World of Warcraft®

(( *giggle* Seaman. ))

There were no words in the Orc or Common languages that could express what Dree’jin felt as he stood in Hakkar’s sacrificial chamber. The chamber was dark, illuminated by several torches ensconced on the stone walls. A shallow well was built into the floor, surrounded by four blood-stained stone blocks designed to hold a sacrifice steady as they were murdered; thin channels in the stonework led the blood into the well. Two great, graceful statues of the Soulflayer watched over everything in the room, the bladed arms of the avatar were opened wide to welcome the sacrifice’s soul to be devoured. Until recently, there was one other feature to the room – jars upon jars of hearts were stacked against the back wall, where various tools and reagents of Hakkar’s priesthood were kept.

Trolls were a savage race. Tribal warfare was common, as was dark voodoo, cannibalism, slavery, genocide, murder, and worse. The Troll language had more variants to the words pain, blood and slaughter than elves had fruity wines. There was one word in particular which suited Dree’jin perfectly at this moment – loosely, it meant a combination of hate, fury, and the unbearable need to kill someone. A deep growl rumbled in the back of Dree’jin’s throat as he stood in the chamber, the tabard of the Pia Presidium clenched in one large, three-fingered hand. He had been so close to his mark of one hundred and eleven hearts. And now...this.

‘There was nothing we could do, Hexxer. They were much too strong...’ A priestess stood behind Dree, fiddling nervously with a bone-necklace. ‘Many of us died to protect your prizes.’ Dree’jin did not resent his brothers and sisters for this. Ultimately, it was his fault, as he should have disclosed his plans to Aziel and kept his trophies in the Sanctum of the Modas il Toralar. For all of the troll’s pride and hopes to restore his race to its former glory, he was under no misconceptions that for the moment, the Alliance and the Horde were simply far too powerful to stand against. For the moment. ‘Kids these days have such amazing toys, don’t you think? I saw my son playing with this strange little magical construct the other day, made by some blood elf mage. It spins, dances, makes noises. It’s really quite something special.’

‘...Hexxer...?’

‘Lemme tell you a story, chum. When I was nothing more than a grubby, scabby-kneed runt growing up in Zul’mamwe, we had nothing of the kind. We made our own toys from what we could scavenge from the jungles – carved our own marbles, made our own jacks from animal bones and ligaments. River pebbles were the best thing for marbles. If you dug into the sediment deep enough, you could find the smoothest, most spherical stones, perfect for cleaning up and grinding down to perfection.’ A wide grin spread over Dree’s face at the memory. Torch light flickered garishly over his sharp, angular features and wickedly curved tusks. ‘I loved my little collection of marbles and jacks. This one marble I had was truly beautiful: it was limestone, I think, with layers of green squiggles that ran around it. When it rolled, you could see the squiggles writhing across its surface – I polished that little thing so it shone like a jewel! – and I never lost a game with it. See, that was the whole point of the game, to play against the other kids and the winner got to pick a trophy from the loser. That little marble and I walked off with many trophies. A good analogy for life, don’t you think?’

The priestess nodded her head slowly, clearly uncertain and perhaps more nervous than ever.

‘One day, we were playing by a river the crocolisks favour, and I won against this bratty, green-haired little kid. Kukiru was his name, I think. Kukiru was a bit of a sore loser, and refused to let me take my trophy. In a rage, he grabbed up my marbles and threw them into the river, including my limestone marble. There was no chance of getting them back from that river, not if you wanted to keep your arms and legs. So I did the only thing that any five year old would do. I ran back home, crying, wrapped my arms around my Momma and told her all about it.’ The troll’s grin faltered. He licked his lips, deep in thought. ‘Do you know what she told me? She said that whining and !@#$%ing didn’t solve anything. She said that in this life, you’ve gotta fix your own problems, because no one else will. She taught me my first ever curse that day.

‘Now, something you know all too well, Priestess, the Loa can be terribly fickle. To invoke their power, you’ve gotta do it just right, because otherwise you run the risk of insulting them, and that rarely ends well. It took me weeks to construct that Fetish of Hir’eek properly. I kept carving scratches into the wood, or breaking the fragile little bat bones that were strung off the tail to make it a bit like a wind chime. But Momma oversaw everything, and she taught me well. When that Fetish was perfect, I snuck into Kukiru’s hut, and hid it under his sleeping mat.

