Chapter One

Tauren, trolls and undead, oh my

The empty white pages in the leather-bound book seem to mock me as I'm flipping through them, undecided about what to do. I'm on my way to the Undercity, making a short stop at Tarren Mill to get some rest and a cool drink before proceeding. The inn is busy as usual, and I retreated into the back of the decayed building to avoid the other patrons.

I never wrote a diary before. No idea how to start it. Hell, I don't even know if I really want to do this. Annika and her brilliant ideas, indeed.

I suppose I should do this methodically. Start from the beginning and work my way through. That's how I'm used to tackle my everyday tasks, and so far it has worked out quite well.

My name is Eladyon Brightflame. I am, as you already know, a hunter. I am also a blood elf, which means I'm one of the newer kids in Horde town. I spent most of my life in or around Silvermoon City, and boy was I not prepared for what was awaiting me when I first touched the Orb of Translocation…

A soft growl from under the decrepit table I'm sitting at makes me look up. Echeya has raised his head and stares at the approaching form of Shay, the innkeeper, who's carrying a tray with a bottle of wine, a goblet and a bowl filled with water. The goblet and the bottle of wine are being set on the table, and then he bows down and puts the bowl in front of my cat. Echeya eagerly starts lapping the cool water while I'm throwing some silver coins towards Shay, who catches them in one hand, producing a clicking sound when the metal connects with his bare bones. It's an old joke between us, from the time I've asked Shay, quite bluntly, how he managed to keep the coins from slipping through his fingers, since there's almost no skin left on them to… well, you get the picture. He found it rather amusing, gave me a bone-rattling pat on the back, coughed out something remotely similar to a laugh and lurched away.

Well. I probably wouldn't be too talkative, either, if I were missing half of my jaw. But he's not unfriendly, and he doesn't mind me bringing Echeya inside, unlike some other innkeepers I've met on my travels. He's even as considerate as to bring some water for my cat each time I'm here, which is remarkable. Perhaps he was a hunter himself when he was still… alive.

I watch Shay's retreating back, pour some wine and empty the goblet with a few long swigs. The wine is good. You wouldn't think that an undead has much interest in palatable things, but meeting the undead cooking trainer right behind the inn changed my prejudice. He knows some surprisingly good recipes.

Of course the wine doesn't come from Shay's own wine cellars. He told me that the Deathguards have a standing order to snatch a barrel of wine for the inn every once in a while during their regular raids on the farms at Hillsbrad Fields. Got to give those humans credit – they do know how to make wine.

But I digress.

As I don't know who is going to read this journal – if anyone's going to read it at all -, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and write it in Orcish. I was tempted to keep it in Thalassian, but then again… my Orcish has a lot of room for improvement, and I apologize in advance for any wrong or strange sentence structures or expressions you might find in my writings. But, after all, this is not supposed to be some work of art. These are just my thoughts, plain and ordinary. This journal might, perhaps, be the only thing that's left of me, something you could find in the backpack lying next to a dead body. It may be kept someplace, gathering dust, to be discovered decades later by my great-grandchildren. It may be destroyed before anyone can read it.

Who knows.

I pour some more wine and take another swig. A strand of my hair gets caught around the goblet, and I disentangle it, realizing that I'm due for another haircut soon. Annika refers to my hair colour as "foxy red", I prefer "maroon". It's streaked with a silvery white; I have no idea where that combination comes from. I used to wear it long in the fashion of our people, tied loosely together with a leather cord in the back of my neck. But lately I was finding myself the unwilling centre of attention a few times too often. You know, it's one thing when a female orc tries hitting on you, but it's getting downright scary when you're being stalked by and whistled at by a male night elf.

So I asked Annika to cut my hair off at the nape of my neck, with only a few strands around my face left at the original length, giving in to Anni's pleas. Of course they keep falling into my eyes all the time, but I guess that's better than the wrath of a paladin. I try not to attract too much attention, but, you know. These are interesting times.

I'm a simple guy. I don't know much about politics, rulers and wars. I follow my business; I learn my trade and try to become a better hunter each day. I skin, I work with the leather, I try to sell some things which I don't need for myself or Annika. As I already said, I spent most of my life around Silvermoon City. Our allegiance to the Horde is something I accept, as is the hostility of the Alliance towards us. I usually don't pick a fight; I just defend myself when I'm attacked. Unfortunately the orders, given to me by the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas himself when I left Silvermoon, were unmistakable: do anything you can to aide the Horde. They are our allies. We belong to them. Do as you are told.

Great.

