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((Excellent addition, Lahkin.))

(( I wish there was a Like button for posts on the WoW forums :P ))

"This... Dree'jin fellow, he wants our hearts?" Cray asked the Sepha incredulously, "In a literal sense?"

The grim silence that followed was answer enough -- Gentyl may not have known for sure, but she was certain this troll was mad enough to be thinking something along those lines.

He'd never show it, but something about all of this left him... afraid. It was not an emotion Cray was particularly familiar with, even of late with all his other emotions running so high. His mind ran through all of the usual measures for extra security -- no one in Pia traveling alone, doubling up guard duty, reaching out to their allies. These had all worked in the past. Even an offensive defense seemed unlikely to work. But what kind of tactic would permit the Presidium to be harder to find and still perform their duties to the world?

There was none. They were sitting ducks with a mad man on their tails. A mad man who could be anywhere at this point. He knew he'd give his own heart to protect the rest of the order... but how would that save them? How could he do anything to save them?

"That Paladin in Westfall had his heart removed, didn't he?" Cray said slowly, "You don't suppose it was.... maybe he's..." He paused, and shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say the word "collecting". Even less could he consider why.

Then Gentyl made him make a promise. He nodded solemnly. "Of course, I will let you be the one to tell the rest." He paused for a moment, staring at her inquisitively. "You will tell them, won't you?"

((It's very rare when Cray connects dots -- I figured it'd be nice if I gave him a shot at it for once. :P Also... there IS a like button, Dreej. :P))

((Love the writing style. Dree'jin deserves a seat in the Villian Hall of Fame next to The Joker and Darth Vader. >:) ))

((Thanks to Novaclaw for this next bit! Taken mostly verbatim from our RP, though I had to change pieces of it to make it read better.))

Lahkin arrived back in Hearthglen just as the morning watch was being changed. He bid Dustwing farewell and called out for the Sepha, but she was no where to be seen.

He was on duty that day, and it couldn't wait in case Taelanas had his head. Lahkin rewrapped the charm, being careful not to touch it again, and stashed it in his trunk in the tower. Summoning the talbuk spirit to him, Lahkin mounted and took off for his station by the gates.

Someone was waiting there for him. A stone dragon reclined along the path, picking at her teeth nonchalantly and ignoring the looks the other guards gave her. When no one else approached her, Lahkin stepped forward uncertainly. In return, the dragon got up and promptly took his place by the gates like she owned the place.

Lahkin turned back around to face her. "Uh..nice dragon?"

The dragon peered at him sideways. "Hello!"

"You talk!"

The dragon tipped its head the other way, blinking. "I do?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, most odd…though I suppose most dragons DO talk."

"Yes…?"

"Oh yes," said the dragon, ramping up. "Some of them you just can’t get to shut up. Why, there was this one green dragon I knew who just kept going on and on and on and on and on and on..."

"…like you," said Lahkin.

"Me? Oh no, I am quite quiet. Did you hear me walk up? I thought not!"

"I guess so," the paladin conceded.

"Exactly," said the dragon with a knowing nod. "Now, what did you need me for?"

"Need? You approached me."

The dragon watched him with a twinkle of amusement in her eye. "You sure of that? Perhaps you approached me and it only seemed as though I approached you…I mean, you ARE the one pointing inwards while I point out."

Lahkin just stared.

Without waiting for him to reply, the dragon ruffled her wings and ducked her head underneath one of them. "Now! Since you were so kind as to approach me, I have something for you! Could you see this gets returned to the very old warrior?"

"Very…old…warrior…?"

The dragon came up with a very gnawed-on shinguard, and carefully placed it on the talbuk's head. Sagewind went stiff, going cross-eyed to stare at the armor. The dragon didn't seem to notice. "Why, yes! He was old and looked to fly your colors! Dreejin seemed to know him so I figured this should be returned, of course. Only polite, you know!"

"Who’s Dreejin?" Lahkin cut in.

"Oh, he’s just a warlock. Was muttering something about Pia hearts, though really to tell the truth, I paid no attention. He talks about a lot of things, you know! Like muttering about how I kept squirming to screw up the soul well…which by the way was not my fault! He simply had not restocked on souls."

