Aaron Rosenberg - Tides of Darkness

"We will not wait for them to come upon us," he told his people. "We will not sit here idly and let them dictate this battle. No. We are orcs! We are the Horde! We will bring the fight to them, and they will learn to regret ever pursuing us here! And when we have crushed them beneath us, we will march back over their corpses and once more claim their lands as our own!" He held his hammer over him with both hands, swinging it about above his head, and the cheer now shook the rocks and the very stone upon which he stood. Doomhammer felt a smile crease his face, and exulted in it. These were his people! They would not go down sniveling and pleading! If they fell, it would be in battle, and with blood on their hands.

"Ready the warriors of our clan," he told the stunned Tharbek. "My elite guard and I will lead the charge ourselves. The rest of the Horde will follow." Turning, Doomhammer glanced at the bulky figures that stood in the shadows, waiting. Each of them straightened and nodded as he caught their gaze, and Doomhammer nodded in return. These were his elite guard, and they were all ogres.

Doomhammer was a proper orc and had been raised to hate the ogres, but these were different. They were more intelligent than most of their kind, for one, but they were warriors and not warlocks. Equally as important, they were intensely loyal to him and him alone. He knew they admired his strength and courage—they seemed to see him as a small ogre himself, and had pledged themselves to his personal command. He, in turn, had come to respect their strength and rely upon their support. He knew they would die for him if necessary, and was surprised to realize he would give his life for them as well.

And now they would all risk their lives, as the Horde's victory hung in the balance.

At least the portal was safe. Rend and Maim Blackhand had survived the battle with Gul'dan and an attack by the Alliance fleet, along with some of their clanmates. They had sent a scout to Doomhammer, finding him on his way here from Khaz Modan, and he had ordered them to join the rest of their clan at the portal. He still did not trust the brothers but they proven themselves loyal to the Horde, at least, and he needed strong warriors to protect their access to Draenor. Not that he would ever consider fleeing, even if the battle turned against them.

He nodded at his ogres again. Then he made his way off the ledge, leading down toward the plain below, and the battle that awaited them.

The Alliance was not prepared for the orcs to attack. Just as Doomhammer had hoped, the humans had positioned themselves for a siege, expecting to wait the orcs out and take out any lone warriors foolish enough to show themselves beyond the protective cliffs that ringed Blackrock Mountain itself. Doomhammer's charge took them completely by surprise.

"Orcs!" a soldier shouted, running back to where Lothar and his lieutenants stood. "They've overrun our position!"

"What?" Lothar kicked his steed into motion and galloped across the black valley where he had stationed the bulk of the Alliance troops. Turalyon and the others followed close behind.

Sure enough, as he approached the front lines he heard the unmistakable sounds of battle. Then he saw them. They were orcs, but orcs like he had never seen. These were massive creatures, with thick arms and stout legs, and their hair was worn in spikes that rose above them like bird crests or horse manes. The orcs had no armor, wearing only loincloths, shoulderpads, and furry boots, and wielded their weapons with mad abandon, hacking and stabbing everything within their reach. Their green skin was heavily tattooed, and most of them had jagged bits of metal or small bits of what looked like bone shoved through ears, noses, brows, lips, and even nipples. They were savages, and the men were falling back before their frothing attack.

"Uther!" Lothar shouted, and the Paladin strode forward. He lowered his sword, indicating the orcs, and that was enough. The Paladin nodded, beckoning the other members of the Silver Hand to follow him as he lowered his helm and raised his warhammer.

"By the Holy Light!" Uther shouted, a glow springing up around him and his weapon. "We shall not suffer such beasts to live!" And he dove into the fray, his hammer slamming down upon the nearest orc's head and shattering its skull.

The sky here was always thick with clouds and soot, casting heavy shadows and blood—tinged light upon everything. But not now. The clouds parted and a beam of pure sunlight lanced down, limning Uther as he waded into the assembled Horde. The Paladin became a figure of pure light, awesome and terrifying, his every blow crushing orc warriors left and right.

The other Paladins joined him, his light suffusing them as well. The Silver Hand had expanded in the months since the war had begun, and now numbered twelve under Uther's command and not counting Turalyon. Those twelve waded into the combat, their hammers and axes and swords glowing with their faith, and the rest of the Alliance soldiers pulled back to give them space.

The orcs turned and faced their new foes. It was a brutal battle, savages versus zealots, shining mail against tattoos and piercings. The orcs were strong, tough, and crazed enough to not notice pain. But the Paladins were filled with righteous anger and the power of their faith, and their holy auras caused more than one orc to turn away when attacking. With this advantage the Paladins ringed the savage orcs, cutting down one after another until the last lay dead at their feet.

"Good work," Lothar was saying when another sentry ran up to him. What now? he wondered wearily. Another attack?

"Another attack!" the soldier gasped, echoing his thought. "This time to the west!"

"Damn them," Lothar muttered, spurring his horse again and racing toward the new location. They were smart, he had to give them that. He had not expected an attack and his men were not ready for it. Most of them had relaxed, counting on a long slow siege, and some had even removed their armor, though he had ordered them to stay alert just in case. Now they were paying the price for their laxity. And if the orcs were able to weaken enough spots along their line with these sudden attacks, they could break through and escape into the rest of the mountain range. It could take months, even years to track all of them down, and that would give the Horde time enough to rebuild and try again.

He could not allow that to happen.

He burst upon the new battle, trampling an orc that did not move aside quickly enough, and then wheeled his horse around and reined in, studying the situation. This was a much larger attack than the last one, a full three score of them or more. Even more daunting were the six ogres in their midst. They fought savagely but not as mindlessly as the last attackers, and showed some sense of tactics. Particularly the giant orc in their midst, whose long hair hung in ornamented braids that danced as he swung a massive black hammer left and right, crushing Alliance soldiers with each blow. Something about the way the giant moved, quickly but carefully, even gracefully despite the massive black plate armor encasing him, struck Lothar. This, he somehow knew, was their leader. He was urging his horse into the fray when the giant glanced up and looked right at him. Those eyes were not the glowing red Lothar had grown accustomed to seeing in his foes—they were gray, and full of intelligence. And they widened slightly, as if in recognition.

There! Doomhammer grinned as he studied the large human perched on the horse nearby. That one, with the shield and the enormous sword and the clever sea—blue eyes. He was their leader. He was the one Doomhammer had been hoping to find. If he could take out this man, the army's resolve would crumble.

"Move aside!" Doomhammer bellowed, smashing a human soldier in his path and kicking one of his own orcs out of the way as well. The man, he saw, was charging into the fray as well, laying about him with that sword, barely looking at the carnage he was creating. The human leader's eyes were locked on him.