‘The one thing I remember most vividly was Kukiru’s screams that night. They woke up the entire village. There’s something...different about the sound of a child’s screams, a child who is in great pain and suffering mortal terror for their very life. Everyone rushed out into the village centre, where we found Kukiru rolling and flopping about in the dirt and leaves. He was covered head to toe in vampire bats – there must have been almost a hundred of these plump, hairy little winged leeches stuck all over him, sucking out his blood. Where Kukiru rolled, he left behind this sloppy trail of bloody leaves and broken bats. By the time the medicine man got the bats off him, Kukiru was long dead. The kid was nothing more than a shrivelled husk, covered in tiny fang marks. I was so proud. I told Momma what I’d done, and she hugged me tight and praised my actions, telling me how wonderful I was. She was a priestess too, you see, and wanted me to follow in her footsteps.

‘The next morning, the very first thing I did, even before the sun broke the tree tops, I wandered down the back trail behind our home to a small creek that trickled by, and started searching for another marble. I never did find another stone as beautiful as that limestone, but the satisfaction I felt at Kukiru’s death more than made up for that.’ Dree’jin grinned again, and winked at the priestess. She smiled back somewhat awkwardly.

‘So...what does that mean? You’re going to start rebuilding the collection of hearts? Hexxer, the humans may still have them. We could steal them back!’

Dree’jin shook his head, and held up the tabard to emphasise his words. ‘They left this, but no ransom note or any indication that they want to make a deal. The hearts are destroyed, chum, you can bet on it.’

‘Well...what, then? Back to picking them off and taking their hearts?’

‘No. There’s more than one way to cook an elf. We won’t be wasting any more time cutting up hearts.’

The Priestess shook her head, unsure of what Dree’jin was talking about. ‘I don’t understand, Hexxer.’

He clapped her on the shoulder, grinning broadly. ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, chum. I’ve got another idea in mind, one that’s a bit more tricky and risky than I would prefer...but I have a feeling that we can pull it off. What we’ll really need are a half dozen skilled warlocks, and happily, if there’s one thing the Modas il Toralar is never short of, it’s warlocks.’

‘What about them, Hexxer?’ The Priestess asked, pointing to the Pia Presidium tabard.

‘The real reason they left this behind was because they want to take responsibility for this. They want us to focus on them. Unfortunately for our good buddies in their fancy tower, this isn’t going to be a private war. Every man, woman and child of the Alliance should be afraid. I’ll make sure that there’s plenty of suffering to go about.’ Dree licked his lips eagerly. He scrunched up the tabard and tossed it into the well in the centre of the room. The statues of Hakkar seemed to leer.

The cards didn't make sense.

Then again, neither did cowering in a cellar in Stormwind, but that wasn't Alelsa's fault. The whole world had stopped making sense days ago. Her thoughts over being tortured in the underbelly of Dalaran were almost as bad as the physical pain had been. Then, just when she thought she was back safely amongst friends, Lahkin had ... hit her.

She wiped her face with a sleeve stained with both grime and blood, trying to make sense of what she'd drawn. That dark presence she'd sensed during Erelyn's reading all those weeks ago... the one that she'd told Lahkin to be afraid of... it seemed to be back with a vengeance.

And if so, perhaps he deserved it.

No. That wasn't true. He was her friend, and he needed to be warned.
No. He'd betrayed her, shown his true colors.
No. It was a mistake. He hadn't meant it.
No. He, Kordrion, and Erelyn were in it together, to drive her away.

It was all such a mess.

She threw the rest of the deck at the wall, and curled back into a ball again. Strands of golden hair lay across the filthy floor marking the places she'd been sitting in previously, and her discarded atheme lay forgotten in the corner, still caked with blood.

"My master, does he grasp beyond his reach? Should we be concerned?" inquired one of the usual faceless sycophants.

Aziel V'Ghera knew Dreejin in such a way that few could lay claim; friendship was not in his nature but there was, at the very least, clear evidence of an understanding. An understanding perhaps closer to a king and his mad jester. Ghoulishly dour advisers made vain attempts to question the allowances long bestowed upon the chaotic and impulsive troll.

"No." he bluntly responded; a single syllable resonating with a hiss.

Not everyone could see with the eyes of a "king".

