The Shattering

Shattered Halls: the training grounds of hatred, the pinnacle of fel orc power. Charging into this fortress is not heroic; it is suicide. But for the good of the guild, I pressed onward, searching for the damnable book the human requested.

The corrupted are stupid but endless. Through the halls we sliced as one, leaving a bloody swath in our wake. Axes clashing with axes, this is a familiar sight, one I will never tire of. Refusing to back down, I hold my ground, blow after blow, so that my comrades can flank and neutralize the threat. It is hard work, but somebody has to do it.

Together, we are strong. Divided, they fall. The five of us are more than capable of handling four of them.

But alas, not everything is as smooth. Perhaps it was the sound of the gunshot echoing down the corridor. Perhaps it was the blood spatter of the commander splashing across the room. Regardless of what caused it, seven of them came rushing at us to crash the party.

Refusing to give up, I roared fiercely. Drawing them into my impenetrable shield, I sliced and thundered through them. With each calculated maneuver, I drew them further into the dance of death. Never have they seen such an enemy, refusing to back down, refusing to cop out. As their frustration grew, their vision grew narrow, not noticing the dancing fires or whirling daggers. A moment of clarity rose past my bloodlust: we will prevail.

I have battled fiends and demons, death knights and dragons. But that has always been many of us pitted against few of them. Tonight, we proved victorious against the odds. Seven highly trained monstrosities could not defeat us.

No longer are we just comrades-in-arms. Today, we persevered as brothers.

Shattered Halls have just been shattered.