Zandali Dominion

{WRA-HRP}

[zandali-dominion]

Chatting with a Shadow

(Written by Zin’Vik (as the DM/Zuljaraal) and Tol’chakatl!)

Upon the night of Zul'Bahati, the pyres lit over the entirety of the archipelago, the sounds of the wilds from across the reef. Everything was as it was: Peaceful. The Temple of the Five Pillars within the Grove of Ghost Trees, it was quiet, and here no shadows spoke. It was quiet. Absolutely controlled. The stones of the Temple of the Five Pillar, a ruin of a grand temple nowadays, so the name is more of a reference to what it used to stand for than any real grandeur it held. Still, there was always a power here, quiet and unyielding. Possibly just like the Seer themselves.

It wasn't out of the ordinary that Tol couldn't sleep. What was out of the ordinary was that instead of just laying awake under the stars, waiting for sleep to take him, he started to wander. And ended up where they had been at a ritual just the other day. The strange man had found himself needing to leave before he could really ask the questions he had for the strange shadow. Once again he was struck by the weird broken-whisper he could hear every so often, no shadows whispering words of doom and death in his ears. He paused at the base of the stairs, holding his raptor tightly in one hand and taking a glance behind him before ascending to the circle where they'd stood before. Sleepless nights, the island of Zul'Bahati used to be known as Zul'rokh, Island of the Great Apocalypse. Why? It was deemed that way due to a vision on the very /first/ day arriving here. Bad visions, an eagle soaring over the island, only to be struck down blind by a wave of shadow, but that was long gone now. Nothing is here anymore. Nothing that would harm him here. But it was definitely anything but chance that brought him here, the stars were quite beautiful within the Grove of Ghost Willows, the name may turn people away (and the mosquitos) but it was truly a place to take in the island. The island had a few good hours of rain over the last two nights, the veve on the ground was washed clean of any mixture of chalk or blood. The arches between the pillars glowed with a thin shimmer, like beautiful webs yet to form a picture within the moonlight that has yet to shine at a certain point in the sky. The doomcaller stood for a moment near the circle, wondering if he would be able to call the entity foreward just by himself. Last time everyone had been here - but Taz'ju had mentioned talking to it also, over by the white trees. Turning he peered down at them for a moment, wondering...But he turned back soon, deciding to just do what had been done last time - at least, what he REMEMBERED had been done. Giving his raptor one last squeeze he set it down carefully along the edge, taking a step back and staring into the circle. "Are you there? Um. Shadow troll...I don't remember your name," He said, voice sounding rather small among all this open space. Already he found himself winding a hand into his hair - what if the entity was offended at his forgetfulness?

He had remembered the offering, a way to bring him forward, but there was no veve- And there was no blood. Whatever else he may recall, he may also notice that he asked for a better offering. All of things did occur, but rattling down and through it all, Tol'chakatl did the right thing. As he placed the raptor down onto the stone, opposite of where he was last time, as he was winding his hand into his hair - He would notice the raptor plushie moved a little bit across the stone. In the silence of the night, this was easily heard, a short burst of movement, about just an inch towards the center. If he placed an eye on it, or a few moments without him doing so, it would then seemingly be thrown into the center of the Temple of the Five Pillars. A certain quietness came about, a chill followed through the ruins, and it snuck up Tol'chakatl's neck. A tap on his left shoulder, as if something behind him was asking him to turn around.

Tol stood for a few moments in silence - oh, he must have forgotten something, Zin drew on the stones beforehand, maybe he'd need to do that too? As he was wracking his brain to try and remember the veve placed he heard the scratch of his raptor moving. Ears flicking forward he looked down at it, even bending slightly to look closer. Had he imagined? But then it was thrown, and he jumped, startled, a hand reaching after it - but he squeezed it into a fist and let it drop. 'It will be okay,' he thought to himself, slowly turning to face the direction he had felt the tap come from.

