The Barrens had been good to the Rogue. He'd been given ample opportunities to stab things under the guise of collecting materials for the Society's experiments, which made him happy.
What had been interesting, however, was the news of some sort of limited war between the Horde and the Alliance over the Warsong Gulch in the northern barrens. He'd been hearing stories that Horde Forces were openly attacking (and stabbing!) the Alliance troops. He found the whole idea to be very appealing; as much as he liked stabbing Quillboars and Centaurs, the idea of stabbing members of the stinky alliance was even more appealing.
So he absconded himself from the Crossroads (And left Senior Apocatherian to do his own silly work!) and scurried north to the Ashenvale border. next thing he knew, he was standing in the Warsong Lumber Mill with a group of other Horde Warriors, several of which had Rank insignia stitched onto their amour.
"Oh hell!" An Orc Shaman shouted out. "Get the hell out of here, now!"
"Wha?" The rogue replied, glancing around.
"Yes, you, and your shaggy friend too!" The Orc snapped.
The rogue turned to see a Tauren warrior standing next to him. He shrugged. "Why we go? I here for stabbies!"
"You're not experienced enough yet!" The Orc shouted. "You'll loose us the battle! Go kill some Worgens and then come back here, but not a hell!"
"Hey!" The rogue snapped. "I no kill stinky chow hounds! I kill stinky alliance stinkers! And you are not going to be stopping me, you silly stinky Orc man!" He couldn't understand it himself; the Orc didn't look any more experienced then either him or the Tauren that he was shouting at.
"Oh forget it! This is hopeless!" The Orc raged as another soldier entered the room. A young female Troll, she carried the trappings of a priest. "They're sending us nothing but rookies! We'll never win now!"
The three of them looked nervously at each other. "Um, I'm here to fight for the Horde." The Tauren spoke up.
"I want to do me duty too, mon." The Troll added.
"Yeah! And stab stinky people!" The rogue finished. "So we staying here, and there nothing you be able to be doing or saying will be stopping us, mister so called smarty pants Orc."
"This is hopeless!" He wailed. "We're going to be slaughtered all because-" He was cut off by the sound of trumpets, signaling the attack. "Great. We've started, and I'm left with you weakling pups!" He turned and glared at the three of them, the Troll shrinking back. "Right! You three are to stay here. Do not touch anything, do not do anything, do not talk to anyone, do not do anything full stop. In fact, the only thing I want you to do is to run out that door, tell the commander that I need some actually useful troops, and then run home crying to your mothers!"
"I don't have a mother!" The rogue offered, but the Orc wasn't listening. He was instead heading out the door, the rest of his troop with him.
"So... what do we do?" The Troll asked, nervously glancing around the room.
"Well, I for one am not going to take this." The Tauren offered. "I am going to take up arms and fight for my homeland."
"And I'm gonna stab stuff!" He cheerily replied.
"But..." The troll continued. "He told us not to leave here..."
"He's not the boss of me!" The rogue shouted back, jabbing his own chest with a bony finger. "We am here to do our lot for the horde! So let us be doing that, hokay?"
"Yes!" The Tauren called back. "Four our Ancestors!"
"For the Horde!" The Troll added.
"For stabbings and a slice of cheesecake after!" He finished. Taking the lead, he lead the other two out the door and into the bloody battlefield.
He could feel the heat and the excitement of the battle even from this far back. Looking ahead, he could see that Alliance and Horde forces were clashing in the center of the gulch, exchanging blows and spells with each other in a chaotic swirl of violence and destruction. He grinned as he watched, reveling in the chaos of the battlefield. This was what he had come for, and this was his place. He charged down the hill, his rusted knives at the ready as he broke into song.
It is a Gulch!'
A very bloody gulch!
A gulch full of flags!
And we must fetch the flags!
Becuse that is the way!
That we go to war!
He leaped bodily into the battle, a spinning, whiling mass of blades, lashing out at anything that got near him. He didn't care for stealth or subtlety or skill here; instead he was going all out for violence and carnage, laying into any opponent he could find and dishing out damage for the hell of it.
He was whacked back and sent sprawling by a sudden strike. Recovering, he looked around to see the source of the attack - a large bat that was quickly pulling away from him. Snarling in anger, he leaped after it, charging at the flying mammal with every intent to fillet it. Before he could close, however, an arrow rammed into his shoulder, sending him sprawling again.
"Samprini knuckles!" He called out, looking up to see a night Elf Hunter, bow at the ready. "You no shooty me!" He reeled back, then pulled out his own rifle and fired. The shot went wide of the elf, but was enough to send him ducking for cover. "I shooty you! Bangbangduck!" he fired again, the shot doing little more then keeping the Elf's attention off him.
"I see him!" The Tauren called out. "Hold on there, little buddy!" With a bellowing roar, the Tauren charged forwards, laying into the hunter with a massive axe. The Elf collapsed, sprawling out on the ground.
