A/N: Egged on by Smithy's outrageous lies, I've written the start to chapter two. Hurrah on my behalf, it makes me happy ^_^ I've also finished chapter one, which is updated now. If you didn't finish it, go back and do that first. It's not really necessary, just. . .Proper. You won't get confused later if you don't read that decorative descriptive bit I added.

This chapter's for Azrael, because when I asked him what colour a Mage's robes are, he said "Duh, purple."

Chapter 2

"Come on men! Put your backs into it! Attack the damned things!! They're Orcs!" Krass groaned as his young recruits made another pathetic assault on their assigned barrels.

Krass had never considered himself a great landmark of war tactics, but he knew where he stood in a warriors' world. He'd had his better days, he knew – he had recently passed his fiftieth winter, and had to keep reminding himself the fifty. . .wasn't that old. Sure, his superiors had told him that he should take a well earned break from the action, which he'd gladly accepted. There were fresh, young recruits to take his place on the battlefield, which had left him to the training and commanding.

What did they know of war, though? Most of these 'soldiers' had never been in a battle before – the last real war had been near since a decade over, back when most of the boys had been just. . .well, boys. These recruits had probably never seen a fellow man die, save by old age or disease. Krass had lost most of his more experienced men at the recent failure at Grinhel.

Those damned Orcs. . .

They were like. . .A vermin that just couldn't be shaken. Damned Orcs. They brought all sorts of disease, spread like wildfire and generally destroyed the world around them. No wonder they were demanding more land than they already had.

Lordaeron's forces had been more unprepared for ever, at the battle of Grinhel. Krass' footmen had mowed down the front line of Orcish Grunts within a few seconds, but as soon as the Headhunters and Berserkers had been alerted, it had been chaos. Never had Krass seen anything as unnerving as that – hundreds of trolls, all lined up along the embankment. They threw their axes and spears as one, their amazing strength powering their crude yet effective weapons, impeccable aim sending them straight into his mens' weakspots – their eyes, their necks, elbows and knees. The Lordaeron forces, stuck in a mass of Orcish bodies – plus some unfortunate members of their own side – had no ways of retaliating or even defending themselves against the ranged attack.

The entirety of the small army present at Grinhel that day had been slaughtered in a matter of minutes.

Krass was beginning to come around to the idea of calling in foreign troops. Although his new recruits were enthusiastic and had been through all the required training. . .

Well, Krass just hoped that this Lord Azrael's plan worked, otherwise they'd all be Orc-food.