World of Warcraft®

Advice for the Young at Heart

With some difficulty, Jarrod managed to climb over the fallen elm, though with much less discretion than a hunter should have. Not that the bearded, human hunter was overly concerned about scaring away any game – Jarrod had heard from his grandfather that the Redridge Mountains were once crawling with antlered buck so large that even gnolls were wary of confronting them, but, as every story in Lakeshire went, that was before the invasion of the orcs. The orcs were completely uninterested in the concept of sustainable hunting, and the countryside suffered because of it. A brief flicker of movement in the distant scrub caught Jarrod’s eye, and he tensed, slowly crouching and bringing his rifle into position. Jarrod desperately wanted to bring venison or boar home; he was thoroughly sick and tired of hare and hedgehog goulash. The movement did not repeat, and so Jarrod carefully crept forward, shifting his weight so as not to disturb the undergrowth too much, or alert his prey by his own movements. The human reached the edge of a clearing he knew very well, as it was only half an hour’s walk from the outskirts of Lakeshire. He squinted in disbelief at what he saw, confused at the incongruence of the situation. The clearing was as it had always been – perhaps fifteen paces across, with several large boulders in the centre – but sitting on one of the boulders was a small doll. Jarrod propped his rifle against his shoulder and wandered over to the toy to inspect it. It was a strange little object, made of linen and probably stuffed with the same hay as its shaggy blonde hair. It was dressed in a faded blue skirt. Two large beaded russet eyes stared over a meticulously stitched, smiling mouth. Jarrod found himself smiling in return. He picked it up and placed it tenderly in his backpack; even if there was no venison on the table tonight, his daughter would at least be excited when he returned home.

As it turned out, it was a successful day’s hunt. In addition to the doll, Jarrod discovered a mob of wild swine, and had taken down two of them. There would be leather and meat for market this week. Greta had been overjoyed with the doll – from the moment she set eyes upon the object, it was clear that the two would be inseparable, at least until she grew tired of it. Christie, his wife, held many reservations of letting Greta sleep with a filthy doll Jarrod had found in the woods, but in the end their daughter’s persistent pleadings had won out, and so that night Greta was tucked away soundly in her bed, beneath her thick blanket, with one arm wrapped around her dolly in a strangling embrace.

‘Wake up. Hey! Hey, wake up!’

‘Shush, Dolly. I’m sleepin’.’ Greta mumbled to her doll, trying to bury her head further into her pillow.

‘No time for sleep, chum. We’ve got real important business.’

Greta sat up in bed with marked difficulty, rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes. It was dark, perhaps the darkest she had ever seen her room. Not even the moonlight shone through her bedroom window. Greta brought her dolly up to within an inch of her face to see it better. ‘What are you talking about, Dolly? I’m –really– tired!’

The doll did not move. Its wide, stitched smile and dark eyes continued to watch the world vacantly. Even so, a voice seemed to emanate from the doll, directly to Greta’s mind, like soundwaves being picked up by a hearthstone. ‘Trust me, chum. It will only take a little while, then we can go back to sleep, and play all day tomorrow. We can play dress ups. It’s your favourite thing.’

It was true – dress ups was Greta’s favourite thing to do in the whole world. If her dolly knew her that well, clearly they were already best friends. ‘That’s right, and best friends help each other when in need. So please help me!’

‘Okay, but we’ve got to be quiet. Mommy doesn’t like me out of bed at night. She gets –really– grumpy. Ooo, do you like yellow? I’ve got lots of pretty yellow flower dresses that would look so pretty on you!’

The doll assured her that it did like yellow. Quietly and carefully, Greta opened up her bedroom window and slipped outside into the cool night air with her dolly gripped firmly underarm. She snuck down the side of the house, trying her best not to crush the flowers her mother tended lovingly. The wet grass was cold against her bare feet, but she dismissed the thoughts of wet, muddy, cold feet in the ready manner which children have. Greta reached the front yard of their small cottage, and visibly relaxed as she stood in the moonlight. Dolly piped up again. ‘Undo the button on my back, and take out what’s inside.’

‘But won’t that hurt you, Dolly?’ Greta frowned.

‘Nah, it’s all fine. In fact, I’ll feel a lot better.’

‘Well alright, if that’s what you want.’ Greta responded dubiously, but she did as she was asked. Greta pulled aside the doll’s faded blue dress, and undid the button in its back. Suddenly consumed with curiousity, Greta reached inside and pulled out a handful of large, yellowish, sharp teeth. ‘Ew, Dolly! That’s gross!’

‘It’s just teeth, from some of my friends. They don’t need them anymore, don’t worry.’ The smile in Dolly’s voice, directed at Greta’s discomfort, would have been apparent to an adult.

‘Wait.’ Greta scrunched up her face, deep in thought. The moonlight reflected off her blonde curls. ‘Are you...are you a tooth fairy!?’

‘Er...ya. That’s exactly right. A tooth fairy.’

Greta squealed in joy and danced up and down on the spot, in the wet grass of her yard. She had always dreamt of meeting a fairy – countless adventurers came through the town constantly, all of them tall and exciting and from faraway lands, and Greta wanted to join them so badly it made her heart ache with longing. She loved her Mommy and Daddy...but to grow up and see fairies, slay monsters, save handsome (but dull-witted) Princes...these were the dreams that fuelled Greta’s childhood. And here, in her arms, was her best friend, a magical fairy! She laughed again, swinging Dolly about the yard in glee.