A brief interlude

‘Can we hear a new story tonight, please Daddy? Puh-leeze!’ Ektilia begged as Dree’jin and Arjah struggled to get everyone dressed and ready for bed after bathing. Dree was currently trying to pull Ektilia’s nightshirt on over her lanky arms, which were waving about as she hopped about on the spot excitedly. The fact that his ribs were aching after being kicked in the chest by a worgen rogue did not help matters. ‘Stay...still!’ Dree grouched. There were some nights when he seriously considered slipping something into his children’s food to make them drowsy, and with a good working knowledge of herbalism, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Once, he had mentioned this thought to Arjah in the carefree way one mentions that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to clean the gutters out before storm season struck again this year. He had been berated quite fiercely for even considering such a thing (Dree didn’t think it was such a big deal, but apparently it was) and so they had to do things the hard way. ‘Alright, alright. Just – there!’

In the time it had taken Dree to work out which end of the nightshirt went where, to get Ektilia to cooperate, and finally to shoo her toward her bed, Arjah had Alaijen, Jin’balah and the twins sorted. Dree was fairly sure that he was a terrible parent. At least they all had Arjah to keep them out of trouble. ‘I suppose we could talk about something a bit more grown up then The Raptor’s First Tooth or Gorilla Games, tonight. But ya gotta promise me that there will be no bad dreams or nothin’.’ Dree and Arj were only just getting back into their old, pre-children habits in the evenings, and he was definitely not going to do anything that would jeopardise their late night activities. Arjah gave Dree her ‘critical eye’, of which he was well accustomed. ‘Not too grown up, I hope.’ It took a bit longer for the three eldest, who shared a room, to get settled in bed. Dree sat in the old wicker chair he had put in the room specifically for story time, and gave a sigh. He would never admit it to anyone, but his favourite wicker chair was amazingly comfortable, even if it was old, worn and would look more complete with an eighty year old sitting in it. There were times when the troll felt eighty years old – generally on a night like tonight, after he had returned from a big day of doing nasty things to people. Arjah sometimes joined in for story time, but lately she was engrossed with organising guild-related ... things. She’d told him what they were, but he hadn’t been paying attention at the time.

Dree waited until he had everyone’s attention, and then he began. ‘In the very beginning, over 10,000 years ago, there was just one great big super-continent.’ Dree spread his arms wide to try and emphasise how great and big Kalimdor once was. ‘And this is where the troll Empires ruled – the Drakkari in the far north, the Amani in the forest heartlands, and the Gurubashi – that’s us – in the southern jungles. Each Empire was made of many, many different Tribes, and while there was some trouble between Tribes at times, our great ancestors were kin with a common enemy – swarms of disgusting, insect-like creatures that wanted to rule the land for themselves and kill all the trolls.’ Dree grimaced internally at Ektilia’s, Alai’jen’s and Jin’balah’s facial expressions at the thought of monstrous bugs eating trolls. ‘But our kin fought together, and kept them at bay. That’s the power of kin – we always help each other out when there’s trouble.

‘The trolls lived happily, and the glory and strength of the Empires stretched across much of the world. Our great ancestors built temple cities many times the size of Orgrimmar – ‘

‘Bigger than Orgrimmar!?’ Alai’jen breathed in astonishment.

‘Ya, ya, bigger than any city that stands today. In these cities, we accomplished much. In the north, gigantic aqueducts still stand that carry water from high up in the mountains to agricultural fields where food for many millions of trolls was grown. Beautiful jewels of jade and gold were fashioned, and delicate but amazingly detailed sculptures were carved. The Loa were worshipped, and helped the troll Empires to prosper. Voodoo made us strong. The High Priests, Oracles and ruling castes governed the cities and appeased the Loa, and life was ... something truly special. Sure, if ya were weak and useless ya’d be eaten by the others, but a little bit of cannibalism keeps everyone on their toes.’ Dree smiled sadly, suddenly depressed that he would never experience that ancient world, and even moreso that his children probably wouldn’t, either.

‘And then the night elves came. No one knows for sure where they came from...but it’s said in the old hieroglyphs that a lost Tribe of trolls discovered a poisonous well, and that it mutated them, turning them into the foul creatures now known as the Kal’dorei.’ Dree wrinkled his nose in distaste at the mere thought of the purple-skinned, snub-nosed, tuskless, flower-picking weaklings. His shoulder gave a slight twinge as the thoughts reminded him of the night elf hunter he drove a knife into earlier that day. ‘The Kal’dorei stole power from the poisoned well. They stole such immense power that they fought a war against the troll Empires ... and destroyed many cities, killed countless trolls.’