As Tol'chakatl had turned around, he would be greeted with --- Nothing. Literally nothing -- But there was a very audible drumming of boney fingers against one another behind him once more. And so, when if he would turn around, what he would be greeted with was the sudden disappearing of the stars above, the air about him was stagnant and there was no breeze, and the only beat he would feel was the automated drum of his heart. "Tsk, tsk, tsk..." He was greeted with, Zuljaraal present and ethereal in a shadow veil, soon all around him shadows would begin to close in and shut out all light. It was as if he was standing in the center of a storm made of billowing soot and ash. All that was still visible was the circle around him, but the endless storm of shadow would encompass the entirety of anything beyond the most outer perimeter of the temple. This shadowy entity comprised of the same material of what was surrounding him, and he was no taller than he was. However, he sat upon a throne constructed of many things - That of death, bone and sinew, three masks binded together - That of light, with golden pieces of metal that seems as if it was forced apart, and crystals of pure golden amber - That of the elements, with all four turned into the very frame of what he sat upon. Zuljaraal pulled up his hand, ethereal and it was easy to see he couldn't possibly hold any physical form, right? However, as he did so, the raptor plushy of Tol'chakatl would be seen being carefully held upon his palm in extension to Tol'chakatl. "I am Zuljaraal, Keeper of Killers and Smith of Sleep, Little One." He'd say to him, and then lower the plushy onto his lap, where it would seem to almost float. "What do you want from this sleepless shadow?" He'd inquire, his face tilted up to him - But he would note something different than the others have before, and it was that he did have a face beneath all of that shadow - But to him, it was seen, to others it was never seen. And so, if he would recognize this with shock or pause, he may react.

Tol was quite confused at first, taking a moment to register the new sound behind him. He'd turn again, of course, ears drooping a little bit in anxiety as the air around him became dark and clouded with shadow. A moment of staring would be had as he took in the sight of the shadow-form on the throne of many things, simultaneously relieved that he'd managed it and worried about what might come. "Hello," he said, voice even smaller than before. "Zuljaraal. I'm sorry I forgot your name," he added in an even more shy tone, very intent to cause no offense. The shadows spoke to him often, but it was rare he was able to speak back. If this was even the same type as the ones who showed him the bad ends. Momentarily he was distracted by the sight of a face under the swirling shadow, and he tilted his head, almost seeming to relax only slightly at this revelation. An odd reaction, maybe, but Tol was really anything but ordinary.

Zuljaraal would be sat upon this throne, the face beneath being seen for a moment, and he would know he saw it. "Oh.. Interesting." He'd tilt his head back to sit up straight against the throne. The face he saw prior was obviously Zandalari, but much much older, the features were considered archaic by their modern Zandalari appearances. As he leaned back the face he held would be seen melding into the shadow again until it was no longer seen. The only thing of note he would see before this was that its eyes were a pure white as opposed to the common blue of what many of them hold. "No, no, Little One, we have not been appropriately introduced!" He'd say, laughing to himself a low rumbling laugh - It did not sound natural or from a body of flesh and bone - Then he'd hold up the raptor plushy, toying with the flower crown, the rock, and the mask. "This is a powerful relic, do you know that?" He'd ask, now standing up from his throne. The throne would begin to meld with the shadow and almost seem to melt into the stone. As he walked, he could hear the sound of fleshy footsteps walking against the stone. Each step sounded heavy, and it almost felt as if it carried weight with it. "Tell me who you are, Little One." He'd say, standing within five feet of him, now holding out the plushy to him.

Tol'chakatl took note of this, feeling somewhere deep inside that he had just seen something special - or at least rare. He blinked tearing his gaze from the face as it disappeared back into the shadows. "Powerful?" He replied, brow furrowing just a little bit. He wondered why - it was just a keepsake. Perhaps the mask that Nar'zuul had given him to hold onto until his return held something? But he didn't inquire beyond that. Slowly he reached out, taking the raptor plush in hand, waiting for a moment before slowly holding it close to himself once again. "I'm Tol'chakatl. You can just call me Tol," he added - his usual introduction. His voice had gained a little strength - he still sounded rather shy, but no longer quite as soft as the first time he spoke. "I'm. Nobody special, really."