"You gank him?" The rogue asked, peering up form his cover.
"I think so..." The Tauren checked him. "Looks down to me. Let's go!"
"Yas!" The rogue called out. "Come on!" He scurried off down the hill, heading off to one side of the battle proper. The Tauren warrior followed, with the Troll nervously chasing after the pair of them. They kept moving, heading north to the Night Elf stronghold while trying to keep quiet and stay out of sight.
Ahead, he could see more of the Horde forces, trying to gain entrance to the stronghold. The Orc Shaman was at the lead of the forces, trying to beat is way through a small army of defenders. The rest of his troops were strung out, trying to hold their forward position with only minimal success. The Alliance forces seemed to be determinedly resisting his charge, and, more to the point, seemed to possess superior numbers.
"Hey! Pokies!" He called out.
"Our allies are in danger." The Tauren commented. "We need to help them! Come on, guys! We gotta go in there and kick butt!"
"That too." The Rogue muttered. "But mainly, we need to stab things!"
"So... uh... what we be doin' mon?" The Troll nervously asked, using the Tauren as cover. "I mean, dat be a serious battle..."
"Simple." The Rogue answered, grinning a gap-toothed grin. "We stab lots." he crouched, then slowly advanced into the battle, trying to remain low and undetected. Watching the battle, he sought an opening - and then took the chance. Charging forwards, he ran up behind a Dwarven warrior, digging a knife into his back. The Dwarf shouted out in pain, before a second blade finished him off.
"Here I come, for the horde! Whoosh!" The Tauren added, leaping into battle next to him. With a single massive blow, he sent a Human Paladin reeling under the force of his charge. Before the man could retaliate, a second swing flattened him, sending him crashing to the blood-stained ground.
"What are you lily-livered weaklings doing here?" The Orc Shaman shouted out in the middle of the battle. "I told you to stay back and not do anything!"
"I'm helping!" The Rouge cheerfully replied, waving.
"Well-" He grunted as he ducked another blow. "Go help somewhere else! We don't need you up - aaah!"
An arrow struck him, lodging in one shoulder. Spinning around, the Rouge could see the same Hunter form before, looking a little worse for the wear but still clearly alive and well despite that. "You steenky little no good living breathing-" The rouge began, raising his rifle, only to have the Orc shove him aside.
"I'll take him! You don't do anything!" He shouted, then roared ash he charged into battle, lighting crackling across his hands. Moments later, the rest of his line peeled back, tied up with fresh alliance troops in the middle of the battleground and seemingly forgetting the enemy stronghold.
"Uh..." The Tauren began, then called out. "What about us? What should we-"
"Don't do a - aaaah! My pancreas!" The Orc yelled back. "Don't... do... anything!"
There was a pause as the three of them watched the Horde line begin to waver, their formation breaking up into smaller clumps as its warriors fought their battles against the alliance troops. "But-"
"But nothing!" He continued. "Don't do a - my spleen - a thing! Just stay there or else you’ll loose us the - aaaha! Internal Bleeding II!"
"Umm..." They looked around. "Well... maybe we could go and take the enemy stronghold?" The Tauren offered.
"Sounds fun! Lets do it!" The rogue replied.
"Hoho! To action!" The Tauren finished, running to the now open front gate of the Sentinel Stronghold. The rogue lurched along behind him, daggers at the ready, while the Troll Priest followed up the rear.
"Don't you think we should go help them?" She asked.
"He said no do nothing!" The rogue replied. "So we no help him. If he want help, he should not have told us to no do nothing!" He angrily spat as he entered the fortress. "Stupid stinky orcs..."
"We're in!" The Tauren called out. "I think their command center is- aaah!" he was knocked off his feet by a blast if icy energy that slammed into his chest, sending small particles of frozen water flying. The Tauren crashed to the floor, unconscious or even dead form the blast. Looking up, the Rogue could see the source of the attack - a gnome, standing in the middle of the hallway, dressed in wizardly robes.
"You steekly little-" He shouted leaping at the diminutive attacker. "I spork you but good! Spork!" The gnome deftly ducked his swing, however, leaping backwards as he let off another spell. A wave of ice washed over the rogue, freezing him in place. "What the - you steenky little-"
The Gnome replied by grinning back, then cackling in a not-entirely-sane way. A ball of energy built up in his hands, clearly in preparation for a large spell.
"All right you primitive spruehead, listen up!" The rouge called back. While he couldn't move form where he was, his hands were still free. "This is my broom stick!" With a flourish, he pulled out one of his hand-made rifles, complete with crude scope. Swinging it around, he opened fire on the mage just as he let go his spell.
There was a deafening crack and a sizzle of arcane energy. The pair of them flopped to the ground, the gnome dead or unconscious and the rouge nearly there. As he began to black out, two things caught his attention.
The first was the Troll, running past him into the now-defenseless command center.
The second, moments later, was the sounds of victory horns.