Images. Part 3.

Violence.


Gharb approached the troll from behind, strongly grabbed his tusk and with one swift movement placed a bloody smile on his throat, from one pointy ear to another. Troll, choking with his dark blood, lifelessly fell on the ground.

Gharb peered at one troll priestess that walked out of the stone column. She seemed pleased but it lasted just for a moment. Then she became as usual cold and distant.

Rogue examined his hand - it was healthy. Well, as healthy as dead hand can ever be. He gripped hand in the fist several times - the pain was gone completely. Gharb grinned and slightly nodded to the priestess, thanking her for the enchantment.

Move! - commanded the priestess. Out of the trees came several small squads of orcs, trolls and several undead. United to support each other and defeat mighty enemies, they used to work together even despite some awarness to each other.

How unusual... i kill trolls because... some trolls think those ones are 'wrong'. I wonder if they think the same about me and... the Scourge. - Gharb glanced at the small army - The Old Lordaeron, Gurubashi Empire... Orcs of the Red Blade... all of them have their own reason to support each other at this moment. At this very moment in Zul'Gurub they trust each other, depend on each other even if their major goals are... different.

Gharb saw how a mighty, somehow 'box-shaped' orc rogue masterfully eleminated the next troll patrol. Oznack was a skillfull rogue and a wise one. Gharb saw how Axarath, a cunning and elusive warlock, casted his spells and was sending his demon to tear apart clearly overgrown beast snakes. Behind them there were standing several troll priests, healing the wounds and murmuring their magic sentences.

"Why do they let me fight with them?.. it looks... strange. Do they really need my skills and blades? Barely... one organization, a team is much better than some lonely rogue, no matter how skilled he is." - Gharb sighed to his thoughts and tried to avoid them - there was too much work to do, but his mind insisted on questions. He was moving through the jungles, wet because of the water, falling down from huge leaves - it was raining the night before. Approaching the next troll guard tower, to scout the area and count their numbers, so the team could assasinate them without making unwanted noise.

"That priestess... Mischa. She is a mighty and wise leader. But... she has her own attitude to everything." - Gharb cackles sadly - "I bet she tolerate undead presence just because she has to, she needs our help. Mine and The Old Lordaeron. And, perhaps, it's the same with the Old Lordaeron as well... and Orcs..."

Gharb noticed another troll walking through the jungle as if he'd heard Gharb's movement. He sat down and hid in the leaves and high grass, preparing to ambush the victim.

"They have a reason to fight here... but do I? My Mistress? No... She doesn't need this. I like to kill? Yes, but... it's not enough. My will to help The Horde?"

Troll came closer and Gharb jumped out of the jungles, stabbing the knife in his chest. Gharb grinned... it was so precise, so masterfully done - the blade pierced troll's flesh and ripped his lungs, leaving plently of strength to live for some minutes and suffer in agony, but not enough to resist or make any sound. Gharb sat down near the beated troll and calmly looked into his eyes full of hatred and pain. He chuckled.

"The Horde... I don't care about The Horde. I got enough backstabs and bruises from so-called heroes and regular soldiers... I help them..." - Gharb shifted eyes and peered at the hordies, standing behind him - "...because I want to. It is... fun."

He grinned to this sudden answer. It felt it was the answer he was looking for. Gharb turned to the bleeding troll - insane grin was playing on the rogue face. He twirled the dagger and stabbed it in the troll head, growling:

FUN!