Zuljaraal stood at the /exact/ same height that Tol'chakatl stood at. "Powerful." He'd repeat, then extend it out to him to take. There was a sense of calmness, like as long as he stood here, nothing can harm him from the outside. A safety within the center of the storm, as no one may dare cross it. No one like him. He could sense a pair of unflinching eyes beneath the dark pits of shadow upon where eyes should be upon a regular person of their humanoid troll shape. "You are Tol the Sleepless One." He'd voice. "I am Zuljaraal, Smith of Sleep." He'd claim. "And you are someone - Maybe not someone special now, but you were once." A low voice came about him, the last part rang out like a hissing fog.

Tol watched the shadow with his bigger-than-average eyes, squeezing his raptor to his chest. Powerful...the next statement drew him from his thoughts once again, and his brow furrowed once more. "I...no, I was never anyone special. I'm just me." Tol's past was shrouded to him, a mess of broken memories and snatches of scenes he saw some days at night. "I'm just me," He said again, his hand subconsciously going to the fabric he wrapped around his chest. The broken, scratched golden tattoos he covered though he didn't quite know why, other than that they were ugly and the people on the streets of the Zocalo would oftentimes look at them with pure disgust or shift their gazes away quickly out of pity. He hated those gazes.

Zuljaraal would stand before him and he would be looking into his eyes. He would see the slow breaking of light as the dark pits of shadow would begin to break forth with beaming white eyes that seemed like intense fog lights within the dark around them. And that it was. Pure, perfect darkness. Afterwards, he would see nothing before him - But there was no drowning, nothing - Until he sensed the ground beneath him give away, and he fell.. Fell.. Fell... The feeling of air brushing past his hair, into his eyes, and the sense of the absolute freedom. Then, suddenly, there would be a sound of a body hitting the ground, and the sensation of his heart bouncing up into his throat and then down into his chest. Beating at a pace no drummer can meet. "You were something special, Tol'chakatl. You dream of it every night, do you not?" He'd inquire, whether true or not. "It is why you are afraid of the dream - Not the shadows, the shadows bend to my will. You are something else. Someone who knows the shadow around him more than the light within." He'd claim, all around him, but soon he would appear in front of him again. Tol was thrown off balance by the sudden blackness, the feeling of falling - he buried his face in the raptor, squeezing his eyes closed. But still he listened to every word Zuljaraal said. The sound of a body hitting the ground was unmistakable and sent a jolt of fear through him - it was familiar, familiar in a terrible way. He looked up, visibly tearing. "I don't know. I don't...remember. My dreams show me lots of things," He murmured, trying to fight the inevitable waterworks. "I see the end. I see my end, I see...I see things I don't understand. Just...pieces. It scares me," He had grown quiet again, shoulders shrinking forward and hair falling into his face. "The light is blinding. The shadows...they're scary. But all they do is talk. It doesn't hurt as bad as looking..." He shook his head, falling silent for a moment. "Inside."

Zuljaraal appeared before him, taking a deep breath, the billow of shadow sent forth and they'd seem to collect at his feet. It was warm, like a pillow of cooling ash from a distant fire, but it was as it was. After, he'd extend his other hand forward, and a shadowy form would walk forth from the twisting walls around them. Moving towards where both stood, exactly like Tol'chakatl, but it was seen differently. Taller and prouder, then a reaction was being gauged. After, a sound of snapping fingers came - And the shadowy figure melted into the ground. Zuljaraal then extending a hand to one of his, making sure he doesn't drop the raptor, then turned it up to the sky - So he may look up into the eye of the shadowy storm. "Where there is shadow there is light. Where there is light there is shadow." He'd claim. After, the light above would be coveted by a cloud of ash and soot, that which began to fall upon them like a bastardous snow. However, it fell through Zuljaraal, and when met upon Tol'chakatl he would see it stick upon his skin. "You don't remember, Little Bright One. I know that too." He'd claim. "You don't see an end," He paused, then turned his back towards him. His hand moving towards the shadowy veil, and he would pull it aside. "I can help you remember, Tol'chakatl, or forget them... But I only ask one thing." He'd say to him softly, but there was always the voice of something there that was never going to be of this world.