‘Shhh! Quiet, little human.’ Dolly growled in a tone that made Greta falter. ‘We gotta be quiet, or else the other people will wake up, and won’t be surprised that the tooth fairy came.’

‘Sorry, Dolly.’ Greta whispered conspiratorially. What the fairy said made perfect sense – after all, they only came out while everyone was asleep for a reason, right? ‘What do we do now?’ She stared at her handful of teeth, confused but eager and excited. Dolly knew exactly what to do: the fairy directed Greta to sneak up to the front door, first of her own home, and hide a tooth under a rock in the garden, beneath her mother’s daffodils. Greta and Dolly crept through the night to her neighbour’s home, and hid another tooth in similar fashion, beneath the mailbox. It took well over an hour of sneaking about, but Greta did as she was told, and Dolly praised her and encouraged her. Greta was immensely proud. Several times, Dolly had to convince Greta not to be afraid of a barking dog, and at one point she was almost spotted by an old woman who left her home to inspect her disgruntled pet, but Dolly was a smart fairy who seemed to know a lot about hiding, waiting patiently, and understanding how people thought and acted. The few patrolling town guards seemed far more intent on finishing their rounds than spying in every shadow for waist-high little girls. By the time Greta ran out of teeth to hide throughout the town, over two dozen homes, the marketplace and the wharf had all been visited by the crafty pair.

‘Well done! Now, come meet me at the town forge, and we can have tea and cakes. You’ve earned a grand reward.’

Again, Greta scrunched her face up in confusion. ‘Meet you? But you’re here in my arms, Dolly.’

‘This is just a temporary vessel, chum. I thought you wanted to see a real fairy?’

‘Oh yes! I certainly do!’

‘Well, I’m waiting at the forge, but not for much longer. Come quickly, ya.’

Dree’jin cut off his mental link with the Zandalari voodoo doll, rubbing his temples. Concentrating hard enough to keep the connection between his distant essence (the doll was soaked in the troll’s sweat) and his body was surprisingly exhausting. He didn’t need the doll anymore; he could see the little human from his perch. The troll, wrapped in black robes and crouched on the roof of the blacksmith’s forge, licked his lips with a long, purple tongue. The blacksmith sleeping beneath his feet owned the heart he had travelled so far to obtain. In another age, Owen Halford was a commander of great renown, who played a crucial role in defending Lakeshire against the original waves of brutish orc grunts, back in the first war. It was said that Halford’s tactical skills and intimate knowledge of the Redridge Mountains saved countless lives and helped to avoid the kind of slaughter which occurred at Goldshire and Sunnyglade. Now, the old man was retired, and spent his days repairing broken farming equipment and weapons for the new generations of Lakeshire’s defenders. Dree’jin did not expect much of a fight from the wizened Halford; the troll’s extensive planning for this night was a precaution for Lakeshire’s guards. Striking down Halford was not like killing something-or-other Northson. The late ex-paladin lived on an isolated property in the empty fields of Westfall, while Halford was safe and snug, surrounded by the many humans that loved him like a grandfather.

The little girl was close enough that Dree’jin could smell the lavender oil she bathed in. She peered about the empty dirt street, and sprinted across it to the blacksmith’s home. It was time for Dree to unleash his little surprise on the humans, a surprise that only a Gurubashi Witch Doctor could concoct. Closing his eyes once more, the troll let his consciousness soar and tap into the Spirit World, the realm of the troll dead. He chanted a ritual to strengthen his connection to the Spirit World, and draw forth the spirits of the dead, to return them forcibly to their remains. The teeth, over three dozen in total, had been ripped from Zul’Gurub’s dead to anchor the enraged, bloodthirsty Gurubashi spirits to the mortal realm until they were once more dispatched to their final resting place. Dree’jin could feel several powerful spirits, Loa no doubt, fighting to interfere with the ritual, but he was strong and persistent. He could sense their fear. The Loa’s feeble struggles stopped well before Dree’jin finished his ritual.

A cry from across the town was the first sign that something was happening. From Dree’jin’s perch, he could see the ghostly forms of Berzerkers and Head Hunters materialise around the town. In the marketplace, a Berzerker roared and began mindlessly crushing everything around it – wooden stalls, chairs, a kiosk. Across the street, an undead troll shadow priest appeared above its tooth and howled a Gurubashi war chant into the night. The guards responded quickly; a squadron came running toward the town from the bridge, and several other garrisons spread around Lakeshire. But Dree’jin did not have time to appreciate the chaos of his ritual. The troll’s sharp ears could make out movement in Halford’s home, beneath him, and he had a little girl to reward for making all of this possible. Grinning widely, his curved tusks bared, Dree’jin leapt from the roof to land directly beside Greta.

