The sun rose over a shattered town.
Hearthglen, once a quiet little
village in northern Lordaeron, was in shambles. The outer wall, once
a seven foot tall wooden structure, was now just a pile of twigs in
some places. Outside were the shambles of hastily constructed guard
towers, little more than piles of wood and masonry for two or three
riflemen to stand on. A fire ravaged the interior buildings, a fire
that had started at the Rooster and spread while the soldiers of
Arthas and the town militi

I
think it’s safe to say everyone involved in this is about to have a
very, very bad day.
Malles
glanced out the window. Most of what he saw was darkness. Since the
city was under attack, no one was around to light the lampposts
lining the streets and roads. Malles couldn’t understand that. If
his town were under assault, he’d make sure everything was well
lit, so the defenders could see where they were going.
Then
again, the darkness meant that the enemy could not see what they were
doi

Malles jerked awake. He immediately
stood up and gazed out the window, cursing himself for sleeping. The
axe lay next to him as he checked the deserted streets for any signs
of danger. Earlier he had heard moans and seen flashes of orange
light, but now it was all quiet. He went into the bedroom to check on
his mother and sister. They were both asleep, lying next to assorted
dinner plates and wooden utensils.
A knock on the door made him jump a
mile. He grabbed the axe and ran to the door, press

It was a nightmare.
From The Rooster came six of them,
villagers just infected by the plague. They charged out into the
evening streets and attacked everyone within reach. They did not
discriminate. Male or female, old or young, none were safe from their
insatiable hunger. For that was what they were after. Every person
they attacked was torn apart, ingested in a feeding frenzy. And much
to the terrified onlookers’ surprise, the victims with relatively
intact bodies got back up within minutes,

Malles hid himself behind an oak
tree upon spying his target. The buck was grazing just down the hill,
back facing him. Malles turned around and motioned franticly. Bobby
carefully made his way through the brush towards him, dwarven rifle
slung over his shoulder. Malles pointed around the tree. “Found
one,” he whispered.
Bobby was taller than even Malles,
and much better built. Bobby held a finger up to his lips, making
Malles turn red. Malles was nearing an age that many considered the
age

Malles leapt on top of the stump and
surveyed my battlefield. The nefarious orcs were regrouping along the
hill over yonder. The brutes snarled and roared, swinging their axes
through the air as they called for his blood. But they were no match
for Malles Mikkal, the most powerful paladin to ever bless the ranks
of the Silver Hand.
Malles jumped down and charged them
all. One hundred orcs raced towards him. One hundred orcs would die
this day. He was fearless, running straight through their ran