My eyelids, seemingly stuck together from being in such a deep sleep, begin to peel apart from one another. The bright light of a foreign land begins to contract my pupils. The air has a dry, yet musty scent that I am not familiar with. Where am I? Where is my family? How did I get here? Still disoriented, I manage to sit up on the cool, dirt floor. I am not sure where I am, but I know this is not Draenor. It smells different. It feels different.

I begin to stand up. My legs are weak. My body is unstable. My dry, calloused skin now has a bright green tint to it. As I look around, the lush green swamps of my home had now been replaced with dry, compacted dirt that created a dusty haze with each step. As my vision becomes more focused, I see a figure moving just ahead on the slope of the hill. I move in that direction, uncertain if I am dealing with friend or foe. I rattle off the three questions I wanted to know the most. “Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here?” The bright green beast stands up, the sun gleaming off of the chain armor draped across his shoulders. “Greetings, Hogrik. You have just awoken from a spell that was cast over our entire race. Please, have a seat and I will explain the rest.”
We sit down beside the campsite at the top of the hill. For the first time, I can feel the waves of heat and hear the crackling embers from the fire. I anxiously await the explanation of my past as my senses are slowly coming back. “My name is Gorek, chieftain of Razor Hill. The Orc race was once a proud one, in complete harmony with nature. The Burning Legion of Azeroth has destroyed our planet, and our race was put under a spell to aid them in their conquests. The spell has been broken, and now we must fight to keep our freedom.” I knew that I must act quickly. Thoughts of my past began to race through my head; blurs of battles and combat blended with slavery and suppression. I immediately proclaimed to Gorek, “I am ready to fight. Show me the way.” “You must get your strength and instincts back before you leave Razor Hill,” Gorek responded. He gave me several tasks to complete to aid me with this, so I grabbed my axe and headed for the edge of the village.
My first task was to slaughter the mottled boars in the valley. As I come down the hill, the boars are in my sight. My senses became heightened as I gripped the cracked leather stitched down my axe’s handle. The first boar began to run towards me. I wind up, the rotation of the axe in perfect sync as the boar approached me. With one swift swing the axe digs into the back of the boar, nearly splitting it in two identical pieces. I immediately turned to face my next victim as blood poured from the first one. Each swing contained more velocity and accuracy than the first. I would stop at nothing to have my revenge for the Orc race. I climbed back up the hill, dragging the carcasses of 12 boars behind me. I did not speak to Gorek, and Gorek did not speak to me. He knew I was ready to begin my quest for justice.

After days of trekking across the dismal terrain, I came upon a village of Taurens.
They welcomed me with open arms, appreciative of my desire to restore order to the land and make those pay who abused it.
As I looked around at the mammoth Taurens, I noticed the advanced weaponry and equipment they had.
Racks of swords hung along the walls of the Inn.
Armor covered nearly every one of them.
I too would need this.
I decided right then that I would prepare myself for battle in Bloodhoof Village.
There were many Taurens needing help, and I could gain experience and weaponry by helping them.
I first met Grimtrak, the village butcher.
I delivered meat to Orgimmar for him for a small fee.
It was a very simple task, and I moved along the village in pursuit of more opportunities.
I soon met Ahmo Thunderhorn, a seasoned warrior that had become disgusted with the way the land was being treated.
Ahmo requested that I aid him in calming the earth spirits north of Bloodhoof.
They were angry at the way the humanoids disrespect the land, burning and polluting everything around them.
I headed north, and suddenly saw figures scattering across the horizon.
I began to hug the sides of the cavern to the east, using the small tree line running down it as cover.
The shadowy figures became clear, and I realized that they were watchmen, carelessly expanding their territory without regard for others.
No wonder the spirits had grown restless.
From what I could see, there were five of them.
I was unsure of their combat skill, and still unsure of my own as well.
As they began to spread apart, I leapt from the tree line, charging toward the first one with my axe in hand.
The first swing was not the best as it glanced off of his chest plate, sending sparks in the air.
As I wound up for another blow, the watchman struck me just above the waist cutting me along my ribcage.
This was the first blow, and it was also the last.
The strike did nothing but heighten my senses, sending a wave of rage through my body.