"...Dreejin," Lahkin said, making sure he got the name right. So that was the attacker.

"Well, yes." The dragon held out a wing to about troll height. "Warlock, male, about this tall."

"Is this from him?" Lahkin pointed at the shinguard, watching the dragon carefully.

"Oh, no, that’s from me. The warrior it belongs to put up a good fight so I decided to return it when I was done!"

"Oh."

"He might need it back to fight more! It was fun."

Lahkin reached out for the shinguard with one hand, then winced as it stung. He reached for it with the other. "I’ll tell him."

"Oh, good, good. So! Who are you and who is this?" The dragon stuck her face in the talbuk's, who laid back its ears. With a shake of its head, it dislodged the shinguard and sent it flying. It snorted at the dragon rightfully.

"Uh...I'm Lahkin." said Lahkin, ignoring the talbuk's antics. "This is Sagewind."

Lahkin didn't know whether the dragon had heard him or not. Her attention immediately switched to the flying shinguard, which was followed closely by a flying dragon. Sagewind and Lahkin both watched in surprise as she mantled her wings in triumph. The evil shinguard was slain! She picked it up and held it out to Lahkin proudly.

Lahkin again reached for it with his right hand, then switched hands to grab it. The dragon cocked her head.

"Is something wrong with your hand?"

"I...burned it on something," Lahkin lied.

"Let me see?"

The dragon had that couldn't-be-denied glint in her eye, so Lahkin sighed and pulled off the gauntlet. Parts of his skin were now going black, and the cold air only seemed to make it hurt worse. Lahkin didn't think that was a good thing.

The dragon furrowed her rocky brows and leaned forward to touch his hand with her muzzle. After a few moments, wisps of green energy drained out of every living thing nearby, coalescing on the hand. Lahkin blinked as the dark patches lightened, and he flexed his hand as the pain eased. "Thanks."

The dragon perked up cheerfully. "Yep! Even though you harm nature with your incessant building of permanent things--"

"Er, sorry?"

"--you are still part of it and Elune protects her own!" The dragon paused. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I...don't know."

The dragon snorted and turned her head to peer at him--first one way, then the other. "Humans…you are all so very like calves who haven’t found their hooves for the first time! You bumble about unsure and act surprised when you find something! Look! See! Know!"

"No, that’s…just me," said Lahkin reluctantly.

"No, I see many like you especially when I sneak into Stormwind for fudge! Oh that fudge is good…why do humans get the good things? But then again you don’t have cactus cider…have you ever had cactus cider?"

"No…?" said Lahkin, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

"You should! It’s good, not as good as the fudge though, but still good! Now." The dragon flapped her wings with a snap.

Lahkin's thoughts about Dreejin were interrupted. "Er?"

"Exactly."

"Oh."

"Right!" The dragon watched Lahkin intently. "So what are you?"

"I'm a human?"

"Beyond that," said the dragon, beckoning him on with one of her wings. "I know who you are, where you are, when you are...to ask why you are is pointless, so I ask what!

"A squire?"

"A squire? Is that what you are? To be a squire means to aspire to nothing more!" The dragon shook her wing at him.

"It’s a step along the way," Lahkin said hesitantly. "Isn't who I am what I am?"

"Ah, no, who you are is ephemeral--ever changing! What you are is in your very core and only changes in dire circumstances! A squire is not what you are!"

"I don't know, then," said Lahkin, shifting on Sagewind's back.

The dragon kept going. "To know what you are, you must know who you are, but you do not need to know what to know who. Many never learn their what's but they think know who…and many by knowing who change their who so they truly don’t know! It’s a confused world we life in."

"...indubitably."

"Exactly!"

"Indeed."

The two smiled at each other knowingly.

The dragon tilted her head. "Do you think you can learn who you are?" she asked.

"That should be easy, right?"

"Nope! The who, like I said, is ever-changing and by learning, some change it! Only by truly knowing will you ever know for sure who you are, and then you can set to learning what you are."

"I know who I am," said Lahkin.

