Treng Sharpeye

[Dalodriel]

The ravages of the last battle still lie upon the scorched earth. Fires are still burning, blood running in streams in the cracked earth ... the smell of burning flesh fills the air as the Orc patrol quickly passes through the area. They notice a Worg ripping the flesh of a human, with hunger in it's eyes. They decide to leave it alone, but before they leave, one of them notices a collar around the Worg's neck. Once it left, they tracked it to a cave, where an impressive collection of Stormpike and Frostwolf banners were covering the entrance. The animal went right in, so they decided to make a camp on a nearby hidden ledge, so they can see who's in there. Two days passed and still the only sign was the Worg exiting and entering through the banners. On the third day, a large, shadowy figure emerged from the cave. It was an Orc. Pretty average one by the looks of him. On his right side, the Worg was sniffing the air curiously, letting out a long howl. The patrol left their camp and approached the stranger.
- Lok'Tar brother! Do you live here ?
- Lok'Tar my brothers. Welcome. Yes, this is my home.
- What's your name ?
- Treng Sharpeye the call me. And this little rascal's Larum.
Larum was sniffing the three Orcs, looking peacefully at them and wagging his tail.
- Treng, have you fought in the battle ? Are there any survivors ? What should we tell the Warchief ?
- Tell him the Frostwolves have won again, and that the area is safe for now. But tell him to send more men if he wants to keep this place.
- Will you still be here ?
- Maybe, maybe not ... I've heard in Silvermoon, the elf city, there are groups who seek strong volunteers to do battle. Maybe i'll go in the offensive.
Treng suddenly goes silent as his eyes scour the area. His nose flinches as the burning wastes tell the story of a gruesome battle. He leans slowly and picks up his swords, his bow and quiver, he packs his gun in a bag and grabs some food. Signaling to Larum, he slowly starts walking North, towards a tall peak. The patrol looks at the trail of footprints Treng and Larum left, then they turn West, towards Tirisfal.

....

As he reached the top of the mountain, the battle scarred Orc looks at the Worg and pats him. They keep silent, looking at each other for a minute, then Treng turns his eyes North. The fog prevents him to see his destination, but he can feel it. He nudges the animal gently and they begin their descent. Soon, war will come, and Sharpeye will be ready for it.