"Stay in the camp at night."
That was the only warning that Torgal Legbreaker received from his veteran peers.
One of the many fresh-faced recruits brought over to the forests of Silverpine by Orgrimmar, the young orc was eager to prove himself as a suitable candidate for the front lines of Pandaria.
And much like other young orcs, Torgal was also eager to seek bloodshed wherever he found the opportunity to cause it. Beyond the Greymane Wall, the Horde still found itself battling the largely weakened but resolute Gilneas Liberation Front.
Well, to be more accurate, it was the Forsaken and a token force of what Torgal considered to be the -true- Horde, but he cared very little for that. In the end, what choice did the harpy of the Undercity have but to serve Hellscream or be crushed by him?
It did become very boring though, all the way up here in Silverpine, seemingly unable to get a chance at any glory or honor that could be had in Pandaria.
So, if everyone was so adamant and stalwart, why was it always so quiet as they slept in the camp? Nobody ever vanished or anything to that effect, and as far as Torgal was concerned, the humans of Gilneas, cursed or not, were just that; humans. Humans were weak. Humans were worthless. That they looked and occasionally acted as wolves made no difference; Hellscream's Horde would cut them down all the same.
He'd never really seen one before though, these so-called worgen. Where were they...? The Forsaken had mentioned attacks, but as soon as their unit set foot on the shore, they vanished.
One night, Torgal decided to find out just why the sergeant was so adamant about staying in camp. Long after everyone had gone to sleep, the young recruit quietly gathered his weapons and armor and slinked past the night watchman sitting at his post. It was fairly dark tonight, with the moon only barely peaking out between the timbers and clouds.
Feeling quite satisfied with himself, Torgal made his way carefully down a shadowy hillside and sat upon a stump.
And he waited.
If it was the sergeant's boot or the ground hitting his face first, but Torgal soon found he had apparently fallen asleep. He simply met baleful red eyes, looking up into the eyes of his Sergeant, Korgan Rageblood.
"Just what do you think you're doing, Grunt...?" Korgan was a much older orc, a grizzled veteran of wars past. His hair was long and tied in traditional braids, indicating his was a storied past; well, this, and the numerous scars across his face.
"Uh." Torgal was finding himself only able to utter that single dumb word to Korgan, kicking himself as the baleful gaze above only heightened in intensity.
"I was watching the moon, sir."
The sergeant cracked a tree-trunk arm against the young grunt's face in a backhand, and again when Torgal tried to enunciate in pain. "Keep your voice down, idiot kid...! Do you have any idea why I told you not to go into the woods at night? Huh? DO YOU?"
"I-" Torgal would have tried another lie, but the glowering red hues told him that was a very, -very- bad idea. "... I wanted to see why myself, sir."
Korgan shook his head, grumbling under his breath. "Always the recruits like you, doing stupid things like this... Get up, Grunt, and go join the rest of your squad over a-"
The nearby light of the campfire suddenly gasped out with a shudder.
What soon followed afterward set both the sergeant and the grunt to a razor's edge as they heard a blood-curdling scream from the up over the hill. A man's voice, but high pitched, and low bass. An elf or a goblin.
Even for orcs, the sound of somebody shouting in agony wasn't any less the opposite of soothing.
"That was from the camp...! Sergeant, we should go-"
"Quiet." Korgan's voice was hoarse as he whispered the order, looking around the dark timbers. Of course, the moon had to be almost completely obscured, rendering any effort to search the woods with sight alone useless.
"Sir...?" Torgal repeated again, this time far more quietly. The sergeant's order had been like a tense snapping of fiber, forceful and fleet.
Korgan rumbled with a grunt, bringing his great-axe to bare. "Remember what I told you when you stepped on shore, Grunt? 'Stay in the camp at night.' This is why:
We're being hunted, Grunt. Stay sharp, and do -not- go off on your own."