‘Why, Daddy?’ Jin’balah asked, his tiny face scrunched up in confusion.

Dree opened his mouth to reply, but had no idea what to say – the result being that he sat with his mouth agape for several long moments. ‘I don’t know, Jin. Perhaps they did it because they were different to us. Perhaps simply because they could. Whatever the reason, the Kal’dorei’s reckless use of the poisoned well brought the demons to our world, and in the war against the demons that followed, they blew the entire planet up! Shattered the super-continent into tiny fragments of land...and forever annihilated much that was of our great ancestor’s Empires.’

‘I don’t like this story. Can we hear about the baby raptor again?’ Ektilia chirped, wriggling about under her covers and displacing several pillows and assorted toys.

‘No, because this story has an important message.’ Dree frowned at his eldest daughter, but he could hardly fault her for being fickle without running the risk of being hypocritical. ‘In the new, broken world, life was hard for our ancestors. Much of the infrastructure and people that made up the Gurubashi Empire was destroyed when the Kal’dorei blew up the world. There were only a few outlying Tribes, along the far southern coast, that survived. They struggled to recreate what was lost, and in their desperation, sought help from a dark and powerful Loa, Hakkar the Soulflayer.’ The children only had the vaguest idea of what Hakkar was, and that their father once served the Blood God. They were far too young to understand the cruelties of life, and the necessities that drove one to serve a Loa such as Hakkar, simply to survive. Perhaps they never would. He hoped they never would. ‘The Soulflayer answered the pleas of the Gurubashi, and through his Atal’ai, his Devoted Ones, they sought to rebuild the Empire. They raised the temple city of Zul’Gurub, and the Gurubashi became strong once again. The jungle trolls once more dominated the south. But the guidance of the Soulflayer came with a dreadful price – the souls of the Gurubashi. Many were sacrificed to appease the hateful Loa, but it could never be satisfied. The Gurubashi realised that the cost of the Soulflayer’s strength was too great. They rose up against Hakkar and his Atal’ai, banishing both, but such was the magnitude of the civil war against the Atal’ai, that the Gurubashi Empire once more fell into ruin.’ Dree’jin sighed to himself. Retelling the tragedy of his people was never easy for the troll. He could see that his children were quiet, contemplative. Perhaps they too could sense the importance of their history.

‘To this very day, the Gurubashi Empire remains a shadow of its former glory and power. Nothing will change without a strong, wise leader to gather the trolls to once more rebuild what we have lost. Some say that troll is King Rastakhan, who rules over the Zandalar Tribe. I am not so sure. This world is changing rapidly, and Rastakhan has sat apart from it for too long...but we shall see. Maybe that great leader will be one of you.’ The troll nodded, talking more to himself than the children.

‘But what’s the important message?’ Ektilia asked, her head cocked to the side like a small bird.

‘Oh! Right! The message is to learn from the mistakes of the Kal’dorei, and the Gurubashi. The Kal’dorei abused the power of the poisoned well until the entire world burst, and the Gurubashi made a bad deal without thinking it through. Ya see, one day, you lot will be old enough to start making big, important decisions for yourself. Always, always, think about the consequences of your choices. More often than not, the big, important decisions carry with them a price that may not be worth it.’ Dree’jin grinned to try and take away some of the seriousness of the conversation. He went about and lightly kissed the three on their foreheads. He was interrupted before he could blow out the last candle on the nightstand.

‘Daddy, how do you know which choices are the important ones?’ Ektilia mumbled through a yawn.

Dree’jin paused for a moment, more to stifle a yawn of his own than anything else. ‘The important ones are those that will affect the people you love.’

‘Oh.’ She mumbled in response, as if it was an obvious answer. ‘G’night.’ She yawned again, and Dree blew out the final candle.

The troll snuck out of the room, down the hall, and closed the door behind him as he entered what he still thought of as Arjah’s bedroom. There were far too many soft and fluffy objects in the room to be his, Dree thought with a crooked smile. The troll winced as he slipped out of his tribal vestments, noticing several fresh, dark purple bruises on his chest and ribs and a fresh cut along his collar bone from a sword that barely missed severing a major artery. He threw himself on the soft, feathered mattress. Seated on her side of the bed, scribbling something, Arjah looked up and shot the troll a wry grin. ‘I heard some of that from in here. Good advice. But I can’t say I remember the last time you ever stopped to think of the consequences to your choices.’

