Life of an Archer

The battle raged like a thunderstorm in front of him. A sea of steel and flesh, blood and sweat being exchanged as sword clashed with sword, shield stopped axe, and hammer crushed armour. The orchestra of the battlefield followed no set tune, it was made up as it went. The only beauty to be found, was in the stories that’d commemorate the commanders, and forget the nameless infantry who died to grant them their honours. And here he was, staring at it all from atop the blue tiled roof, like a solitary cliff in a maelstrom.

Such was the life of an archer. On the high ground overlooking the carnage. Several other buildings dotted the cityscape of Andorhal, more burning ruins than buildings left standing. Whether the city became like this in the current conflict, or the one before that, or the one even before that, he cared not for. Hoisting his bow he let loose another shot towards a wolf like monstrosity, this one wearing a hat… As if a hat made it any less a beast he thought with no small amount of disdain.

“TAL ANU’MEN NO SIN’DOREI!”

The cry of a kinsman, a brother in arms rung through the chaos, a cacophony of voices let loose their own battlecries, some elvish, some in Common, Dwarvish, Darnassian, there was even one that preached about how he and his kin should join her in the rift. Disgusting. It was at this point every fiber of his body screamed for him to hit the deck, and so he did, even as the tell tale thundering of a rifle, and a shot sailing over head. Gunpowder was effective, on could not deny, but it came with the disadvantage of being as subtle as one particularly crass human Death Knight on the field today. With nigh a thought, he rolled off the roof, using the wall to cover from where he head the shot thundering from, signalling for his fellow rangers to do the same, no point in attempting to scream louder than an entire battlefield in a vain attempt to get their attention.

Peeking from his cover he took note of his assailant, a dwarf, scowling at the prospect of fighting another stunted mountain dweller he took note of the distance. About fifty yards, uphill. Damn. Carefully he prepared an arrow, infused with the arcane might his people were rightfully feared for. Unleashing the arrow towards the shorter… Creature he ducked behind cover again. This was going to be a long day were his thoughts, even as a shot tore into the corner of the building, sending splinters of wood and dried clay everywhere.

With a sigh he pushed forward, sending another arrow towards his foe’s cover, he himself sprinted towards the fallen remains of another building. Stay moving, stay alive. This was the life of a Sniper on the battlefield.