OOC: This is an attempt to explain Sinderion's absence. I'm not sure if I'll expand on it more.
Three Months Ago…
Sinderion rummaged through the human fortress for food. It’d been quite a long time since the Grin had been on the march, and the Alliance seemed content to hide in their ramparts while hunger and disease thinned the Dread Horde’s numbers.
“Ale… ale… bread… at least I think that’s what it is,” Sinderion muttered to himself as he sifted through the food racks in the mess hall. Suddenly he heard the loud clank of cans behind him.
Sinderion turned around to face a small group of humans; two of them stared at him from behind another food rack while their comrades sifted through the food behind him. One of them already had his rifle ready.
Sinderion’s eyes filled with fear. Was this it? How’d he been so careless? Killed in a mess hall of all places.
“Was sollten wir tun?” asked the human not holding a rifle, turning to his armed companion.
“Er trägt einen Angst-Horde Tabard,” said another human, the entire group now aware of his presence and gathering around to discuss.
Sinderion cursed in Thalasian as he ravaged his memory for anything in Common he still remembered.
“Keine Zwiebeln! Hallo!” blurted Sinderion, the confused look of the guard assuring him that these words were indeed not “Don’t shoot.” One even struggled to restrain laughter.
“Should I put my hands up? No, no, they may shoot me if I move my arms,” thought Sinderion, attempting to figure a way out of the situation.
“Er erhält gerade Nahrung,” mentioned another human.
Finally, the armed human slowly lowered his weapon, and Sinderion, holding the supply of food, nodded and walked out of the mess hall and into the other room, his eyes wide and body drenched with sweat. The humans looked at each other and readied their weapons just in case.
“What the hell happened to you?” asked a Blacktooth Orc, looking up at the surprised Sinderion.
“Alliance,” said Sinderion, still quite shocked.
The small entourage of Blacktooth Grin soldiers quickly stood and reached for their weapons.
“Wait. They didn’t open fire,” hissed Sinderion.
“What, why?” wondered a Blacktooth Orc.
“Maybe they’re really Defias?” said a Forsaken Mage.
“Well… they’re like us. They’re probably just hungry,” said Sinderion, talking to the floor more than anyone else.
“My back’s covered in sweat,” Sinderion finally said with a chuckle, shaking off the near-death encounter.
Though the others were willing to simply note the Ranger as lucky and move on, Sinderion seemed in a dazed state. He’d forgotten. He’d fought side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder with humans many times in the past.
He’d forgotten that they were not backstabbing beasts, though a good number were. They knew pain, fear, anger and love just as much as he. Upon thinking of them in this new light, Sinderion collapsed in depression onto a small crate, dismissing his squad to go join up with the main force.
Was this war even worth fighting? Granted, it was in vengeance for the slaughter of innocent Horde, but what good is retribution if it will only provoke more retaliation? How many fathers had he killed? How many mothers? Children? He didn’t know; until then he had never asked himself that question.
He thought of his own family, pondering whether the humans had families themselves. It was then he sighed; he couldn’t continue this. Innocent life is always lost in war, but what good is burning down towns in revenge for your own burnt towns? Thrall’s way wasn’t right, but neither was this.
He put up his hood and veil and made his way to the top of the human fort, leaping off into a nearby tree and running along until he had disappeared from sight. He then let forth a sharp whistle and the large armored worg, Kaiser, ran to the tree’s base. He leapt on him and scratched the beast’s ears as it took off. This was indeed the first and only time he had deserted a battlefield, but this was a different situation. He had a lot to dwell upon.