‘Do what I say, not what I do. Besides, not everyone can be as all powerful as me, not even your exceptional children.’ Dree shot her a sly wink, and received a pillow in the face for his trouble. The soft patter of footsteps reached the troll’s sensitive ears, and he groaned inwardly. Perhaps it was just as well to have a few extra travellers in the bed this night: he was awfully sore, and Arjah probably wasn’t interested in doing anything –

Any further thoughts were lost as Dree’jin lapsed into partial unconsciousness.

((Really fascinating read, Dree. ^^ Brilliantly written!))

((Good job, Dree. I love it.))

((Aww that was cute :3 ))

Gentyl walked the ramparts of the keep. She had expected an attack after they destroyed the hearts. Her senses were heightened. She strained to hear the cry of war birds and drakes descending on them, but there was only the normal sounds of an active keep.

Surely Dree'jin knew they had destroyed the hearts by now. She was sure someone in Molten Core would have talked about the mad Holy Guards smashing jars and dumping hearts into the lava. There were so many minute shards of glass on the ledge it looked like they were walking on diamond dust.

And what of Finn's report? Gentyl looked across the forest. Ragged purple clouds skittered across the face of a slowly sinking sun. This was such a peaceful place. Would the Argent be able to maintain peace here? Pia had been ordered to stand down unless attacked, but would the Argent offer support if they were attacked? She doubted it.

What if Dree really was trying to become a Loa? From what she understood they were like minor gods or powerful elementals. What price would a man pay to become a god? Dozens of hearts, but what else? Would he give up everything he loved for power? What price would he pay when he got it? Did he even know? Or care? He was like a rabid badger when he set his mind on something. How much more psychotic would he be as a god? She shivered in the warm afternoon sun.

She wandered down the steps and out to the stables. What was she remembering about troll lore? She look would at the library when she got back, but she knew she had read something about Loas. That was it. All trolls have an opportunity to transcend and become Loa when they die. If that's all it took, she could help Dree out, but it had to be something more if he required 111 strong hearts.

She whistled for the drake who wheeling aimlessly in the air, occasionally swooping down on the flock of sheep grazing outside the keep. The drake shook his head and tried to spit out the wool stuck in the tiny, razor sharp teeth. "Serves you right, Bellum. Stop diving down on them just to see them run."

"You're leaving, Sepha?" Helhammer was the new deathknight. He had cordially escorted her to the ship the night he joined since there were far too many toasts and he was hoping Gentyl wouldn't drown before the end his first night in the guild. He had also endured her singing Red Red Wine, over and over and over. Once he ate some of Gen's cooking, he would have passed two important trials. Fortitude and fear suppression.

"Aye, I need to talk to Imperon and Orwyn. It's much too quiet. Dree is up to something."

(( This is a link to a page in the Black Hand Society thread which ties in to how Dree has collected souls to replace the lost hearts:

http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/3657610508?page=7

Flying high in the sky, Tyrexus had Gentyler nested safely in his robe. He had over the past few weeks started talking to the cat and thinking of the little thing as a stalwart companion. "Twice now, they have me running off and licking my wounds." There wasn't any anger in his voice.

"First, that behemoth of a Worgen that hit me with that ridiculously large hammer." Looking inquisitively for a second at the feline, he continued, "I wonder how he knew I was there? In the shadows, cloaked in Invisibility. He shouldn't have been able to see me. His strength! No being should be that fast and strong." Looking at the cat again, "yes, my arm still hurts where he almost pulled me from the portal. Gads...that's all Gentyl needs. A bodyguard the size of a mountain." He shakes his head.