The seer recoiled a little at the sight of the shadow - he felt its familarity, and he didn't like it. He gazed upwards as gently directed, staring into the eye of the storm. He was silent once again, listening, thinking - trying desperately to understand. Turning his gaze back to Zuljaraal he looked past the shadowy being to the veil pulled aside, his ears drooping. Silence pervaded for many moments. "I... don't want to remember," he said quietly. "It... things would be different if I did. I don't...I don't want things to be different. I finally found people who like me, just like this. I want to keep being just like this." He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, clearing them if only just for the moment. "But... what is it? That you want me to do?" he asked in return.

Zuljaraal waited for him to ask that very same expected question: "What do you want me to do?" is what he waited for. So, once he heard it, he would pull take a deep breath and exhale towards the veil that was slowly parting. Before it was seen the place between everything he knew. The island had a veil, a place between the shadowlands and where the others would be found. Currently, they stood in that place between - And when the veil touched the water of the sea, it would stop - The stars ahead and Tol'chakatl would shine upon them. The moon casted its white light towards them. The moonlight shredding away at the ethereal shadow that is Zuljaraal, revealing what was beneath, a tall handsome man, with the appearance akin to that of a Zandalari of darker skin, like if it was stained with the very shadow it lived in. Eyes were as white as ash, and they let off a light as bright as day. There was a cryptic, ominious feeling about him, his hands behind his back and his eyes towards the moon. He wore regalia akin to that of an old, old Priest of ancient times. A Priest to the Loa of Death himself. "Tend.. To my grove. The Witch Doctor is good at doing so, but you live in shadow now, my son." He'd say with a soft tone. His voice as natural as any other voice can be. His hair was as white as ash too, and it fell to his lower back. Old would be difficult to say, as it looks as if he was no older than Tol'chakatl. Now, finally, turning to look at Tol'chakatl, letting him take in the sight of the moon breaking into the veil or on himself, his true form, he would smile brightly at him. A warm chuckle from his chest. "Be as who you are, but do not fear the shadows. Not mine, at least." He'd claim, then extend a hand out to him. "Do we have a deal, Bright One?" He asked, a thin almost boney hand extended to him now.

Tol squinted a little as the veil was pulled back, watching - and as Zuljaraal's form was revealed he could not hide the surprise blooming in his expression, enough so that even the tears clinging still to his eyelashes stopped threatening to spill over any minute. The ominious feeling was not lost on Tol, but somehow with the revelation came a sense of something akin to security. He stared for a few moments after the man was finished speaking - then remembered his manners and flushed a little up in the cheeks, averting his gaze to the side. "I can do that," He said with a small little smile, the apprehension on his face fading as he accepted the hand in his own. "I'll make sure the trees are okay. And that nothing bad comes in."

Zuljaraal took his hand in turn, and Tol'chakatl would feel a supposedly real and fleshy hand. A beat of a heart was felt. When he pulled his hand away, Tol'chakatl would see a mark of a circle of eyes. It would however fade into his skin after a few moments. "This Grove used to be my home, I was able to see valleys of green, all sorts of things. This used to be a mountaintop, you know." He'd say, then laugh to himself. "Tend to them well, as I know you will." He would say, then within an instant, the shadowy veil would pull away. Just leaving Tol'chakatl with himself, beneath the night sky, and the chill breeze of the sea.

He looked down at his hand and watched the eyes fade away, looking up once more in time to catch a last glimpse of the troll before the shadow was pulled away - and he couldn't really help but smile once again. Better than expected? Most definately. "I will," he replied to the empty sky, hugging his raptor close. Finally feeling like he would be able to sleep, he descended the stairs away from the circle after one last look back.

[zandali-dominion]

How many members does Zandali Dominion have?

Well it depends on the day, but our guild roster has 50 members. Realistically, in all honesty, the activity of a regular day is somewhere between 5-12 individual members! 

[death-shaman]

Nothing to see here.

Everything is completely normal…

[zandali-dominion]

Examining the Exalted

(Written by Zu’luma!)

