(This is his writing, not mine)
The sun had just begun to poke out from behind the horizon that fateful day Uthan crossed the bridge into Durotar. Already, he could tell the day would be unseasonably warm, even for Durotar's barren steppes; his robes were already drenched with sweat, and likely smelled none too pleasant. This concerned Uthan little, however. His goal was finally in sight, after many long weeks of riding, after many long years of training.
He passed the town of Razor Hill, giving the orcish guards a wide berth. He had heard stories of these guards, that one of their means of passing the time was to play a crude game that involved tossing human bones into a small circle. Wincing slightly, he turned north into the canyon. The road that he traveled on looked well traveled, though it was thankfully empty now. The time of his arrival, just after dawn, had been no accident. He had wanted to escape notice as much as possible, and it appeared as though he had. Whispering a muttered prayer under his breath, he rode on.
Finally, the rocks on either side parted, and before him loomed his destination, his goal, his obsession for these past years.
The sight of the Orcish capital alternately appalled and excited him - such barbarism in its design, how it glorified battle, warfare, death - all of these things were so contrary to the Light! And yet... there was an odd beauty to the place, the city built by a former slave who had done so much to restore the Orcs. Every turret, every brick of the city was a symbol of Orcish hopes that they would one day reach their former glory. The dreams of an entire nation, all contained in the construction of a single city.
As he had undertaken his travels, Uthan had come to learn of Orcish history and culture, and as he had, he found himself not only understanding their passions and actions, but even respecting and admiring them as a people. It was this fact that had ultimately led him here this morning, moreso than even the trials and tribulations that faced the Church following the fall of Lordaeron..
"Snap out of it," Uthan muttered to himself. "You have a job to do."
And so he did.
Steeling himself, he took a deep breath. Then.... yelling out his closest imitation of a rallying cry, he dug his spurs into his horse, and charged directly into the waiting city of Orgrimmar.
The job of front guard of Orgimmar is not a very respected position. As more and more Horde warriors are needed for battles in Silithus and the Plaguelands, the majority of the competent Orcish guard in Orgrimmar are tasked with the protection of Thrall. Consequently, the front gates were usually manned by the type of Orc who can barely speak Orcish, let alone show skills with a blade. As the front door guard's job usually consists of a few hours of badgering people who are coming and going, and trying to find a comfortable place to nap with the rest of their time, this arrangement usually works out fine.
However a lone human priest riding full speed through the gates was more confusing to the guards than anything else, and by the time they turned to chase him, yelling out warnings in Orcish, he was already out of range of their weapons.
Turning the corner into Orgrimmar, Uthan knew his goal was just ahead. Gritting his teeth, he rode on, oblivious to everything else. He was almost there.... just about...
"HAHAHAHAHA! DING, MOTHERFUCKERS! 60! WOOOO! WHO'S YOUR DADDY?! SUP PWNT, ORGRIMMAR!?!?!"
A sudden movement out of the corner of Uthan's eye...
"Ha ha ha! An undead rogue! Well, that's new."
"Oh shits, I just respecced Disc/Holy. I'm screwed.
...Time to get out while the gettin's good!"
And as Uthan felt the sickening lurch of his hearthstone, he could only think one thing:
He had just kicked Orgrimmar's ass.
Yes, he dinged 60 by discovering Orgrimmar.