Tales of the Crew: Zin’Ara
The night was dark, but never quiet in Stranglethorn Vale. The sounds of the jungle echoed out, even over the stone walls of Zul’Kunda. Of course, the ruins themselves were not asleep - Trolls were an active people, after all, and there were sure to be several bonfires roaring, encircled by members of the Bloodscalp tribe, dancing or conducting some ritual.
Which made Zin’Ara’s objective all the more difficult.
She had no ill will towards her people, but the thought of spending her entire life in this place, among crumbling walls and all the same faces, was suffocating to her. The Bloodscalp clung fiercely to their lands, and fought off all outsiders... Zin’Ara could not live within such walls forever.
But, neither could she be caught and thought a traitor, though a traitor she might be simply for leaving. So she moved atop those crumbling walls, leaping where she needed to, all in the hope she’d avoid being seen. To disappear in the night, leaving those who knew her to wonder where she’d gone, perhaps blame it on the Skullsplitters and have yet one more reason to fight.
That was the hope, at least, before landing on a wall with a particularly fragile ledge that gave out under her sudden weight.
She slipped, cursing under her breath and holding tight to the rucksack of her things she’d slung over her shoulder as she hit dirt, rolling into the light of one such bonfire she’d hoped to avoid. Zin’Ara glanced up, amber eyes darting between several warriors that had gathered for warmth and to exchange stories. “Don’t suppose ya’ be in a mood ta’ ferget ya’ be seein’ me?”
As if.
Now, she found herself fleeing desperately through the trees, dodging handaxes and trying her damnedest to ignore the growling of beastmasters’ tigers on her heels. She was agile enough that the rough, tree-dense terrain of the jungle did not slow her down, but the rest of her tribe was no stranger to moving through it either. In an ideal world, this would have been a departure without danger: no goodbyes, no arguments, no harsh feelings.
Now, she had no place to return to - but that was fine by her.
Eventually, she lost her pursuers - if not by her skill, then by making it far enough away from their territory that they no longer cared to chase her. Heavy breaths passed through her, sweat rolling down her wide brow.
Her feet once again touched stone, but now it was the stone of the main road through Stranglethorn. Glancing both ways, Zin’Ara considered her options: the Humans, she knew, came from the North, and were unlikely to treat her much more kindly than her own people had. So, deciding quickly, she turned South, hoisting her rucksack again over her shoulder as her feet started padding down along the road.
Though she might not be able to return to the place of her birth, the place that had been her home for her entire life, her heart was light in her chest, and a toothy grin spread across her face.
What did one place she could not go matter... When there was an entire world for her to explore?