The wall was cracked, the outer knights and elven guards dispatched. This was easier than the orc had thought it would be.
The ancient wall of the great elven city, Silvermoon, crumbled before the might of the scourge in a loud rumble that shook those nearby.
The siege broke, as screams of fright and angry shouts could be heard and chaos ensued as the High Elves scrambled to defend themselves. The Alliance had left them to their fate.
They were on their own, their hope crumbling with the southern wall in the wake of the scourge. Arthas had given them a chance to lower their gates.
A large figure climbed to the top of the rubble left in the wake of the wall’s collapse. He was huge and imposing. His black armor adorned with spikes and his helm made from the skull of dragon.
Red eyes glowed from under the helm as the long dead Orc surveyed the chaos beneath him. The skeletons and ghouls scrambled and shambled up the pile behind him as he smiled a sick and evil grin.
Death would be waged and dealt this day. The High elves would become but a memory in the history of Azeroth. Their magic would fall to the might of the Lich King.
The Orc had all but forgotten his life before death. Having been created to bring death and destruction to all his King's foes.
His very name naught but a whisper as his will was broken, replaced instead with the cold and cruel will of his master.
He raised his hand to still the undead behind him. Slowly he drew his sword and gave a mighty shout. The fear and screams he saw as the elves scattered below him, gave him such amusement.
He couldn’t wait to savor their terror as he cut them down. His laugh was like the sound of broken glass, brittle and startling.
He chuckled and pointed his sword at the gathering guards, his deep voice bellowing its orders, “Destroy ‘em”. The guards inside trembled in fear as they watched the shambling scourge surge forward.