I tried to stay out of battles against humans, dwarves, night elves and gnomes at first. But I realized I couldn't do that forever. And then my missions started to get ugly. Poison them, steal from them, kill them. I do what I'm told, but I don't have to like it, right?

What's bothering me even more is the hostility within our own ranks. I've tasted it all, from covert resentment to open hate. I admit it; I do have a problem with undead. I mean – these guys are downright creepy, don't you think? The way they talk, the way they… smell. And worst of all, the way they feed on their dead enemies. The first time I teamed up with an undead mage I got violently sick when he started to devour our – human! – enemies after we had killed them. When I returned to the mage on wobbly legs, he just laughed, and the hollow, raspy sound wasn't really helping my upset stomach.

While I haven't met many orcs yet, I was hoping to get along better with tauren and trolls. But no. I recall a particular incident at Durnholde Keep a few days ago.

I had found and released two orc prisoners and was on my way back out when I got into trouble. Two of the human soldiers jumped me, and while Echeya and I managed to kill one of them before he could run off, the other one escaped and brought two others with him. It was a hard fight, and we could only win because my faithful cat took care of one of the guards while I was fighting the other one. We were exhausted, bleeding and out of breath, both of us. We retreated to a safe spot outside the Keep and I examined Echeya's wounds, dressing them as best as possible. While I was busy cleaning a deep cut in his side I had a feeling of being watched. I looked up and saw two shadows against the bright sunlight. A female tauren and a male troll were standing there, watching us. I squinted against the sunlight and frowned.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked in Orcish. The tauren glared at me.

"Long enough," she replied, her deep voice cold as ice. I stared right back at her.

"Thanks for helping then," I said sarcastically. She crossed her arms and shrugged.

"Actually I was hoping to watch you die."

I thought I had misunderstood. After all, I hadn't been practising my Orcish very long.

"What?"

The troll, a tall guy wearing two shimmering daggers and dark leathers, obviously made by a highly skilled leatherworker, grinned.

"Don't mind her," he said in a pleasant, almost conversational tone. "She's a bitch. Always has been." And he vanished. Literally.

The tauren kept on glaring at me silently. I grew nervous. Where the hell was that troll?

I finished cleaning Echeya's wound and put some plant salve on it, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Echy was feeling my distress and growled softly. He kept staring at a point over my shoulder, and a second later I felt the troll's lean body brushing against my back. I whirled around and took a step back. He was still grinning.

A rogue. I should have known. Damn.

"You do realize that we're on the same side?" That got out sharper than I intended. After all, they didn't look too friendly. Echy needed rest and was in no shape to fight, and I wasn't feeling so good, either. The guards' weapons had pierced my leather armour in several places, there was a long cut across my left arm and a smaller one over my left eye which was still bleeding. Furiously I wiped my face with my gloved hand. The tauren woman smirked.

"Aw. Concerned about your pretty face, elf?" She idly drew some strange runes in the soft ground beneath her feet and it dawned on me where I had seen runes like that before. She was a druid. Which meant she could have healed both of us in a heartbeat.

But I felt too tired to even argue. I just shook my head.

"Why…?"

"Why didn't I help? Very easy. Because you're a blood elf." She took a quick step towards me, her tail twitching. Echeya perked his ears, ready to pounce, but I calmed him with a gesture.

"I would have helped any other member of the Horde," she hissed, her eyes narrowed. "But I despise and hate your guts. Blood elves! Why can't you go back to this precious shiny city you came from? We don't need you here!!"

She almost screamed the last words, and I took another step back. Echy got up, pressed his flank against my leg and growled. I put a hand on his mighty head and made a calming sound. The last thing I needed was Echy going protective and the tauren exploding in our faces. I have been fascinated by druids and their powers, probably partly due to the feral part in them, and I had been looking forward to meeting them. But I surely hadn't expected that my first encounter with them would be like this.

The troll was having fun vanishing and reappearing around us, never saying a word. He seemed to be amused by the whole encounter. But I've had enough. I shoved bandages, salve and water into my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and ignored the pain that shot up my injured arm.

"Welcome to the Horde," I murmured under my breath while I was walking past the tauren.

"Go and get yourself killed, elf!" She yelled after me, but I didn't turn around. All I wanted at that moment was a drink, a bath and a clean bed. Things I knew I'd find in Silvermoon's Inn.

…

I put down the quill and rub my eyes. The bottle of wine is almost empty. I feel just as angry and exhausted as back then, when I realized, with a sinking heart, that it wasn't just the Alliance I had to be wary of.