Alright mates!  Hows it going?

In todays video, we're starting a new series.  Of Blood and Honor by Chris Metzen.  Its a shorter book so it shouldn't take 6 months this time.  But as usual, I shall
gradually make my way through it chapter by chapter and then put the supercut out at the end.  So lets go!

(Title: A Clash of Arms)

Lord Paladin Tirion Fordring was currently making his way through the tranquil Hearthglen Woods atop his stallion, Mirador.  This was his happy place - he absolutely loved coming here to hunt.
To be alone with his thoughts, in the crisp country air.  Rather than being confined inside his keep doing paperwork and having brain trust meetings.  

Unfortunately, opportunities to get out here and hunt were few and far between these days.  Now that he was in his 50s.  And the governor of Hearthglen.

He wasn't a bad governor.  The people respected him.  His name and deeds were honoured throughout the entire Kingdom of Lordaeron.  His keep, Mardenholde, was a centre of bustling commerce
and trade for the surrounding region.  The citizens of Hearthglen took great pride in the fact that Mardenholde's walls had never fallen to invaders.  Not even during the darkest days of
the Second War.  But in recent weeks, Tirion's keep had become a little bit overrun by travelling dignitaries.  And respresentatives from the various nations of the Alliance.  All passing
through on their super secret and important diplomatic errands.

The Lord Paladin had noticed a sense of growing tension among them all.  And suspected they were each carrying dire news for the ears of the Alliance High Council.  They were certainly
tight lipped; not sharing any details with him personally.  But Tirion was no fool.  He'd served the Alliance for 30 years.  Only one thing could cause emissaries to be so bloody nervous.
War.  War was returning to Lordaeron.

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It had been nearly twelve years since the last one against the Orcish Horde had ended.  A lot of people died.  A lot of kingdoms fell.  Tirion had lost a number of good friends himself.
The Alliance had rallied at the eleventh hour and somehow pulled a victory out of their ass but it came with a heavy price.  Almost an entire generation of young men had given their lives to
ensure mankind would never be slaves to savage overlords.

After the war, the battered and leaderless Orc clans had been rounded up.  Placed in internment camps.  As a precautionary measure, each camp was policed by entire regiments of knights
and footmen but... for some strange unknown reason the Orcs had become quite docile as time had passed.  No longer raging with bloodlust... they all seemed to have gone into some strange
communal stupor.  Lot of theories floated about over this.  Was it because of inactivity?  Lack of exercise?  Were they not getting enough carbohydrates?

But Tirion didn't give a shit.  He'd seen their brutality firsthand.  Absolutely nothing was going to convince him that the Orcs had changed.  As far as he was concerned they were jerks,
the lot of em.

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Now Tirion prayed every night that conflict would never endanger his people again.  Somewhat naively,  considering he's a character in a franchise called Warcraft but he doesn't know that.  
He had a young son to worry about.  The last thing he wanted for Taelan was for the little bastard to witness or experience the horrors of war.  Because there were far too many kids
in this world that already had.  Far too many orphans that were now cold and disassociated with everything.  Certainly not something he wanted for his own boy.

If the Orcs were foolish enough to rise up again, Tirion was willing to do whatever it takes to stop them.  Twas his duty.  He may not have been born a noble but his honour and enthusiasm
had earned him the rank of Knight at the tender age of 18.  He'd served as a knight with undying loyalty to his king.  Which in turn gained him the honour of standing with Uther the 
Lightbringer and being annointed one of the first Paladins.  Hand-picked he was, by Archbishop Alonsus Faol.  To become a living vessel of the Holy Light.  Serving not just as warriors, 
leading the fight against the vile forces of darkness... but also as healers.  Curing wounds and diseases and stuff.  They'd well and truly turned the tide of the second war.  if it weren't 
for them, humanity might have not survived.

...............................................................change scene again again.......................................................