Greta’s fairy was nothing like she had imagined – it was tall and thin, bigger than anything she had ever seen, wrapped in strips of dark cloth, its face covered by a hooded mask. Greta’s heart was pounding forcibly in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. The monster rumbled something guttural and hideous to her (there was no way this was Dolly! It just wasn’t possible!) and reached out to her with a huge, three-fingered hand. Before it could touch her, Greta fainted dead away, to flop at Dree’jin’s feet. The troll picked her up in a surprisingly tender way, just as the door behind him flung open. The troll whirled, holding the little girl before him as a literal human shield, and grinned widely at Owen Halford. The old man had donned his armour at the first sounds of trouble coming from the town. A pristinely sharp longsword was hefted in one hand with the ease of a much younger man. Upon seeing a troll on his doorstep, Halford’s immediate reflex was to bring his weapon to bear, but the sight of the unconscious girl in the troll’s hand caused the old man to pause. The old man frowned, and his heavy moustache twitched visibly. Halford’s moment of hesitation was all that Dree’jin needed – with one lanky arm, the troll launched himself at the retired commander, and buried an ebony panther claw into the old man’s throat. Halford’s eyes rolled back into his head as he tried to choke out a reply. The old man fell back, twitching and gurgling, blood foaming along his lips.

‘Fer a hoomie, ya be awful useful.’ Dree chuckled, lifting Greta up to look at her face. The little girl remained unconscious, completely unaware of the danger that faced her. Morbidly, she still clutched the Zandalari voodoo doll in a deathgrip. Dree’jin carelessly dropped the girl to the floor and flipped a couple of Gurubashi bijous to her prone form. ‘I did promise a reward. Dat be enough ta keep ya in ale fer a week!’ He then turned his attention to Halford, who was still twitching in his final throes. The old man was alive as the troll brought his bonesaw down against the human's sternum.

With Halford’s heart in a bloody fist, Dree’jin left the forge, returning to a night of chaos and bloodshed on Lakeshire’s doorstep. Several ghostly trolls were working together in a tight formation, hurling semi-transparent spears and shadowy spells at a group of soldiers. A human priest was with them, the power of the Light emanating from her body in waves of iridescence. She pointed at one of the troll spirits and golden chains writhed around the ghost, shackling it in place. The Gurubashi spirit roared in fury. It was definitely time to leave. Dree’jin whistled once, a piercing sound, and scrambled up the blacksmith’s home somewhat awkwardly. A gunshot from the street sounded awfully close, and before the troll could even acknowledge the sound, a spray of stone struck Dree. The bullet must only have missed by a matter of inches. A dark shadow, little more than a black shape that blotted out the stars, swept down to the roof. Dree’jin leapt onto the wyvern and, shouting a myriad of vulgarities in Troll, kept his head down as the beast flapped its powerful wings and took off. Dree had a moment to spy Lakeshire from the air – perhaps a dozen ghostly forms still stalked the streets, with numerous dead humans littered about haphazardly – before he was at a safe altitude. He doubted the humans would have much trouble putting the angry troll spirits to rest once more, but with any luck, his deceased brothers would have some fun butchering the weak race of soft-skinned prey creatures. Dree’jin licked Halford’s heart, tasting the cooled, congealed blood. It was definitely powerful, and a good addition to his collection. A collection that was rapidly reaching its conclusion.

((Great stuff as always!))

"Missed."

Dustwing spat on the planks of the docks, hands resetting the gun with practiced movements. Purely on reflex he brought it up again and fired, a pale-faced human ducking away as the bullet whistled past her shoulder, tearing a hole through the face of the troll ghost engaging her. Dustwing didn't even seem to notice her stuttering thanks, grabbing on to the pommel of Bird's saddle and swinging up behind the wings of the green hippogriff.

"Right above the blacksmith roof," he murmured to her. Bird chirruped in confirmation. The animal sprang into the air, circled, Dustwing leaning sideways to see past her antlers. The shadow that he thought had been crouching there was now gone. Something wet and colored black in the moonlight slowly trickled down the street. Blood, or Dustwing was a lizard's uncle.

"Bastard," he muttered. Bird broke her banking climb, doing wider and wider circles about the town. No other forms stirred beyond the bounds of the fight; even the wildlife knew it wasn't a good time to come out. No trail.

Dustwing landed up front of the Stoneheardt house sometime much later. As far as he knew, the youngbloods--Lahkin, Kordrion, Erelyn--were stationed in Aerie Peak and absent from the fight. He hoped for at least Genevra or Narnicka, however. These were human lands, and despite his old station, Dustwing had no power here.

"Stoneheardt!" he called out, not caring which of the family answered him first. "What will it take before we bring the fight to him?"

The eaves of the house echoed with his voice, but for now, at least, no one answered. Dustwing turned, ignoring the hippogriff watching him intently, and stared up at the stars. "I always wondered when it would come to this," he mumured to no one in particular. "The new supersedes the old. Youngblood, it's time you stopped pretending to be a little dunce and started proving your worth."

Bird tilted her head and chirped a question; Dustwing didn't reply. As the minutes dragged on, the night elf mounted. He set his course north, and wished for a good tailwind.

It was going to be a long ride.

Aerie Peak was quiet this time of night, the diurnal gryphons roosting or tucking noisy hatchlings into their nests with firm beaks. A dwarf could swear by the routine of the awkward gryphlets, squalling for breakfast by dawn, dashing about underfoot peeping noisily by noon, wrestling and screaming with nestmates by evening. Nighttime was a blessed relief in comparison, when the older among both gryphons and dwarves could settle back and enjoy some well-earned quiet.

Noise was for the young, and may only the young keep it!

It was almost comical, then, the squabble coming from inside the fort itself from so-called grown men, in a little room set aside for the headquarters of the newly formed Terra Incognita.