Every swing of my axe had the rage of thousands of orcs behind it.
The blade tore through their armor and limbs simultaneously.
After killing the last one, I piled their bodies up and took the money that I could find, which would go to a fund for killing more of them.
I then headed to my original destination, and calmly soothed the spirits before heading back to Bloodhoof.
My reputation preceded me as I headed back into the village. Several of the warrior Taurens showered me with booze and offered up lady orcs that had traveled for miles to show me just how much they appreciated my accomplishments. I had no time for this. Killing five watchmen was the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the humans still needed to pay for the damage they have caused the Horde and this planet. I took the money I had made and went to Mahnott Roughwound, the village weaponsmith. Back against the wall stood an enormous, two handed mallet that had been taken from the Lich King’s army. I immediately imagined the irony of killing him with his own weapon. To complement the new weapon, I had enough silver left to buy a loose chainmail vest and leggings. Before leaving Bloodhoof, I knew that I would need more. I had heard that Maur Raincaller was looking to hire someone, so I headed to the west side of the village to see what he needed. “Hogrik, I do not have my strength right now. I was bitten by a Mazzranche and haven’t been the same since. Can you please help me by getting the femur from a flatland cougar? That is all I need to finish the serum to heal my wounds.” I gladly obliged, mainly because he was paying 12 silver for it. I also agreed to clear out the rest of the swoop up north for him since I was headed in that direction anyway.
After returning from the quest, I was able to purchase more armor and a shield. I was very happy with the armor. The gloves, leggings, and vest were all brushed steel, providing me with protection but it would not draw the attention of enemies in the sun. I was now ready to continue my conquest to avenge the Orc race. I approached the village warrior trainer, Ruul Eagletalon, for his blessing to move forward. “You have done great things for us, Hogrik. We feel honored that you have trained with us, and may you restore order to this planet. For the Horde!”
I headed to Durotar to the Dranosh ‘ar Blockade. Ruul had mentioned the Alliance’s desire to press their territory in this direction, and I was determined to stop them. The first Orc I spoke with was Gor the Enforcer. As I approached him, I could see the deep scars embedded in his chest from years of combat. His hair and beard were stringy and blew with the faint breeze coming from the nearby lake. He wore a mask to cover his face, concealing the pain he had endured fighting for his survival. I knew that I must help him. He informed me of a goblin that had been the head of some of the Burning Blade camps in Durotar. A flood in the southwest wiped out most of the camps, but he was still down there, lurking and feeding off of unsuspecting travelers. Once a proud leader for the Horde, he was now a nuisance that needed to be eliminated. He had sold many of the good from the camps to the Alliance, turning his back on the very group that allowed him to survive. With each following statement I became more and more enraged. He still had an orb that the warlocks in Orgrimmar could use developing new spells and healing potions. As I headed southwest to find him, I came across another Orc named Shin Stonepillar. He had heard about my past conquests, and wanted to speak with me to ensure that my mind had developed as quickly as my combat skills had. He began with a story about an ambitious wolf. “You are transformed into the wolf, which is hungry and seeks prey to the east and finally eyes two battling Kodos. He decides to wait until one defeats the other, to then feast on the loser. When that happens, the wolf approaches the fallen Kodo, but before he can take a bite, he is slain by the other Kodo. The moral of the story; hasty, lazy actions have ruinous results. We mustn't take shortcuts... we must work for our rewards.” I appreciated this message. While I was intent on slaying every human left, I must do it carefully. I knew that I would be approaching creatures with powers much greater than my own, and I must go about this strategically. With this in mind, I continued on my quest to find Fizzle Darkclaw, the goblin traitor that must pay for betraying the Horde.