The trinket, the symbol of her running, it held two different meanings to her, one that her own mind dictated, cruel and as judgemental as those who had pushed her in her childhood years. Jeered at her as she grew up and now she was the source of her own criticism, her torn armor and still the ichor clung to places as she waded into the water off the shore. There she took a few moments to clean what Rakaj’s car wash couldn’t, stepping out of the water she lifted her hand to look down again at the trinket. She wanted to be of more use, a greater part of what made a difference and right now she felt far from that, maybe, maybe getting a glowbug.. It would aid in figuring this all out. She knew that the Atal’ai were attracted to the light, in the pouch along her belt were two grenades, one light, one void, and she’d become accustomed to carrying them on her. As she sat on the shore, sewing her armor she thought about how to contain an Atal’ai, she’d watched in the chamber how they could be knocked down, their light dimmed, and it made her wonder. Could she attract, then siphon the light from the insect, to make it dormant for a little while. Long enough to transport.

She had to try, she cut the thread to the mending in her pants before putting them on, working on her top as adjusting the grenade would take some work. She was no explosives expert so that choice might be beyond her capabilities, she hadn’t looked at the grenades to see how the goblin had constructed them. As she affixed her leather jacket back on over the under layering shirt she raised a hand to the back of her half-mask, there in a fabric lining she pulled from it her rush’kah. The mask that she would wear when hunting, it was always on her, always with her, and now as she held it in her hand she wondered if one of the loa might be able to aid her.

Getting up from the sandy beach she walks along its shore till finding a path up, she was headed into the plateaued area over where the caverns to Tal’akaai lay below. Still in her mind flashes of the realm in which Zuljaraal dwelled, his own plane, his own domain, that might be exactly why he doesn’t want the other entities on the island. If these beings did not combat him, what then would become of the island? Her mind turned on this as she closed up the front of her jacket and pulled the light bound grenade. Holding it in her hand she couldn’t mistake the hum of magic within it, she turned it in her palm, looking at the pin, and cap. She sighed, “Dis is beyond me.” she tucked the grenade away and moved to pick up a stick, there in a soft patch she started to carve ritualistic runes, and once done she pulled off her glove and used the end of her axe’s hilt, with the sharp point and sliced into her arm diagonally. There in her flesh was the small lines of previous motions, repeated so many times, the blood flowed down her hand and finger dropping into the grooves of the runes she’d drawn. As she walked around making sure each symbol had its fill, she put a finger into a smaller pouch and wiped the ointment across the wound closing it. As she pulled the glove back on she knelt down and began to mutter, chanting the words of shadowhunters before her. “Hear me, hear me, da great loas of da shadows, I be an instrument, a vessel, I be seeking wisdom and aid.” from her simple words there seems to be no response.

Maybe she was too close to the chamber below or maybe above there was still to much interference from Zuljaraal or the others. She pulled the trinket and sighed before putting it into the middle of the runes and once it settled a great column of darklight shot up from it growing outwards till it filled the runed circle, “Who wakes me?” asked a slow deep tone, a mixture of echoed emptiness and wind. “Zu’luma, I am Siame-Quashi.” she states without reservation. “Do you seek my boon, shadowhunter?” to that Zu’luma nods, “Yes, I seek ta trap an enemy that absorbs da magic of ottas. It be a nasty little bugger.” she explained and the column of light calms into a smoke that swirls about till the cobra head of a beast with two dark purple eyes peer at her. “Then you have my blessing.” with those words the cobra sprang forward into Zu’luma’s mask and once the essence was inside it she turned the mask to herself and put it on. The power of the loa flowed through her and she opened her hands to the darkness that swirled about them.

The shadows moved about her, but with the mask on she saw what the loa saw, the pin pricks and glowing orbs of the magics in the land. She kept a keen gaze on one particular, away from the others. There the bright light shown flitting about till it landed and she came closer and closer to it. She was not conscious of where her feet were taking her only that they lead to her prey, to one from the outside she would be like the shadow of a tree or gust of wind. As she neared the glowing Atal’ai she held out a hand, a entropic magic coming from her towards the insect and immediately it reacted attempting to flee, but she drew stronger from its light till at last it fell from the air dimmed. Scooping it up she turned to a brightness that was coming towards her, more, a host more of the insects were coming towards her, “YOU!” cried one as she leapt away not wishing to be herded by the amassed swarm she ran and ran till at last she came to an open spot. There she hooked the jar with it’s dimmed glowbug to her belt before she held up both hands, “Da darkness gonna consume ya!” she said as the same entropic magic she’d used against the single insect now came out in a wave, a cloud before her like a rolling fog. The loa’s power now being displayed, the insects wanted to come forward, she could see their light coming close, but as they came near the magic dimmed their light. For a few moments the beating of their wings was loud before they flew away, lowering her arms and the cloud dissipated, and she felt the mask return to just being a mask. Pulling it up and off her face she sighed as she glanced down to the jar on her belt, one glowbug, dimly lit.