"You have nothing to lose," Dustwing was saying sternly, watching their young paladin leader pace about. Lahkin's hair was longer, his beard scruffier, and his clothes didn't seem to be fitting quite so well across the strengthening muscles of his chest and back. More the stature of a man than of a teenager, now.

But in only one way.

"And nothing to gain!" Lahkin exclaimed back. "What do you expect me to do, Dustwing? We only just got organized, and I've never lead a group of men before!"

"It's expected of you."

"So what? Lots of things are expected of me! I'm supposed to just pull them from their posts at the Peak and send them off into Light knows where after some troll who can probably kill the lot of us with one little finger?"

"You are supposed to defend your people."

"By sending them off into danger?" Lahkin asked bitterly. "That's about as logical as a--"

Lahkin wasn't expecting the punch. The whole world flipped as he landed flat on his back, air blown out of his lungs. "Dust--!"

"You are not helpless, you are not weak," Dustwing snapped. "And nor are your allies. Now get up and start acting like a man instead of a child."

Lahkin stared at him, wondering if the antisocial wanderer had finally cracked. The night elf's eyes shone brightly, clearer and sharper than Lahkin had ever seen.

The night elf glaring at him was suddenly no longer the rarely-washed old buck-wrestler to Lahkin's eyes. His back was straight, the hand gripping the gun did so with easy confidence. He was a commander, hiding in someone else's clothes.

Like I am.

Lahkin picked himself up off the floor, spending a few minutes to brush the dirt off his tunic before he looked Dustwing in the face again.

"I'm no general," Lahkin said quietly when he looked up, "But I will lead my people like the best generals I've known."

"You've never known one," said Dustwing flatly. The night elf turned abruptly then and headed for the gates. As Lahkin watched the billowing, tattered shape of his traveling cloak, the hunter seemed to shrink and hunch, once again the crusty old loner who had seen his best days blow him by.

This time, it wasn't an illusion.

"I won't forget what you've taught me, Dusty," Lahkin murmured. "Nor the things Taelanas and Rymus tried to teach me. Just give me a chance, and let me teach you a few things in return?"

If he heard, Dustwing didn't look back.

*****

The next morning, Lahkin was up before dawn, pushing markers around a map and jotting down notes. As the first of the waking gryphlets began to call out, he pulled out his hearthstone and spoke into it.

"Kordrion, we need to get those guild treaties finalized."

"Workin' on it," came the sleepy reply. "Why?"

"The Alliance has a troll to catch."

She'd heard Dustwing's call from that state of haze that lies between sleep and awake. Her mind was a flurry of sounds: the sound of her daughter stirring in the next room, the panic in Gretchen's voice from down the hall, "Get her to the basement!"

The cacophonous din filtered in through the open window and woke the priestess to the sight of Gretchen carrying off Daisy to safety. Hastily she drew her robes about her and raced down the stairs, the sounds of the chaos growing louder with each step.

Her eyes drank in the confusion that had been wrought upon her home. She sought to find the source of the scream that had awoken her, but Dustwing was nowhere to be seen. The lakeside town was in a state of disrepair: stalls were knocked over, screams echoed in the night and spirits stalked the street still.

In the distance, Genevra caught sight of the guards, aided by a fellow priestess, calling for the Light to trap and banish the spirits that wreaked havoc upon the otherwise quiet town. She breathed slowly as a pair of spirits drifted closer to her home. Whether or not the spirits saw her, silhouetted against the light that poured forth from her askew door she knew not, but she would not see them cause harm to her home.

With a quietly whispered prayer, she held up both of her hands, erecting a barrier that would stand as a challenge to those spirits that slunk towards the Stoneheardt home. It was only a matter of time before they would reach it, only a matter of time before their souls would feel the cool release of death as they attempted to pass through the barrier.

Genevra’s breath came rapidly as the spirits dissipated. She closed her eyes for a second, hoping, praying that when she would open them once more that the quiet town would be calm, asleep, not in the throes of battle with spirits.

Some wishes are granted while others are lost upon the night air before they have a chance to be fully formed. The guards and other citizens were awake now. Lights turned on and the sleepy lakeside town was awake, despite the hour.

Genevra looked back at her home, breathing a sigh of relief.

(*Coughs* putting this here too for continuity's sake)

Chaos...everywhere.

Kordrion had originally been coming home to grab some of the spare supplies he kept stowed away in his room when the screams assaulted his ears followed by the hollow sounds of cackling spirits. Back winging till he was hovering above the carnage Kord poked at the old sandstone drake spirit he had befriended attempting to get his attention, sadly it was to no avail. Of late the old spirit had been lost in the depths of his memory beyond even the boy's reach as he attempted to work out who he was.

Giving the attempt up for a lost cause the rogue cautiously glided a little closer attempting to see exactly what was going on past the glare of fires. In retrospect he doubted that had had he not been so far up he would have ever seen the shape take off from the roof, as it was only the pale fur of the wyvern gave its presence away. Winging his way a bit higher Kord followed the Wyvern attempting to discern anything about its passenger who stubbornly stayed a darker shadow in the night.