The dragon leaned forward and touched his chest just over his heart. "Your soul is white, but your heart is gray. Your who isn’t what you think it is, for even by that sentence it has changed. Are you Lahkin the paladin, Lahkin the nature worker, or simply Lahkin?"

Lahkin gave the dragon an odd look, and then said quietly,"White is the easiest color to write on. I’m a lot of people, I guess, depending on who I’m with."

"And that is part of your problem. You cannot be so many. You must know and be one, or who you are will be lost in the sands…perhaps for good. To lose one’s self is the greatest of losses…It is hard to return, and so must be treasured and nurtured accordingly."

"Not very reassuring," Lahkin grumbled.

"The truth rarely is. Would you rather lose the most precious thing you have because someone reassured you, or hear the truth and protect it?"

"But if it’s always changing, why does it matter?"

The dragon smiled in amusement. "When you have something…and then you do not have something…what do you have?"

"...something else?"

"You can only have something else if you have something at all…if you have something and then you do not have something you have nothing."

"Oh." Lahkin grunted.

"If you lose your who you can not have a what and without a what you can not be!" the dragon finished with a flourish.

"Be what?"

"That is what you must learn." The dragon nodded knowingly, and bumped him lightly with her nose. "To be is to exist. You should think on this! I will find you again soon, and I will ask you again who you are."

Lahkin avoided her gaze, choosing a polite farewell. "Be safe, miss."

The dragon grinned and winked as she readied to take off. "Remember! A who without a what, but no what without a who!"

"Er….right." He ducked as the dragon took off with a whoosh, turning Sagewind around to watch her progress through the sky. Lahkin frowned, and made a mental note to check in with Gentyl after his watch was over.

The paladin looked at his hand. Gentyl, and a healer.

Erelyn grunted as she watched the dragon-not-dragon take off, leaving Lahkin alone with his thoughts. She'd been content to sit perched, hidden in the tree, her keen eyes watching through branch and leaf. The dragon-not-dragon didn't seem to pose any threat, which was fine. She couldn't hear much from up here, but she'd felt none of that blinding sense of danger that overwhelmed her at times. She left them to their discussion.

Her train of thought drifted. She knew she still understood so little about the Light. She was better acquainted with the darkness -- had known its touch all her life. This cloud that hung over Lahkin -- had been over him since she first laid eyes on him -- troubled her. She grunted again and her expression soured. A'dal had a hand in this, she suspected. He was the reason she'd awakened to the Light and the reason she'd come to Stormwind in the first place. Had A'dal known she'd find Taelanas here? Did he anticipate Alelsa's warning?

With a quiet sigh, Erelyn lifted her face to the breeze and closed her eyes. This thing that moved about thieving hearts was more than evil -- it WAS the darkness, pitchy and black -- and Lahkin was meddling. How long before he got in its way?

In Erelyn's eyes, he was as untainted as Daisy ... not that he hadn't been touched by the hand of Darkness, no. More that it had not yet affected him and she meant to see that it never broke him. Every time she looked at him, she saw the future ... a bright one, although she could never quite see it clearly. And she'd vowed, to and because of Kordrion that she would see it through, whatever the price.

She had no illusions about her future.

Opening her eyes, Erelyn shouldered her sword and vaulted out of the tree. She'd trot down to the mill and round up a mustang before approaching the gate. Lahkin had already rejected her convictions once. The less he understood now about her nature, the more she could accomplish. She longed to consult Dustwing ... maybe even Cyrus.

Because they understood the darkness, too.

Black Heart Inertia

The house, Arjah’s home, was finally quiet. The evenings could be a struggle to put four trolls and an adopted blood elf child to sleep. Admittedly, the struggles only began when Dree’jin was present – between Arjah and a full-time tauren maid who lived downstairs, even a small tribe of youngsters could be handled with little difficulty. But when Dree was home...when Dree was home, the household was thrown into a frenzy of activity, and routine was blithely forgotten. There were stick-ball matches that could last hours, block fortresses were built and torn down, Arjah’s dresses were shredded to pieces and remade as costumes, games of tag, wrestling, raptor feeding, stories of the ancient troll empires and much, much more. Dree’s enemies, the Alliance that were hexxed on the battlefield moments before a roaring troll rushed at them with fangs and knives bared, would never recognise him to see him home alone with his family. Even the Horde would have been shocked to discover that Dree’jin was capable of being kind, gentle and nurturing. Nothing was, or ever could be, more important than family. Dree’jin led a violent life, and the troll was acutely aware that, more likely than not, he would eventually be cut down. Life was brutally short. This knowledge only served to enforce the pleasure Dree felt in the company of his family, and served to constantly remind him to never squander any precious moment. They were precious, because they were far too few.