But that's enough exposition.  Tirion pulled on his mounts reins and stopped to get his bearings.  He'd wandered a little bit further than he'd intended to... after graciously thinking
about all of those things so that the audience is up to speed and we can get the story started.  He wasn't lost.  He knew these woods like the back of his hand.  But there were no
outposts this far out.  At least not manned ones anyway.  So he deftly turned Mirador around and off they went... returning from whence they came...

However, as the Paladin arrived at an old abandoned guard tower... something caught his eye.  Strange tracks.  So he jumped off his mount and gave them a little inspection.  And very
quickly realised that these tracks were not only fresh. But also a bit too big to have been left by a man.

TF- "...Orcs..."

Hearthglen's borders were secure.  And Orcs weren't exactly known for their subtlety. There was no way that a group of them could just wander about out here undetected. Yet... 
these were definitely Orc tracks...

So, Tirion unsheathed his sword... moved as stealthily as he could.  And entered the tower.  And soon enough, discovered a small, makeshift fire pit.  And a ragged, patchwork bedroll.
Bastards had been squatting!  That's outrageous.  But that was all the evidence Tirion needed.  It was time to head back to Mardenholde and gather his men.  Butt...
as he exited the tower... he immediately found himself face to face with the culprit.  

The gargantuan Orc seemed just as startled as the Paladin.  Dropping its bundle of firewood.  It had an axe which it was currently reaching for but there was something a little bit
different about this orc.  It had been a while since Tirion had seen one but there was an aged weight to its stature.  And quite a few wrinkles around its eyes.  Great - a seasoned veteran.
Potentially more dangerous than any Orc Tirion had ever faced before.  

The two continued to stare at each other for a bit longer.  Sizing each other up.  Until eventually... Tirion lunged forward.  However... it became apparent pretty quickly that they were
both evenly matched.  In terms of tactics and stamina.  So it wasn't long before they both needed a bit of a rest.

More staring then occurred.  More sizing each other up.  Was that a smile on the beasts face, Tirion wondered?  He had to admit; this Orc was different than any he'd faced before.  Every
other Orc he'd encountered had rushed forward with reckless abandon but this one showed finesse.  And a remarkable amount of self-control.

The two then clashed again, attacking and parrying and blocking and all of that sort of thing - butt... an expertly placed strike then caught the Orc off balance - allowing Tirion
to follow up and slash the creatures thigh.  The old Orc grunted as it slammed down to the ground... but then blinked in astonishment as his human foe backed off...

TF- "I'm a Paladin.  A knight of the Silver Hand.  Butchering a fallen foe in single combat is unquestionably dishonorable..."

Tirion than motioned for the Orc to get up and nodded in assurance.  So the beast did.  And once up on his feet, the creature raised a clenched fist to its heart.  And did a little chest bump
thing.  Was that a salute, Tirion thought?  Certainly no savage Orc had ever saluted him in battle before.  What the bloody hell was going on?

For a third time, the two of them surged forward.  And flailed their arms about at each other for a bit.  Only this time, twas the Orc that gained the upper hand.  Forcing Tirion back inside
the tower and slicing the old Paladins arm in the process.  Tirion reacted with a slice of his own; cutting the Orcs hand and forcing the beast to drop his axe.  But as Tirion tried to move
in and end this duel once and for all... the Orc grabbed a wooden beam and swung it wildly...

And missed.  The Beam smashed into a rickety wall.  And before either of them could do anything about it - The ceiling gave way and collapsed.

Some time later...

Tirion woke... surrounded by timber and stone and dust.  His body was mostly numb but he could still feel an immense pressure upon his chest.  Fantastic - he was pinned down.  And since he'd
lost quite a bit of blood from the axe wound in his arm... he wasn't exactly jam-packed full of strength to lift a beam off himself at the moment.  He then realised he was actually in 
quite a lot of pain.  So much so, he could already feel himself starting to pass out again.  And the last thing Tirion saw before losing consciousness... was a pair of very large, green 
menacing hands reaching for him