After a few hours flight south the figure landed at the ruins of Zul'mamwe and sent the wyvern back into the air to seek out a roost against the coming dawn. Spiraling lower Kord aimed for a small clearing a ways away to muffle the sound of the landing and subsequent shifting as the large stone drake exchanged its form for his normal one of a small human. Slipping through the shadows he managed to arrive back at the landing sight just in time to see the darker shadow - now a bit more visible as that of a Troll - vanish into the night heading in a vaguely northward direction.

Slipping closer after waiting for nearly an hour and ever wary of traps Kordrion craned his neck to ensure that the troll was long gone before making his way to what appeared to be a work station of sorts. Frowning at the fairly obvious flaw in his plan the rogue stared down at page after page of notes...in Troll. Casting a quick look over his shoulder once more he hastily stacked the pages and rolled them to stick in a message tube. Getting ready to leave he cast his gaze once more across the table pausing as something utterly out of place caught his eye. Uncovered during his search was a small stack of drawings done in Crayon and by an obviously childish hand, drawings of a family.

Inhaling sharply the rogue stared down at it for what seemed an eternity careful to touch the topmost only with his fingertips before almost reverently picking it up to add to the pile. Light...if this was who he thought...

Kord let the thought linger a moment as he attempted to reconcile the monster they had been shown with the obviously caring father figure in the drawings. Finally shaking his head the rogue moved off to the clearing again before shifting and winging his way into the early morning mist with more questions then answers to show for his trip.

Three days and a few thousand gold later Kord sat hunched over the stack of papers with another freshly inked stack beside him. The treaty he had been working on only needed a few minor touch ups to be ready to go out and those could wait, what sat before him now could solve a very large question they had - namely - what was Dree'jin /doing/ with the hearts? He wasn't sure who ever decided that a troll to common translation guide was a good (or smart) thing but he was infinitely glad they had. A few words here and there he stumbled over due to the variances of dialect and nuances of speech used by each individual but the gist of it was clear, as clear as it was troubling. Grabbing his hearthstone with a worried look Kord keyed up a private line to Lahkin keeping his message short and simple.

"Lahkin...we have a problem"

Sighing softly he glanced again up to the child's picture now occupying a corner of his secluded desk and frowned. How do you tell a child that their daddy is the monster under the bed?

*Absently jotted on a scrap of paper and left crumpled near the picture*

I finished the translations today. I still can’t in my mind put it together that the…Creature…that wrote this is the same troll with the giant smile drawn lovingly by a small hand. I suppose that even monsters have families but you never see them so in your mind you can always gloss over it and pretend like you have done the right thing. In this instance I suppose the right thing does not change as he needs stopped permanently before he brings more grief to the world but still. I won’t shirk my duty but it brings home the lives on the other side and puts faces to what were before simply silhouettes to be cut down.

I had hoped perhaps putting my thoughts to paper would ease my conscience and make this so much more bearable but in reality all it has done has drawn my mind back to the topic and the subsequent dilemma. I’ve tried time and again to throw the picture away telling myself out of sight and out of mind but each time I rescue it from the bin and return it to the corner it’s resided on since I found it. Some little kid made this for their daddy who to them is just that…their daddy. No matter what else he is in life I suppose that is something that never will – nor should it ever- change.

Kordrion

"There is a report of another missing heart." The young man delivering the message seemed only too glad to spit out the information and beg dismissal.

Turncutt sat in the corner near the fire sharpening his blades. The rhythmic, long slow strokes of whet stone against metal stopped and he laid the blade across his knees. Firelight danced on the gleaming surface. "Who this time?" he asked.

"Halford in Lakeshire."

Gentyl looked across the table where she'd been studying some maps. Turncutt whistled. "I knew him," he said. "He was a good man."

"That seems to be the point," Gentyl said. "Dree's collecting hearts from powerful people. That's why he targeted Pia in his letter." She looked up at the young soldier who wanted no part of the message or the discussion. "Dismissed. Tell you're commander we'll be there shortly to visit with him."

She finished rolling up the maps with the small red dots scattered about denoting the various places someone had been murdered. "So many. So very many. What do you think the magic number is? When does he have enough?"

Turncutt held the door open for her and they went out to their gryphons. "I don't know. He may never be sated, but I think there's a goal and we need to stop him."

They talked to everyone in the small village they could find. It had been besieged with spirits and there was troll voodoo magic. The commander showed them each house that had been attacked and finally ended with the little girl. Gentyl had her explain everything that happened that night. She encouraged her to draw pictures. There wasn't much need, she had been drawing pictures like her mind was trying to capture every single thing. Her family's home was covered with the drawings.

"Do you mind if I borrow some of these?" Gentyl asked.

The mother, who was rubbing her arms nervously, shook her head. "No, take them. Take them all." She dumped some troll coins out of a wooden box. "Take these, too. He 'paid' my baby for what she did."

"You said there was a doll," Gentyl said.

"We burned it," the father replied. "Wish to the gods I had never brought it home. Martha was right. Should have never let my little girl have it."

Gentyl knelt down next to the little girl. "I'm going to send some flowers from our gardens for you and Mama to plant. Would you mind drawing pictures of flowers for me so I know how they are doing? And, also..." Gentyl went out to the gryphon and pulled a small bundle out of the saddle bag. "I found this white kitten in Stormwind and she needs a home. Would you take care of her for me?"

The little girl looked up at her mother, grinning. "Can I, Mama?"

The mother smiled. "Of course."

Gentyl handed the mother some tea Faithe had mixed. "Faithe says this helps her sleep and it will be good for your daughter."