With these thoughts scrambling about the troll’s mind, Dree’jin sat in Arjah’s attic, far above his sleeping family. The shrivelled, black eyes of shrunken heads stared vacantly from high shelves; bundles of smoking herbs hung from the ceiling, giving the attic its ever present tang. Scattered about on a knee-high table, before the troll, was a motley collection of voodoo paraphernalia, ranging from animal body parts to idols and half-formed voodoo dolls. Clutched in Dree’s large, blue, three-fingered hands was a drum. Directly in front of him, on the table, was a bleached troll skull dedicated to Bwonsamdi, the Keeper of the Dead. Dree’jin closed his eyes and chanted in Troll, a lengthy plea to communicate with a powerful Loa.

It may have taken hours. Dree lost track of the passage of time with his focus intent upon reaching out to Bwonsamdi. But the troll was persistent; if he could cut a deal with the Great Spirit everything would be so much simpler. Eventually, Dree’jin became aware of choked, rasping coming from above his head. He opened one eye carefully, tilting his head backward. The shrunken heads, five in total, all glared down at the troll, the dark prunes of their eyes filled with indignation and loathing. The ones whose lips were not sewn shut gulped in air, the air rasping against frayed vocal chords as it exited from the decapitated neck. The troll skull on the table, Bwonsamdi’s offering, twisted to face Dree’jin directly. Its teeth clicked together, an odd counterpoint to the gurgling of the shrunken heads. ‘You call to me, little troll. Not wise, not wise at all. Explain to me why I shouldn’t snatch up your soul and take you back with me to the Other Side.’

Dree’jin felt an unaccustomed chill run down his spine. The armpits of his ceremonial vestments were damp with musky troll sweat. He chose to believe that Bwonsamdi’s presence made the room cold, and that he was sweating because he’d spent so long on his knees, concentrating and straining himself. ‘Great Bwonsamdi, I seek to make a deal. One that will benefit both of us.’

The skull chattered in amusement. ‘And just who are you to offer anything of value? I am weary of the paltry requests of mortals. The last to waste my time in this manner hangs in my banquet hall, his blood a sweet treat for my guests.’

‘I am Dree’jin, of the Skullsplitter Tribe, once a worshipper of Hakkar – ‘

‘Ahh, that explains the stink of death that surrounds you, mortal. It seeps from your very soul.’ The skull seemed to leer. ‘It spreads from every action you make. The consequences reach further than you could possibly understand. Explain to me, why does a servant of the Blood God seek the Keeper of the Dead?’

Dree grimaced. ‘I no longer serve Hakkar – ‘

‘Oh, but you do, mortal. The hatred that consumes you sows chaos and pain that pollutes your fragile little world. You cannot stop it. You do not know how to stop. You may not speak the Blood God’s prayers, but you continue to make him offerings, even if they are unintentional.’

Dree’jin’s lips peeled back around his tusks, as he tried to hold his temper. He didn’t care that he was speaking to a Loa – if he was interrupted mid-sentence one more time, he would snap. ‘I need your assistance, Great Bwonsamdi. I seek to empower my spirit, but to do so, I require the spirits of many, many powerful beings. The task is proving...tricky. If you could grant me the hearts of Sen’jin, and nineteen other powerful trolls, I would be in your debt.’

The skull seemed to consider this. ‘Hearts? The hearts are vessels for the spirits. A clever way for you to drag the spirit back to the flesh, kicking and screaming, at a time of your need. Clever, quite clever, little mortal.’

Dree nodded toward the bleached, talking skull.

