Fal'thorn Dawnstriker

Unlike most of my people I'm a big fan of the Horde.

The Horde offered my people a chance. A chance our supposed 'friends' didn't give us. All they asked for in return was that we fight by their side.
And fighting was the one thing we'd become good at. After our city was all but destroyed and our population decimated, fighting was more or less all we had.
Many of us balked at the idea of siding with these greenskins and their savage friends. But not me.

Friends, true friends were what we needed. Friends who's sense of honour and duty meant they would never betray us, never imprison us and never abandon us.

So, when Lor'Thremar took us into the embrace of the Horde I went out, left the city and took my sword with me. Strength and honour, glory and pride! I signed up with the Shatterskull Marauders, I proved myself to them.
Yes, they were brutal, and yes their hygeine left a lot to be desired, but they were strong and if you were strong right back, they respected you. It took a year or so, but eventually I was accepted. I had found friends. Comrades. Brothers and sisters in arms. I'd even found love, of a sort.
One of the other Auxiliaries, Dereth. A troll lady.
A few years ago if you'd have suggested I'd end up sharing a bed with a troll, I'd have laughed in your face. And probably punched you too.
But, life is a funny thing and for some reason we ended up ripping each other's clothes off and never once asking why.

Life was grand for a long time. Good, honest enemies to slay and good, honest friends to slay them with.
Then Hellscream took over and the Horde changed.

My people grumbled and moaned, the bastards. They didn't see what I saw, which was a Warchief with balls. A Warchief would would finally let us loose, finally let us drown the world in Alliance blood.
Yes, he was ferocious, yes he was a nasty piece of work but by the Light he was inspiring. His speeches and his presence set my soul on fire.

The Marauders changed too. The Kor'Kron came to us, to watch us. As was their right. Our Chieftain though, she slew one of them. Then another.
I began doubting my warband. Began doubting my oath. Dereth agreed with the killings, almost foaming at the mouth in her condemnation of the Kor'Kron and Hellscream. Our relationship. previously strong, began to deteriorate.
Then... Our Chieftain gave us a choice.

Join the resistance, slay the Warchief and his Kor'Kron.
Or, leave. Renounce our oaths and leave, with honour.
My faith was thus restored. A smile returned to my face. Yes, I'd be leaving Dereth behind, but I could live with that. Plenty more fish in the sea after all.
I packed it in there and then, apologised and told the Chieftain I couldn't support this madness. She frowned but accepted and let me leave.

Things have changed very quickly. As I write this, I know I've not got long left. I can feel my life ebbing away like a tide. I can't even use pen and paper, my hands are too numb. I'm dictating this silently, knowing no one will ever hear it or read it.
Still, it helps. Helps me forget what was done to me.

I was walking away, down the road, heading in the direction of Thunder Bluff. I'd planned on catching a windrider or zeppelin there to Orgrimmar to offer my blade to the Horde proper.
Little had I known it wouldn't be that easy.

Down the road, Camp Mojache well behind me, I'd dared imagine that life would get better. The resistance would be crushed quickly, one or two quick battles and everything would be back to normal. The Marauders would be forgiven and allowed back into the Horde's embrace, perhaps I'd even be forgiven and allowed back into Dereth's embrace!
And by the Light, what an embrace that was.
I even dared grin a little at this point.

It was getting dark by now, I'd been walking a while. I wasn't scared you understand, not much in this world holds a great deal of fear for me. I have a sword and I know how to use it, I'm armoured, I'm quick and the Light is with me.

So, there I was. Sauntering along, dreaming of the future.
A twig snapped behind me, I span round, my hand falling to my sword's hilt.
Darkbane. My sword is called Darkbane.
I know it seems a silly name, but it meant something to me. I'm no fanatic, I don't care what gods or spirits people worship, but the Light always looked after me and the Dark, the Shadow was the enemy of the Light. And so, it was my enemy too. Darkbane was a fitting name for the sword I banished the Shadows with.

I wasn't quick enough. My hand was on Darkbane's hilt when his claws entered my gut. I didn't even feel pain, just an almighty physical blow. It forced me back.
I looked down and to my horror I saw blood. A lot of blood. I looked up...

I remember this all clearly. It's crystal clear in my mind, scene by scene. It was Stonepaw. The miserable bastard Warcaller. I'd fought beside him countless times, followed him headlong into battle more times than I can count. He'd always seemed a steady sort, one of the honourable ones.
Well, I was wrong about that.
I fell to my knees, I remember that clearly too. I managed to get Darkbane half out of the scabbard, my other hand clutching my gut, trying to hold all the bits that should be in, in.
The orc snarled at me and sheathed his claws, straight out punching me in the face and flooring me. He knelt over me.
By this point I was cold and numb. Couldn't speak, couldn't move much.
I heard his voice rasp, like he'd swallowed sandpaper.

"Anyone not with us is against us."

He stood up. Everything was going dark, darker than the natural lack of light in the forest. Darker like my vision was going wrong as the blood left my body.
I heard a cracking sound, then another cracking sound. I remember turning my head slowly, so slowly. He'd stamped on my legs, snapped them like twigs. So I couldn't escape?
The idiot. I could never escape this anyway.

Then there was a vague sense of movement. He'd hurled me off the road and into the undergrowth.

So here I am. Lying here, bent and broken and soon to be dead. I think I'll miss Dereth the mo...