An Escapade in Silverwing Hold

Silverwing Hold was quiet. The blue lanterns flickered softly, and the stones were empty of echoes. Even the distant sounds of battle in the violent Gulch were nearly gone, dispelled by the warm breeze that blew through the grey halls. Outside, the trees rustled, and in this sanctuary the world seemed calm. Only the bloodstains found in between the stones in the floor and splattered on the walls betrayed the violence that occurred in this place.

One Orc snuck through the building softly, his armor barely clanking as he carefully maneuvered through the halls.He peered down into the flag room below him, scanning it’s walls for any Alliance, before hefting himself over the edge of the balcony and landing on the floor with a rough grunt. His coarse black hair swung into his face as he fell into a deep crouch with an ugly growl, tensed and ready for an attack. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he grunted again and sheathed his sword, turning to approach the glowing Sentinel’s flag. His green skin looked sickly as the white light of the flag was cast over him. He came to rest in front of it, grinning malevolently and his beetle-like eyes sparkling as he licked his lips.

“This gets easier and easier every day,” he rasped, reaching out a thick, scarred hand to pluck the flag from it’s place. “Stupid Night Elves.” He balanced the flag in his hands, nodding in satisfaction as he turned to leave.

He stepped out from the alcove and into the room, before freezing at the sound of a bow creaking. He glanced around, searching for the source of the sound and curling his lip above his fangs in trepidation. His neck prickled, and when he was unable to identify the noise’s location, he shook his head, greasy braids twisting. He growled, stomping from the flag room and flicking his eyes over the hallway. His armor grew slick with nervous sweat as footsteps  echoed through the halls ominously. He swung around, his sword drawn, glaring at the empty flag room behind him.

“Come out!” he yelled, shifting his grip on the sword. He frowned as they faded and no one came into his view. Grumbling, he turned back around and lumbered from the hall and towards the battlefield.

“Damn Night Elves,” he cursed. The light of the magical lanterns flickered eerily, and he started to walk faster, flexing one hand over his sword. A haunting laugh rang through the building, and the Orc froze, his eyes narrowing. A soft fall of paws on the ground caught his attention, and he turned in time to catch sight of a tall Night Elf with dark green hair cocking her bow at him, and a grey cat launching himself at the Orc’s face. With an angry yell, he raised his sword to cut up at the cat as it sprang at him. It hissed, twisting so the sword bit into it’s shoulder while it fell heavily against him. The feline knocked him over, and the pair tumbled together as the cat’s huge fangs tore into the Orc’s chest. Screaming in rage, he bashed the cat away from him, crimson staining his silken fur, and staggered to his feet. The hall span around in his eyes, and he blindly charged towards the Hunter. Her bow twanged sharply, and an arrow sunk into his shoulder with a sickening thunk. He roared in pain, his voice cracking, stumbling before ripping the quarrel from his armor. As he turned to resume his pursuit, another bolt landed in his chest, and then another in his side. He sank to his knees, his body going weak as he gasped and moaned in agony, his dark blood staining the floor beneath him. He watched the Night Elf stalk towards him, hooking her bow over her back and unsheathing her dagger. She laughed as he weakly lurched towards her with his sword, and she kicked it to the side our of his hand, watching him fall face first onto the floor. She walked around him slowly, cockling her eye as his body shuddered with a weak cough. She gracefully leaned down and pulled his head up by his hair, sneering as he cried out softly.

“No reason to be nervous,” she whispered in his ear, sliding the flat of her thing blade over his neck as his eyes grew wide with fear and he chocked on his own dark blood that seeped over his cracked lips. “Us Night Elves don’t know anything.” Her dagger twisted and dug into his neck, neatly slicing the bulging throat in half. The bleeding corpse fell to the ground again as she released her grip on him, landing slickly in the growing puddle of blood.

Calmly, she wiped off her dagger on his rough shirt and rooted around in his pockets from anything worth keeping. Finding nothing, she snorted, straightening up and calling her cat to her who had been licking his shoulder a few feet away, and frowned. “Damn it! We’re going to need a healer.” She drew her nails through the soft fur on the top of his head and smiled slightly as he purred up at her.

“Come on,” she whispered, snatching the flag from the dead Orc’s body and shaking it out. She admired it’s shimmering colors before looking back at the flag room.

“Let’s go put this back.”


~ by riththewarluid on November 8, 2010.

3 Responses to “An Escapade in Silverwing Hold”

  1. Aye, i am glad I’m not an orc! Excellent visual writing.

  2. […] Tripia, where once more she runs into conflict over her strong hatred of violence. If you have read this story about Tripia, you’ll know that she has no qualms whatsoever when it comes to blood and gore. […]

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