They studied the drawings until late in the night. The ship rocked softly in the harbor. Turncutt's cook, as usual had prepared a delicious meal for them. Thankfully, the crew all like Gentyl and didn't mind her non-domestic ways. The cook had reluctantly allowed her to use his galley at first. It was, after all, his domain, but Gentyl had been anxious to be the perfect wife. After the third fire, he had banished her, much to the Commander's relief. He, being the perfect husband, had tried to eat Gentyl's cooking, but it usually went to the pup who also refused to eat it.

They had all come to an amiable truce. Cook would prepare anything Gentyl desired if she never set foot in his kitchen again. Gentyl had given up trying to be the perfect wife and settled for being just who she was. The Commander slept much better with a clear conscience unmarred by well-meaning lies about Gentyl's horrible attempts at domesticity.

It was in this quiet time, their minds worked best, like well-trained and comfortable work horses in traces they had carried for many years.

Turncutt tapped at the table again. "This means something. He doesn't do anything by accident."

"I know, but what. Maybe after we've slept it will come to us."

"Of course, m'dear. Come over here and let me brush your hair."

She sank down to the floor, between his knees with her back to him as he sat in his favorite chair. She bent her head forward and waited for him to start the almost ritualistic brushing and stroking. Her mind settled, like it was drifting aimlessly on a becalmed ocean.

"I know where he is," she exclaimed suddenly.

(( Thanks for adding, everyone (not just everyone on this page, but those on the previous ones too!) I really missed our RP community during my absence last year :D ))

((Dree, thanks for starting this. We've missed your evilness. I still miss my original ear, but I know you're taking good care of it. *barfs* The addition with the doll was great.))

Pia gathered quietly and headed to Stranglethorn. Gentyl had kept the location of the fight quiet until the last minute. She didn't want to take a chance that someone might slip and disclose their target and purpose.

The ruins were full of trolls and troll magic. Why hadn't she thought of this before? It was the coins Dree'jin had left behind that finally lifted the fog.

They fought their way to the temple, but no one was prepared for what awaited them. There in neat rows in the temple were jars. In each jar was a heart suspended in liquid. The hearts were preserved to an extent, but they had still darkened. Blood had seeped into the liquid, turning it a vile pink.

Mira and Meriste turned away, gagging and retching at the sight. Valacar helped load the jars into sacks. Calendre, who always remained stoic and betrayed little emotion, was visibly disturbed also.

Gentyl had all she could do to keep from throwing up, but they had to gather the jars and get out of there as soon as possible. They had to destroy them before Dree'jin discovered they were missing.

Then, they needed to destroy Dree'jin.

Quietly the rogue made his way back down to where he had originally found the papers hunching over the small rolled up picture to keep it from the rain. Wrapped around the picture was a simple note Written in the language of the trolls tied to it with string. With one final look he sat it down where it would be noticed and slipped back out into the dark.

"Dree'jin,

Family, and more importantly Children are important in this world and it is why I take the time to write this. I've seen the drawings and have read your notes...In the past few days I have learned more of you then I thought possible. But it opens even more questions, Why do you do this? Your notes say you wish to become as powerful as the Loa or perhaps even become one...but are not the Loa forever separated from the world of the mortals beyond just meddling? One of two things will happen should you continue, either we will fail to stop you and you will get what you seek effectively becoming a Loa or we will succeed in stopping you most likely by your death. Either way your children suffer for your choices and loose you as a Daddy, is that what you want?

I doubt this will make much difference to you and you will most likely perceive it as a threat upon them. I can perhaps foolishly hope you will understand this needed to be done not for you and not for us, but for the children. Not just yours, all the children touched by this quest for power on both sides of the fence.

A simple Ghost in the Night."

Eighty-four hearts. Eighty-four lives interrupted. Eighty-four of how many Dree'jin needed to fulfill his sacrifice.

Gentyl looked at the jars and shuddered. How many more? He had to be close to his goal. "We have to destroy them."

"Do we need to perform any special ritual to destroy them?" Meriste asked. The Dreanei huntress had been invaluable in the capture of the prize. She and her pet "spider" Peridot had been instrumental in taking down numerous trolls and other creatures in Zul Gurub. Peridot had raced forward like a little tank each time Meriste commanded it, but it was baffled, as were they all, about what to do now.

Calendre lifted her axe and looked around as if waiting for the command.

"I could burn them," Mira offered.

Calendre waited and then lowered her weapon. ""I like the burning idea better."

Mira quickly set out a fire totem and started stacking jars around it.

"Not here," Gentyl said. "Who knows what kind of magic we could trigger."

Meriste nodded. "He may have placed some hex or trap on them. We need to be careful."

"No! What if burning them here gives him power?"

"It's possible," Mira allowed and pulled the jars away from the totem.

"What do we do with them, then?" Meriste asked, voicing what everyone was wondering.

"Take them to Black rock Mountain," Gentyl said. "We'll burn them in the lava. He won't be able to recover any remains of them and it will be well away from this temple and it's dark magic."

"That, too, could work," Mira said.

The flight to Black Rock Mountain was quiet. Gentyl could usually hear the Guards laughing and playing jokes on each other. There was nothing but silence now as they each contemplated their grisly burdens. Throwing them into the lava seemed dramatic, but it was the only way to completely destroy them.