"Then, today. Finally, I'm almost healed. The foolish alliance decide to attack Bilgewater Harbor. Yes, Gentyler, I agree. Not very smart." Pausing in fond rememberance. "They were uncoordinated and weak. It was just like the old days. Killing without threat." Looking down into the little kitten's eyes, "my own greed got me. I went to get a straggler. Maybe add a couple of eyes to my collection, I do so love Draenei eyes. Then one of those, what were their names?" He questioned. "Turna Insomnia? No, that's not it. Terribly Incognito? No. Hmmmm. Trifle Inferior? Bah. Whatever their names, I believe that it was their leader. Yes, he was the one. A coward at heart. Had eleven of his men form an ambush." He sneered his disgust at the cat. "It cost them at the very least, eight of their lives. However, I barely escaped with mine. Hmmm. Now that I think back on it. It must have been more like fourteen of them. Yes. Fourteen, I'm sure. Well, we'll see soon how that paladin likes leading a guild. Without the aid of sight." Smiling at Gentyler, he whispered, "or if he has any children not safely in their beds."

((Also posted here, since it's sorta-relevant!

LOVE the guild names. You made me lol.))

The assault had quickly turned into a rout.

True to his promise to his Horde allies, Lahkin stayed far above the battle, wings flapping rhythmically to keep his stone drake form aloft. Luckily he had been given an excuse so the others wouldn't question his choice to stay out of the battle. An enterprising dwarven reporter had wanted to watch the attack from a bird's-eye view, and Lahkin agreed to give him a ride.

The two circled, watching as the Alliance valiantly drove the Horde up the hill again and again, only to go down again and again under heavy fire. Lahkin found that keeping a rider on his back was almost as hard as staying on as rider himself. Twice the dwarf caught a stray spell to the face and fell off. When Lahkin swooped down to pick him up the second time, he caught sight of a familiar form on the edge of the battle.

Modas!

Lahkin grabbed the protesting dwarf and swooped closer. The Forsaken taunted him, drawing him further and further away from the main forces. Lahkin felt a grin cracking his draconic face. The Modasi hoped to pick him off out of range of any help, but little did he know the Terrans were skilled at ambushes themselves...

Lahkin doubled back to the Azshara cliffs to deposit the dwarf in a safe location. In the meantime he sent out a call for help to the rest of his Terrans, then turned back for the Harbor.

With any luck, the Modasi wouldn't even know what hit him...

This time two stone drakes descended on the Forsaken, Kordrion switching forms to stab at the Modasi's back, while Lahkin caught him on the chin with his mace as soon as he had hands again. Despite the swift attack, the Modasi still managed to get off some spells, and Lahkin wheezed as multiple bolts of fire and arcane blackened his armor.

Suni came down soon afterwards, throwing her own magic into the scuffle. Between the three of them, the Modasi was laid flat. Lahkin stepped back, wiping his forhead and smirking to himself. One down!

And in the next instant he was flat on the ground himself, head exploding into stars.

The orc shaman had appeared out of nowhere, the fire of his mace scorching Lahkin's blonde hair, and the ice of his axe cooling it in the next instant. He didn't look happy to see Lahkin there, and Lahkin saw just enough of him to register the orc as a not-Modas. Fel. He hadn't want to involve any others in the crossfire.

Lahkin rolled sideways, jumping to his feet in a defensive stance. He managed to catch a chunk of lava off his shield, hissing in pain as the metal super-heated against his arm. Another shaman was backing up the first, this one a tauren. Lahkin vaguely recognized the armor as belonging to the Razortalon, Eslyn.

Double fel.

Lahkin cast about, just in time to see Kordrion dive off the side of the hill, and Suni disappear into thin air. Lahkin followed his second, leaping off the edge of the goblin's island. He called on the stone drake's spirit again, wings sprouting from his back. His muscles quivered and twitched in strain as he caught the air, and the commander hoped his wings didn't sprain themselves before his change was all the way finished.

He rose up, wings aching, claws grazing the ocean water. Bilgewater Harbor was left far behind. He called on the Terrans to rendezvous under Nordrassil, and then sent out a call for an AAMS courier to take a message to the Horde in apology.

He had a feeling he had a long explanation due for the Razortalons.

((Er. I am told I may have gotten Kaeevanrash and Eslyn confused. I looked up and just saw angry tauren shaman--so my apologies if I got the wrong one in the write-up! Whichever one of you it was has a wicked lava burst!))

