Zar'hn always knew how throw an axe.

His earliest memories of his father and him hunting in the misty jungles of Stranglethorn Vale, weaving effortlessly through the trees, hurling shards of sharpened stone and taking down prey with blinding accuracy, had given him a skill that he prospered with. It was tangible, even physical to Zar'hn, the values his father had woven into him to create the tapestry of life, with threads of good morals at its core. He knew where to cut a beast, and could find a use for each part of its body, from nose to tail. Stranglethorn life was hard upon any creature: In a place where a basilisk could turn you into a brilliant diamond statue, or a raptor that would chase you down and devour you, accuracy and speed were prized as gifted traits, and the nomadic Trolls knew the jungles back to front because of that. They knew that a crocolisk has a hard time opening its cavernous jaws if it is trapped shut, and which snakes provide a variety of horrible diseases to their victims. All this collective knowledge funneled down into Trolls like Zar'hn, who knew exactly how to survive in such a inhospitable enviroment, and, if anything, prosper because of it.

He was a typical Jungle Troll: strong but slight, to move better between the low hanging branches and rough undergrowth. He had long pointed ears that allowed him to pick up on danger before it tore him in half and swallowed him. A pair of two-toed feet propelled him forward with speed, and strong forearms allowed him to hurl spears and axes with blinding speed and precision.

But he had been told of new creatures that confused him to no end. Warlord Ju'un, of the blessed Amani empire, had drummed Zar'hn and his fellow Jungle Trolls into his army, with promises of fame, honour and security. He dared not argue with Ju'un; he was a fearsome creature, and could scare the scales off a basilisk. He was a purebred Forest Troll, a veritable tower of solid musle structure and green skin. From his gnarled, forked twin toes, to his scarlet red mohawk, Ju'un radiated terror, not only from his massive tusks that jutted from his lower jaw,  which could feasibly impale another upstart Troll on them. They curved and barbed, and would not look out of place on a giant mammoth.

He did not mention, for all his fearsomeness, the foes they would be dealing with. Zar'hn had no idea what they looked like, but he knew that he couldn't stop now, saying they were trekking through a mountain range that the Forest Trolls referred to as the Alterac Mountains.

They peaked and towered impossibly high over the rest of the land, with snow topping them and carpeting it. The Trolls had never encountered such conditions before, and several of them died after contracting rapid hypothermia from the temperature change. Even Zar'hn was suffering, his skinny Jungle Troll frame coated in a thick layer of ice from the rampart winds that wept the valley. Icicles began to hang from his long pointed ears and his hair became brittle and stiff.

Even Ju'un, with his muscular frame powering through the snowbanks,  still shook from the immense cold that blew through the peaks.

Zar'hn was lacking sleep. His heavy eyelids tried to seal themselves, but he could prevent it, if only to take another step.

But he was awake enough to notice the glow of the horizon, a warm and longing feeling on his semi-frozen skin.

His brain had only registered, however, that it was the middle of the night.

Blood pumped through his veins, flushed with adrenaline.

They were torches, not sunrise.

"Da warriors!"