"Break open the jars and destroy the hearts," Gentyl said when they landed.

"In the lava?" Lyraetia asked. Mira's squire looked a bit peaked, but Gentyl was sure they all did. They were all used to war and the butcher's bill it required, but this was something different. This was a madman hunting the best of the best and harvesting their hearts and their power. What if their souls were still bound to the parts in the jar? She reached up and rubbed her right ear. It was heavily scarred where Dree'jin had cut it off and the healers had tried to re-grow it. What if that desiccated scrap of flesh still held some of her essence?

"In the lava," Mira said. "Throw it all."

Gentyl nodded aye, "Destroy them."

Finnaeus looked at her, as if weighing the options. "You know there will be Fel to pay for this."

"There will be more to pay if he's allowed to finish whatever ritual he's doing," Gentyl replied as she broke the first jar. "Or trying to do."

He nodded briefly. "Agreed. We'll need to be prepared for defense. Perhaps re-double the wards back in Hearthglen."

All around her was the sound of shattering glass. The liquid from the broken jars flowed over the edge of the small island above the lava and burst into brilliant blue flames where it plunged into the streaming lava.

Stillig mumbled a small prayer for the fallen who's hearts they'd collected, then smashed one of the jars and threw its contents into the flames.

Meriste crushed a jar on the side of the rock and threw the heart into the lava.

Mira followed Meriste's motions, emptying the jars almost mechanically. Lyraetia did the same, a squeamish expression on her face and cracks open a jar, tossing it over the side.

Calendre picked up a jar in each hand and walked over to the edge, cracking them open on the ledge before dropping them into the depths.

Mira looked up at Lyraetia, listening to a murmured question from her squire, and nodded at her. "Throw them all down." She, too, looked nauseated.

Lyraetia continued disposing of them, but refused to look at the gruesome work.

Stillig started taking jars with reverence and broke them open, before gently tossing them over the side. He was surprisingly tend and caring in the task at hand.

"Light bless the souls of these fallen," Meriste prayed. "May they rest in peace, free to know happiness beyond mortal bonds.

"Toss me another," Finnaeous said.

Belpha threw a jar to the druid, who caught it, broke it open and grabbed the heart. He held it in his hand, studying it for a long while before committing it to the flames. "What were you trying to do, I wonder?"

Stillig and meriste, overcome by emotion, knelt down to pray.

Belpha reached down and grabbed another jar, cracked it and tossed it into the lava. "May the elements protect these souls,"

Mira chanted an invocation to the four Elements to protect those who have passed on, asking that their voices be preserved on the Wind.

Finnaeus wrinkled his nose and tossed the heart over the edge and wiped the blood off into the dirt. "How many hearts could he possibly need? I'll never understand trolls and their sadistic rituals."

"They aren't all like this," Mersite replied

"You're right," Finnaeus said. "At least I hope you're right."

Meriste threw the last of the jars in her reach over the edge, then paused to look at the blood on her hands and grimaced.

Gentyl broke open another jar open and picked the heart up in her hand. "This could have been someone from Pia."

Mira picked up another heart in its jar and looked at it before tossing the whole thing into the lava. "I like to not think about it."

"These were all heroes," Gentyl said. "He didn't pick out his victims by accident. We need to hunt him down and put him out of his misery."

"And before he decides to restock his collection," Finnaeous said.

"Agreed. Unless there was some kind of time limit on how long he had to collect hearts he could just start over."

"Do we know where he can be found?" the dwarf Stillig asked, "or is he in hiding? Can we entice him into the open?"

"We could, but...it would take powerful bait," she replied. She then frowned at Belpha who was eyeing her up and down as if she had "bait" written all over her.

Finnaeus dropped the last of the jars. "Well we know he operates in Zul'Gurub. We could try keeping tabs on the area. Will be tough since it's teeming with trolls."

"Agreed. He visits troll areas that have powerful magic."

Mira shuddered. "I want to get out of here."

Lyraetia looked over. Then around and at Mira.

Gentyl nodded, "Aye, we're done."

"I'm not powerful enough to be good bait...but I fear no troll," Stillig said.

"Good bait eh?" Belpha siad, voicing what he'd been thinking as he watched Gentyl.

Gentyl turned to Stillig. "Aye, you are, Stillig. He is after anyone who wears a Pia tabard."

Mira gently laid a hand on Lyra's shoulder and nodded. "We can go now, I think." She looked at Meriste; the look in her eyes is unsettled and haunted.

Finnaeus looked at Belpha. "No. We can't risk putting another Pia member in the hands of the Modas. If we do that we'll never make progress against them."

"Could you summon a water totem?" Meriste asked "I...want to get this...off of my hands..."

Meriste washed her hands in a spray of water and watches the blood pool at her feet before it runs off the edge of the cliff.

Gentyl watched the tainted water from the totems running off the edge. "I wonder if the blood will every really come off."

Mira turned a concerned look at Lyraetia. "Let's ... Elements ... let's get out of here before I get sick."

"We need to hunt Dree'jin down," Gentyl said. "Before he can start collecting again. Or hunting us. I'll pass the word to Desmend to have the guards doubled. Everyone travel in pairs. That troll is going to go insane, or more insane when he visits the temple. I left a Pia tabard there so he wouldn't take out his rage on an innocent, but that means we're going to be the focus of the rage. Don't take any chances."