‘But you ask for much and offer nothing tangible. Your time to convince me is almost at an end.’

‘Assist me in this, and once I become stronger, I will serve you and only you, Great Bwonsamdi.’ Dree’jin licked his lips nervously. ‘I will bring you a tenfold of the troll spirits you give me.’

The skull chuckled, clicking its teeth together. ‘You lie to me, little mortal. These empty eye sockets see deep into that ragged soul of yours. You aspire to be my equal.’

The troll’s hands twitched toward the knife hanging from his belt. ‘Partners, then.’

The skull’s laughter split the air. The shrunken heads attempted to join in. ‘I admire your gall, little mortal. That, and because you are such a faithful, if indifferent, agent of death has spared your life this evening. However, let me give you a piece of advice – you are nothing more than a worthless, puny mortal barely worth the acknowledgement of the Loa. Your aspirations will never be met. Abandon this path, or else everything around you, everything you love, will be destroyed utterly. Spend what little time you have with your family, before you flicker out and come to stay with Bwonsamdi.’ The skull seemed to leer again, before it went quiet and lifeless once more. The breathing of the shrunken heads was similarly cut short.

Dree’jin roared and flipped the table over, hurling the table’s contents all over the attic. Unsatisfied, he leapt to his feet, ran over and picked up the skull. He smashed it against the wall, again and again and again until it caved in. Splinters of bone exploded over him. Dree didn’t need Bwonsamdi’s assistance – he would slaughter the one hundred and eleven by himself. He would complete his ritual, enter the Spirit World as a Loa and lay waste to Hakkar, Bwonsamdi and whomever dared to stand in his way. And then, when he was finally a true power to be reckoned with, his family would rule over the troll race and their legacy would be assured.

((Mmm. Good stuff. I love it))

Dree'jin was not pleased. Croesan had fought well, if mostly defensively, and it had taken every trick the troll knew to overpower the Pia Presidium paladin. Dree had been so close to adding Croesan's heart to his collection...the human was out cold, lying in the dry, brown grass that choked in Westfall's heat...the troll's hand was gripped around his bonesaw, ready to slice and dice his way through Croesan's chest...

And that was when a reinforcement arrived. A second member of the Pia Presidium, but one that stank of fear. Dree was uncertain - the paladin at his feet was still alive, and more allies were obviously on their way. Swearing heatedly in Troll, Dree'jin charged the second paladin, roaring. Waves of supernatural fear rolled off the troll's body, washing over the young human. Before the paladin could recover, Dree'jin disappeared in a flash of green light, teleporting back to Orgrimmar.

Dree'jin was not pleased. He could still taste Croesan's warm, salty flesh on his long, coarse tongue. The next member of Pia Presidium to cross the troll's path would not be so lucky.

The Heart of a Man

The moonlight shifted dreamily over the white sandy beaches of the Echo Isles. The shadows cast by palm leaves drifted back and forth in the ocean breeze. From a vine choked patch of undergrowth, a pair of yellow eyes looked onward. Not more than ten feet away, where the sparse grass gave way to wet sand and the quiet, murmuring tide, lay a sleeping troll. Sleeping may not have been the correct word – the old troll’s fitful snores and frequent mumblings were active enough to keep the local wildlife at bay. Around the old troll, several discarded fishing poles and crab traps waited patiently for their absent-minded owner. ‘Someone call fer a Docta?’ Hrookhzin asked of no one, except perhaps a patient in his dreams. He rolled over; a fine coat of sand stuck along the side of his face and the arm he had been lying on.

Dree’jin watched all of this patiently. He licked his lips with a long, purple tongue. It would be an understatement to say that Hrookhzin and Dree’jin shared a past. Da Doctas and the Modas il Toralar were frequently at odds with one another over the years, either sharing an uneasy truce for mutual benefit at the better times, or involved in a secret war against each other at the worst. The peak of this secret war had happened many years ago, with Hrookhzin’s death and the Modas il Toralar’s attempts to prevent Da Doctas from resurrecting the old troll, attempts in which Dree’jin played a critical role. Dree recalled driving a knife into Dokarg that day with the vivid clarity of one’s most fondest memories. But of course, in the end Da Doctas had been successful, and Hrook returned to being one of the Horde’s truest heroes and a potential threat to the Modas il Toralar’s interests.