Heart of Darkness

After more than a year of preparation, Dree’jin finally had what he required for the ritual. Atop Hakkar’s altar, the highest point in Zul’Gurub, the troll stood gathered with six other voodoo practitioners, a massive iron cauldron, and the motley collection of reagents needed for the complex stages of the ritual. Of these, the most important were the five blood shards which contained several hundred souls between them, collected by the Modas il Toralar. Dree looked out over the city in which he had spent the majority of his life – the verdant jungle, the cool blue rivers that snaked through the city, and of course the many temples and homes built by the Gurubashi. Quite small from this height, he could see the Gurubashi trolls going about their daily business, whether it was fishing or collecting plants from the rivers, cultivating fruit-bearing trees, or creating weapons, armour or fortifications to defend the city. It was all beautiful...but not enough to satisfy Dree. The Gurubashi deserved better.

The closer that Dree’jin came to finally performing the ritual to enter the Spirit World and become a Loa, the more he began to second guess himself, to have doubts. He had always justified his ambitions as being for his people, his family. To become a Loa powerful enough to guide the Gurubashi Empire to its past strength, to once more dominate the jungles and spread north. To ensure that his family had the right he never had – to grow as part of a mighty troll civilisation, where their future would be privileged and secure, their quality of life far greater than second-class citizens of the Horde, squatting on a deserted island...at least until Garrosh took that from them, too. But now, the overconfident troll was no longer quite so sure of himself...the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this ritual was not for his people or family – it was for himself. The narcissistic troll wanted everyone to be filled with fear and cower at his strength, to think of him with awe and terror. He wanted to reign over the troll Empire forever.

Dree’jin became aware that his fellow witch doctors were looking at him, waiting expectantly. Dree shook his head to clear it. All of this thinking about emotions and motivations wasn’t healthy. Self-growth was for chumps. He should stick to what he did best: action, and damn the consequences. Smiling, Dree addressed his peers in their native language, ‘Today I cross the boundary to the Spirit World. I will meet Hakkar, Mueh’zala and Bwonsamdi, and take their power for my own. They have failed the Gurubashi. Together, we will put things right. Together, we will rebuild the Empire!’ The troll was proud to see the determination and focus in the eyes of his fellows. All of them had been past pupils of some of the greatest troll witch doctors to walk Azeroth in generations, several of them taught by the infamous Jin’do. Without further pomp or ceremony (such things were for humans) Dree’jin approached the cauldron, and the other trolls formed a circle around the pot and their leader. Their goal was relatively simple compared to Dree’s; they would be opening and maintaining a doorway to the Spirit World. Dree, on the other hand, was tasked with summoning, binding and controlling the hundreds of spirits writhing within the blood shards. Unfortunately for them, they would all be destroyed utterly, and Dree’jin would subsequently absorb the immense energy released and use this as a weapon to defeat the Loa, in the Spirit World.

Dree’jin closed his eyes and briefly recited the steps of the ritual in his mind. Around him, the witch doctors began to chant in an ancient form of Troll, known only to the most learned voodoo practitioners. He dropped a mixture of phosphorous, herbs and kindling into the cauldron, and waved a three-fingered hand over the pot. Green flames sprung into life, flickering hungrily. Carefully, Dree removed the blood shards from a pouch, and held them above the flames. The troll could hear the sickening wail of the captured souls in his mind as they dangled above the fire. A sound of tearing, as if a knife was sliding through thin hide, came from above the circle of trolls, and Dree’jin knew that the time had come. He looked up and saw a thin, purple light, the colour of an early evening’s twilight, slashed across the sky. Slowly, the light spread as the doorway to the Spirit World opened further. Bracing himself, the troll released the blood shards. The fragile crystals tumbled into the flames, and immediately, the heat caused tiny cracks to begin spreading across the smooth facets of the crystals.

The crystals shattered, and a wave of howling spirits swarmed out of the cauldron. Dree’jin was ready for them – he opened his arms and siphoned the keening souls toward him. They swirled around and buffeted the troll, pushing and rocking and pressing against him to break his concentration and release them. Dree’jin merely grunted and, gritting his teeth, forced his will upon the spirits, collecting them all around him. Just as Dree had the spirits more or less under control, he heard another crystal shatter, and then another. Countless more spirits washed up and out of the cauldron to break over the Hexxer. Dree’jin was pushed to his knees as the ferocious, tortured souls of the dead hurled themselves against him. Dree could feel them all – an old cannoneer with a limp from some childhood disease, an obese baker with a secret love for a young blonde soldier who frequented their bakery, a teenage dockhand who spent every night fishing off a local reef, and many, many more. The troll roared in anger, and shouted, ‘You are all mine to do with as I choose!’ The six witch doctors could not assist the Hexxer, as they had their own hands full, straining to maintain and open the doorway further, struggling for every millimetre. Slowly, Dree’jin took control of the agitated spirits, and the storm of souls swirling about the troll calmed somewhat. The Hexxer spoke a single word, a powerful demonic spell, and the souls went up in green fire, obliterated so quickly they didn’t even have time to scream.

