdy structure known as a stronghold. I have but a few minutes before the battle begins, and I survey the busy preparation around me. Great catapults are being loaded with flaming incendiary shot, the heat from the fire will scorch any human who is hit by this great weapon. The dragons are being handled to the fullest extent of our talents, their great, fearsome cries ring throughout the whole camp. A band of three little goblins run across my path, suited fully with lethal explosives. However annoying these living bombs may be, they are important to our success. They each glare at me with their beady little eyes as they run off to cause more mischief. I am delighted to see everyone preparing for this next battle, the taste of blood runs on everyone's tongues. I join a group of eight other Orc Grunts, their blood stained armor still gleaming in the sun. We all watch the cleared path in the forest anxiously, the fallen trees clearing a way for the Humans to get here. Then we see them, the first lines of the Human army. Rows upon rows of Human footmen who are marching in their noisy armor, pitiful creatures who will all die before the day is done. Beside them are their large, feeble ballistas that creak noisily as the Humans prepare to launch their sharpened tipped projectiles. A large cheer rings throughout our camp at the sight of battle. Now we will fight!