And then, sounding as if it came straight from a ridiculous fairy tale, Arjah discovered that she was in fact Hrookhzin’s daughter. Hrook had hardly been the ideal father in his chaotic youth, sleeping with Arjah’s mother (and if rumours held any truth, many more single mothers were out there) and leaving her to raise a child alone, but upon learning of his role in Arjah’s heritage he immediately opened his arms and welcomed her into his heart. To Dree’jin’s astonishment and eternal chagrin, Hrook declared his love for Dree’jin as well, proudly considering Dree to be his son. Dree’jin watched the old, sleeping troll patiently. Hundreds of thoughts raced through the Hexxer’s teeming consciousness: attacking Hrook with Aziel; shedding blood alongside the old troll healer in Ashenvale, keeping Horde soldiers safe; the first time Hrook had called him son. A particularly large surf crawler scuttled over the sand to inspect the sleeping troll. It idly plucked at Hrook’s wild, white mane of hair before rushing back to the safety of the sea when a fresh spout of unintelligible mumbling broke the quiet.

Dree’jin wanted desperately to wander over to the sleeping Hrook and bash the old troll’s skull in. The reasons behind this were not the result of complex emotions such as pride in finishing what Dree had started, or vengeance for himself and the Modas il Toralar. No, the truth was far simpler. Dree did not, and could never, understand Hrookhzin, and this filled him with fear. Certainly not fear of the old troll himself – a glance at the sleeping Hrook could banish that possibility in a heartbeat. It was the unconditional love that Hrook offered Dree, despite all of the pain he had caused, which made Dree uneasy. In what kind of a world could someone inflict so much suffering and anguish against another, only to have that person turn around and forgive them every misdeed or personal flaw and proudly consider them as a son? The very concept threw Dree’jin into a state of confusion, forcing him to take a closer look at the man he was, a closer look which he didn’t particularly want to take. Hatred and rage had been the dominant forces of Dree’s life for so long he could not remember where such anger came from any longer – it was simply there, and it thrived off his savage nature, demanding other’s pain to satisfy it. He enjoyed the simplicity; it was what gave Dree’jin’s personal world structure and reason. Kill your enemy and revel in your victory. Very straight forward. Hrookhzin’s world was one that was too alien for Dree, and he dared not consider approaching it. It would be far easier to be done with Hrook, and to never look back.

Hrook placidly rolled over in the sand once more. Dree had never doubted that Hrook was indeed Arjah’s father – watching him even now, Dree could make out the dusky, blue-green skin they both shared, the sharp, proud chin and delicately pointed ears. And that was not including the similarities in personality, which ranged from a headstrong stubbornness that could be harder to break through than a mountain, and the wild gleeful spark they both shared in their eyes. Dree’jin sighed, closed his eyes and massaged two fingers against his brow. He could never harm Hrookhzin. Not when the old troll meant so much to Arjah, their children, and maybe – just maybe – even to himself. Not when he saw Arjah every time he looked at the old troll’s face. Hrook was one of the Horde's greatest heroes, and possessed a particularly powerful heart, but even Dree’jin could recognise that this was not an option. Sighing again to himself, Dree slipped out from the undergrowth and wandered slowly to a nearby sand dune. He sat, in the moonlight, and watched over the old troll as he slept, letting the music of the ocean temporarily calm the rage that burned within every fibre of his being.

(( Bravo Dree. Your writing is enjoyable and inspiring to develop Grymm as a character. Looking forward to more.))