Dree’jin felt the energy of the destroyed souls hit him like a gronn’s fist. It was too much. He couldn’t breathe, sweat covered his body and ran into his eyes, and he felt tremendously hot, as if his skin were on fire. The ritual only called for 111 souls, but he was overconfident, was certain that he could handle the energy from several hundred. Dree’jin fell forward and vomited, his body trembling as the pressure of the spirit-energy raged within him. ‘Too much...too much...’ He twitched and jerked, sprawled out upon the altar of Hakkar. Dree’jin convulsed a second time, retching and curling into a ball. The pain was too intense for thought or sensation. The troll’s brain felt as if it would explode. Reflexively, he released the spirit-energy, and it dissipated into nothingness. The pressure in his body relaxed, but the pain did not.

None of the gathered trolls noticed the wrathful presence watching them from the Spirit World. ‘Your pride is truly something to behold, mortals.’ The Soulflayer’s voice boomed out across Zul’Gurub. Everywhere, trolls stopped what they were doing and looked up toward Hakkar’s temple, terrified that the Blood God had returned once more. ‘Close...’ Dree’jin rasped at the six witch doctors, but it was too late. A female Hexxer, with dark blue hair and a striking resemblance to Arjah, stepped forward. Her eyes were black; she grinned widely, a sadistic expression that was not of this world. Possessed by the spirit of Hakkar, the troll woman hurled a knife into the chest of one of the witch doctors. The others were still chanting, too focussed upon maintaining the connection to the Spirit World. Hakkar walked slowly to stand beside a second woman and, without raising a finger, the woman’s neck snapped audibly. Dree’jin watched with a mixture of sadness and acceptance as the woman’s lifeless body flopped across from him. The spirit-energy within Dree’jin was gone, and he was in so much pain that he could barely move. The entire ritual was a complete disaster: they had failed, and death was to be the price of that failure. Hakkar spoke a word of power, and a thick, noxious green cloud formed amongst the last of the witch doctors. They collapsed, choking and suffocating.

The possessed troll came to stand above Dree. He shuddered under the gaze of the Soulflayer, attempting to make eye contact, to show some defiance before his death. How had he ever thought that he could attempt to harm such a being? To kill three Loa and steal their power for his own...such folly. ‘We have a great deal to discuss, little mortal. Come, the Spirit World awaits, and we have such wonders to show you.’ Dree watched in horror as the woman, who looked so much like Arjah, smiled gently at him. She leant down, grabbed one of the troll’s feet, and dragged him toward the closing doorway to the Spirit World. He did not bother to struggle. He merely attempted to turn his thoughts to his family, before the end.

As Hakkar dragged the troll into the Spirit World, the scream Dree’jin released was loud enough to reverberate throughout the entire realm of souls.

Ektilia sat on the stairs that led up to Hrookhzin’s hut, waiting patiently, watching night fall over the Echo Isles. The sea breeze was fresh this evening, and the leaves of the tropical plants rustled cheerfully in response. She got to her large, floppy two-toed feet (Dree’s feet) and ran into the hut, shouting at the top of her lungs for her mother. Arjah winced at the sound and knelt before the young troll. ‘What is it, sweetheart?’

‘Did Dad say when he’d be home? He promised to take us down to the beach. We were gonna see if we could find any baby turtles!’

Arjah shook her head. ‘I’m not sure, sorry sweetheart. If he promised, he’s probably not too far away.’

Ektilia frowned thoughtfully and pondered this logic. ‘Kay, thanks!’ A wide, toothy grin spread across her face. She headed back outside to sit on the steps, and wait for her father.


(( And that's the end, at least for now! I'd like to thank everyone for contributing to the story, and for those who suffered through reading it all :P I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoy my savage little troll! It's time for me to turn to some of my other characters, who have been sadly neglected of late. I'm sure I'll run into you all in Tol Barad or other nastiness which the Modas gets up to! ))

((That is awesome but you better bring Dree back. loved the story as always and i'm so glad you're back.))