Dark storm clouds began to circle around the valley. There was no cover in sight as slight, rolling thunder quickly became booming echoes against the canyon walls. Lightning cracked in the background and sheets of rain rushed in from the north. The packed clay roads began to flood, hardened from years of drought. As the rain came, I ran into a cave in just before the canyon ridgeline ended to take cover. I gathered some of the dry, dead wood scattered across the floor. I made a small fire and began to take my armor off to dry. I had been carrying the chain armor for days, and needed to take it off to rest before my battle tomorrow. As I looked into the fire, I hear the same crackling sounds and waves of heat that I did with Gorek as I anxiously awaited for my senses to return. It was a bittersweet feeling as I thought about Razor Hill with reserved optimism. The Alliance was moving unpredictably, and there was no way to know if the village was still safe. Unable to sleep because of these racing thoughts of past villages, I sat by the fire until the embers faded. As the fire died, the rain began to subside. The sun began to rise over the ridge, reflecting on the bright red mud puddles scattered across the uneven roads. I continued southwest, feeling a wave of excitement come over me as I approached Thunder Ridge. I knew that I was ready, and I knew that I was different than Orcs that preceded me. I was quicker, faster, stronger, and pissed off. I ran into the ridge in a full sprint, pinpointing Fizzle immediately. I pulled the mallet from behind my back, clenching the handle at the top to generate the most handle speed possible. I was approaching so rapidly that I could have killed him before he managed to turn around, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know why I was killing him. And I wanted to see the fear in his eyes and in his soul as with each strike I dealt. 25 yards out, I gave a thunderous roar that shook the entire ridge. Fizzle turned, simultaneously drawing a blade out of a sheath on his hip. As he raised the knife, my mallet cast a shadow over his entire body as it came down. The face of the mallet came crushing down just between his head and his right shoulder, immediately snapping his collarbone. Through the weapon I could feel each bone crack against another. I delivered the second blow from behind, internally separating his skull from his spine. I sat him up against his campsite so he could watch as I took the orb, his money, and all of his food. As I headed back to the village, I drug Fizzle behind me just outside of the ridge. By nightfall, the animals of the region would clean up anything that was left.
Fireworks erupted from the Horde posts and children were lining the streets as I came into town. Women offered up baked goods and casseroles. Men offered their daughters. I was grateful of all of these gestures, but I mission was still in progress. I gave to orb to the warlocks, and headed further North, seeking new and better ways of helping the Horde establish its rightful place on this planet.
I came into the Crossroads, the largest town in the Barrens. I met with Thork, who was in charge of the movement to drive the Centaurs out of Horde territory. I knew of the conflicts between the Centaurs and Taurens, and knew this was the quest I was born to undertake. The love I had developed for the Taurens made me want to do everything in my power to help them. The disrespect for the land that the Centaurs show is unacceptable. As Thork explained their location, another Orc overheard the conversation and became interested. Mogre, a fellow warrior, was also after the Centaurs. He too had made the journey to Crossroads in hopes of killing all of the Centaur camps. With Thorks blessing, he and I headed to the outskirts of the Northern Barrens. As we approached the Lushwater Oasis, scattered camps of Kolkar Marauders covered the terrain. I knew we would not be able to overtake the camps by ambushing them, so we used the underbrush to navigate the treeline to the west of the water. The first Centaur I could see was gathering fruit along the shoreline. Leaning just to the right of the tree, I carefully pulled out a throwing knife from my bag. Holding the point of the blade, I slung the knife through the air, watching it rotate end over end as the sunlight beamed off of it. Just as the Centaur rose from the bush, the knife dug into his back. The serrated edges of the blade gripped his flesh as he writhed in pain. It was too far in for him to pull it out. I watched him fall to the ground, and I slowly rolled him into the water to hide the body. I crawled up just to the edge of their first tent before I saw the next one. Mogre and I both stormed into the camp, immediately killing the two guards. By the end of the attack, 16 Centaurs laid in front of the camp they once considered theirs. Mogre and I continued into the Southern Barrens for the next two days, clearing out all Centaurs that we could find. We returned to the village with dozens of bracers to give the Blacksmiths, and gold for the village vault. I bid Mogre farewell, as he was off to seek further quests in Orgrimmar. The weaponsmith had developed a new staff for me that had the brute force of the mallet with the razor sharp edge of a sword. I exchanged the loose steel armor for custom fitted, indestructible chain armor.
I knew there were more enemies to the north, so I headed toward Ashenvale in search of them. I do not know what will become of all of the Horde villages, but as long as I am there, we will hold our ground. This war is far from over, but I will only continue to get stronger. My weapons will become harder. I will not stop until every Orc can roam free.