A brief interlude


The sand-pit was dug, not too deep, and the coals were smouldering merrily at the bottom of the small pit. Dree’jin eyed the coals critically. ‘Ya, ya, that’s good.’ He nodded to little Ektilia at his side, who seemed transfixed with the glowing coals. ‘We don’t want them too hot, or the fish overcooks, see.’ Alaijen sat across the pit, curiously inspecting the four large snapper fillets spread out on a mat of palm leaves. Slightly younger than his elder sisters, Jin’balah lay sprawled in the sand beside Alaijen, occasionally waving tiny three-fingered hands over the hot coal pit. The sun was still setting over Kalimdor, barely illuminating the Echo Isles; the ocean’s waves glowed the crimson-gold of the coal pit, but the eastern horizon already gave way to the night sky. The perpetual music and salty breeze of the sea saturated them. Dree’jin and Arjah’s children were a new generation of trolls, one which were born as part of the Horde, native to Durotar. They had little experience of the jungles and the Gurubashi culture. Dree and Arj both possessed a great love for their people, and their past, and so they did everything possible to ensure that their family grew up with an appreciation for the troll way of life, both Darkspear and Skullsplitter. One of the activities which the kids were most eager to learn and have fun with was cooking. Recreating a rich culture of jungle cuisine along Durotar’s coast required a little improvisation, but the skills and heritage were taught, and this was most important.


‘What about the crab, daddy? There’s not enough room down there for the fish AND the crab!’ Ektilia declared, tugging on Dree’s robe to emphasise the importance of her point. Dree couldn’t help but grin. The eldest girls, Ektilia and Alaijen, were still quite young at four years of age, but it was amazing to see how quickly they were developing into independent persons. Ektilia had Dree’s bright shock of pink hair, and his yellow eyes, but also Arjah’s keen intellect. Whether she did it purposefully or not, Ektilia had a habit of voicing her opinions loudly, and becoming the centre of attention. Jin’balah was a year younger, and equally loud and keen for attention – he was still enjoying the benefits of his age, with frequent hugs from Mommy and being allowed to get away with murder. Jin reminded Dree of Arjah and Hrook at times, particularly as he had inherited dusky, dark green hair. Alaijen, on the other hand, was quieter almost to the point of introspection, an odd quality for a young child. Alaijen was a blood elf, adopted from the streets of Silvermoon years ago while she was still very young, after her mother became addicted to magic, drugs, and who knew what else. Despite this, she was now officially part of the family, and Dree’jin would die to protect her. Unfortunately, even at four, the biological differences were beginning to show – Ektilia and Alaijen were the same age, but Ektilia was already beginning to sprout in size like a greedy weed (as trolls were wont to do) while Alaijen remained tiny and fragile. It was only going to get worse in time, and Dree wasn’t entirely certain of what he was going to do when Alaijen realised how different she really was to the rest of the family. But for the time being, he wasn’t concerned: everyone was happy (most of the time) and deeply connected, and if problems eventually arose, Dree could rely on Ektilia to look out for Alaijen, as the troll girl was already fiercely protective of her blood elf sister.


Still grinning, Dree replied, ‘You know how we brought that big pot of freshwater on the raptor, and you asked “Why are we taking water to the beach when the sea already has plenty of water?” ‘ Ektilia nodded dubiously. ‘Well, we’re gonna heat that water up, and put the crab in that. We can’t use the salty seawater, or we’ll get sick, so gotta use freshwater.’ He wandered over to where their raptor was tied up as he spoke. Dree released the pot, big enough for a crab but small enough to be transported with relative ease, and checked that enough water was still present. ‘Jin, can you help me get another fire started? Jen, keep an eye on them coals, ya. Tell me if they start to flicker out.’ There was a brief fracas when Jin sprayed Alaijen with sand as he leapt to his feet, but it only involved colourful names and was free of physical confrontation. Dree growled that terms like fat-goblin-poop-licker were inappropriate, but it was an old routine, and they all knew that in ten minutes they would have forgotten the reprimand.