((Many thanks to Dree'jin for allowing Pia to play along in his story. While the troll may be insane, the player is solid gold. *salute*))

It had been a fairly pleasant evening of spreading pain about the Alliance ranks. After picking up another heart from a dwarf warrior in the Arathi Basin who sacrificed himself to allow his fellows to retreat, Dree'jin wanted to stop by his family's hut in Zul'mamwe to gather a few things, before returning the heart to Hakkar's temple in the Gurubashi capital. The hut was old, and small, and nothing special compared to the other dwellings built by the tribal Skullsplitters, but it was the first home that Dree had known. It was the place where his mother and father raised him and his eleven or twelve (it was easy to lose count) siblings. For all of the hut's basic function, it did have a beautiful view of the jungle, with a trail out the back that snaked through the trees to a still creek, which in turn fed one of the swifter rivers. Any pleasure Dree'jin had felt in the evening was gone when he spotted that the notes concerning his ritual were displaced or missing, and that a note was in their place. A chill started at the base of the troll's skull; the short, peach-fuzz fur that covered his body stood on end. A picture, drawn by Ektilia, of Dree, Arjah, Ektilia, Alaijen, Jin'balah and the young twins standing outside this very hut, was disturbed. The troll quickly read over the note. The chill, which was a very unusual sensation for the over-confident, reckless troll, raced down his spine and enfused his limbs.


The Alliance were aware of his goals. Dree wasn't overly concerned about the references toward his children - he and Arjah had certainly made little effort to conceal the existence of their family from the Horde, or Alliance. They were currently in Arjah's care, and there was never a fiercer, more protective mother than Arj. The goal of his ritual, however, was a secret. Not even the other members of the Modas il Toralar were aware of why Dree was collecting hearts, and that was how the troll prefered it - he didn't trust any of them, not even Aziel, to allow Dree'jin to attempt to empower his spirit with the kind of energy he was gathering. It was why Dree was keeping the hearts hidden away in Zul'Gurub, rather than the Modas's Sanctum. Now that the Alliance were aware of his ambitions, a hunt would undoubtedly soon be under way.


Dree'jin bolted outside, and leapt on his black-scaled, red feathered raptor. The animal hissed in anger, but obeyed the troll's handling, and raced off into the jungle. The chill was still eating away at him; he had to check on the hearts, approximately eighty in all, and ensure their safety. He would force the Gurubashi to triple the guards, and perhaps lock the hearts away beneath tonnes of stone which could only be lifted by gigantic troll Berzerkers.


Even if the troll wasn't in a frantic rush, he probably wouldn't have bothered to respond to the Ghost in the Night, anyway. Dree wouldn't have known where to begin to answer the simple question of 'why?'. Even if he had, no human could understand that the troll race was currently nothing more than a bare flicker of a shadow of the once mighty civilisation that spanned the entire planet. The Tribes were separated, weak, lost. The Loa had led them astray, content to sit back and watch as the empire crumbled into nothingness. Dree'jin did not give a toss for the children touched on both sides of the fence. He cared even less for those he left dead in his wake. All that Dree cared about was the troll race reclaiming its empires, and giving his children a future worthy of their ancestors. If he was to accomplish all of this...well, sometimes one was forced to take things into their own hands. Dree'jin would be the Loa that Hakkar, Mueh'zala and Bwonsamdi could not be. He would bring death and destruction to this world which had not been experienced for millenia. He would remind this world of the raw power of the troll race.

Gentyl strolled out of the cabin and onto the ship deck. The dark green velvet robe brushed against the planking that was always immaculately clean. The Commander ran a taut and tidy ship.

A seaman looking out over the rail nodded to her when she approached. "Missus. Trouble sleeping?"

She smiled. These sailors had become an extended family. A sigh escaped. That was the trouble. They would be her only family. At one time she had longed for a dozen children. She still did, but it was something that would never be.

There was seldom a week that went by she wasn't attacked by one horde assassin or another. When it wasn't horde, it was alliance. Three weeks ago a man tried to pull her into an alley. Her gorget blocked the dagger meant to kill her, but she still had a new scar to show for the effort. The man died on her sword without revealing who sent him. What kind of fear makes a man choose death over information that would save his life? She had intended to turn him over to the authorities, but he attacked her again and left her no choice.

More than the danger she seemed shrouded in was the fear for the unborn children. They would always be an instrument to use against her or her husband.

Logically, she told herself people wouldn't kidnap or harm innocent children to get to her, but she knew the truth. Belpha had looked at her as bait to get Dree'jin out in the open, but she had been considering something else. The thought had flitted into her mind unbidden, dark and disgusting. Kidnap one of Dree's children and lure him out in the open. Out in the open to be killed.

If even she would think of this, what qualms would someone have who had no pretext of honor?

A tear slipped down her cheek. They had discussed it and made the decision. There would be no children. It wasn't fair. Even that psychopath Dree'jin could have a normal family and children. She had listened to Voice many times describing how the troll frolicked with his children for hours at a time, playful and cheerful as a child himself. She had longed to see Turn playing with his own children.

Better to have no children than to lose one to someone bent on vengeance.

She felt the Commander slip his arm around her. He was clad only in a pair of white, duck pants. The moonlight glistened off the ragged scar across his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "Come back to bed, wife."

"Yes, dear."