Throwing Axeman

In the clang and hiss of Ironforge’s fortress-walls, the Throwing Axeman practices the arc of steel and thunder. He stands at the rampart’s lip, wind slicing his cuirass, claymad axe in hand. With a grunt, he lets it fly—silver-edged, spinning once, twice, whirling towards attackers.   The Axemen then barrel through crowds, clearing paths for their smaller soldiers. Picking up their thrown axes from bodies that dot the battlefield.