Although trolls matured faster than, say, the average human child, Dree was certainly not about to let Jin’balah play directly with fire, and so he was demoted to collecting tinder from around the campsite. Ektilia, on the other hand, began to enthusiastically chop up a collection of wild onions, mint, mango-like fruit that grew natively to the Echo Isles, cactus shoots from the mainland, and several lemons. Dree kept a close eye on her – he wasn’t altogether comfortable with letting her use a knife, but if she did cut herself, her skin would regenerate easily enough, and there seemed less risk of tears and angry reproach than if he told her No. ‘Daddy, the coals are going out.’ Alaijen called, as Dree was beginning to get the second fire ready. ‘That’s okay. See if Jin can give you some more tinder. Dry tinder.’ In Jin’balah’s rush, he had collected every piece of wood in sight, and many of those included soaked drift that had washed up on shore. The four of them managed to get things in order with a reasonable amount of difficulty. As they performed their respective chores, Dree’jin discussed the recipe they were making, its relevance to their culture, and the occasional tip that occurred to him as they went along. ‘We don’t want the water pot boiling – if it’s too hot, the crab meat will overcook. The trick is to keep an eye on the water, make sure only little bubbles are coming up, and that you keep the fire controlled.’ ‘Wrap the fish up in palm leaves or banana leaves if they’re handy, and let them cook on the low burning coals in the pit. Check ‘em every now and again by carefully unwrapping the leaves. We want the meat to look bone white, and the leaves should keep most of the moisture in.’ ‘If you’re someplace that fish aren’t handy, you can substitute the fish for Kaldorei or boar cheeks – the cheeks are the most succulent part.’


‘See, Strangelthorn Vale is full of food, you can barely imagine. The trick is knowing what can be eaten, and how. Many of the fishing tribes, like the Darkspears – ‘


‘That’s us, right Daddy?’


‘Yes, Ektilia, that’s us. Anyway, those tribes get most of their food from the sea – fish, crabs, oysters, shrimp, scallops, mussels, sharks, eels, seaweed, and much more. You know how Grandpa Hrook goes fishing, or drops crab pots on the beach? We’ve been doing that for thousands of years.’ Dree spread his arms wide, to try and capture the magnitude of several thousand years in the minds of his offspring. Their open-mouthed expressions pleased him. ‘That’s right, a long, long time. And we can use a lot of those skills here, on the Echo Isles, our new home.’ In fact it secretly pleased the troll that all of their ingredients for the evening had been fished up or collected by Hrook, himself, and the kids. While the fish smouldered away, and the crab bobbed pleasantly in the hot water, the troll showed how to turn a few simple plants common to the area into a mango salsa, delicious and acidic to complement the seafood. When Dree judged that the crab had been cooking for long enough, he picked it up (wincing at the heat) and cracked it open with a mallet. The three youngsters practically dove at the small crab (stomachs were growling audibly at this point) but Dree waved them back. ‘You can have a little now, but shred most of the crab meat up. It goes with the salsa.’


The snapper didn’t take long on the fire. Dree retrieved a set of small wooden bowls from his raptor, and served up a dish of fillet of snapper resting on a crab and mango salsa. There were candied cactus apples hidden away as a surprise for dessert. Sitting on the beach, listening to the random conversations and bickering of his little ones, Dree found himself watching the crashing waves and thinking of what Bwonsamdi said. Tomorrow, he would once again join the Horde forces at Tol Barad, where cutting up hearts from dead Alliance was as convenient and simple as a hungry child wandering through mulberry bushes. But what if the Pia Presidium eventually caught him? He would certainly not be taken prisoner like Grymmbror – no, he would fight to the bitter end and drag as many of them as he could with him to the Spirit World. Or he could rest, and enjoy more evenings like this. A piece of mango flew through the air, catapaulted by Jin’balah’s fork. ‘It’s in my hair, you little twerp!’ Ektilia raged, shaking her head from side to side, her pink hair swishing about furiously. The scowl on Alaijen’s face was a perfect replica of Arjah’s ‘disappointed’ face. ‘Daddy, Jin is throwing food again!’

Dree’jin sighed heavily, his thoughts still elsewhere. The three all looked to him oddly. It was an expression they’d never heard him make. ‘Don’t worry, that just means you’ve got more food. I can bet ya he won’t be throwing any candy cactus apples.’ He winked at Alaijen, and the chorus of happy shouts from the three were probably heard over most of the Echo Isles. Reluctantly, Dree found his thoughts returning to his family, Bwonsamdi, the Alliance and his own mortality.

((A fantastic read!))

((Wow. Just... wow. Very impressed, Dree. You write up a good yarn.))