[zandali-dominion]

Breaking the Bonds

(Written by Rakaj!)

The sun was just beginning to shine upon Zul’Rokh. The morning was cold, and the birds of the island hadn’t even begun to sing, and yet Rakaj was already up. In fact, he had been up for several hours, researching and preparing for the day’s events. He ran through his task in his head as he trekked up the worn path to the caldera of the island’s newly reactivated volcano.

It had been a few days since the Dominion’s first official trek into the mysterious caverns deep within their island home. While there, Rakaj had had a vision, or perhaps had simply been enlightened to the truth of things. He saw the elements, bound and enslaved, and though they answered when called, it was clear that whoever - or whatever - bound them compelled them to do so. This sickened the shaman. It was wrong, and ever since that discovery, he felt awful any time he had to call on the elements for aid. He’d spent every free moment looking for a way to free them, and now he was out of time. He just had to wing it.

He had asked Zin’Vik the previous night where he would be most likely to find the anchor keeping the elements bound on the island, and Zin’Vik suggested the volcano. It made sense, after all. More specifically, the Gurubashi had suggested a cavern leading further into the volcano, where it was apparently “hotter than the breath of Pogeyan.”

Rakaj didn’t know who this Pogeyan was. If it was a Loa, it wasn’t one he had heard of before. That didn’t matter, though. This had to be done, for the good of the island, and for himself. He couldn’t call himself a shaman if he allowed the elements to be misused this way.

He shook the distracting thoughts from his head, having reached the entrance to the deeper caverns of the volcano. He could already feel the heat within the cavern, considerably hotter than just being in the caldera. With a frown, he muttered a quiet phrase in Kalimag, asking the Spirit of Fire to spare him from the tremendous heat. Almost immediately he felt relief. It was still warm, but bearable, as he began his descent into the mountain.

The caverns were altogether fairly unimpressive. Streams of flowing magma provided enough light for Rakaj to see without needing a torch, and no forces came out to stop him. As he moved further inwards, however, he could feel a strange, somewhat familiar presence, distinct from the presence of the elements within the volcano, and it didn’t take long to find out what it was.

The smaller tunnel he had been traversing opened up into a much larger cavern. The outsides were completely consumed by magma, but there was a pathway that led to a platform of dark stone, in the center of the magma lake. There, upon the platform, he saw the binding anchor, and his body tensed up slightly as he drew closer.

It was a dark thing, to be sure. Constructed primarily of bone, it was held together with a thick, tar-like substance, which oozed and dripped over the bones. A small pool of magma bubbled angrily where the anchor was embedded into the rock, and a ring of stoned floated around the top of it. Despite the intense heat, the tar seemed to be shielded from it, the magma and stones bouncing off of some invisible barrier.

Frowning, Rakaj moved closer to inspect the anchor, pacing around it as he considered how to deal with it. It seemed fairly obvious that it was immune to the elements it sought to bind, thus keeping the elements here from freeing themselves. And due to the immense heat within the cavern, even if the other elements wanted to help each other, the heat would keep any water elementals out, and could very well prevent an air elemental from taking shape.

Luckily, Rakaj had no such limitations. Rubbing his hands together, he began to chant in Kalimag - specifically Aquan, the specific tongue of the plane of Water - to call on the Spirit of Water. The air in the cavern may have been too dry for anywater to be present, but the elemental planes were intrinsically tied to Azeroth. At his call, pure water began to collect in the air, clearer and bluer than any water found on Azeroth. Steam began to rise from it as the heat sought to boil it away, but it had little luck.

When enough water had been called, Rakaj swirled his hands through the air, causing the water to swirl around behind him, and then thrust them forward, towards the binding anchor. The water rushed towards it, a powerful geyser of elemental water that tore right through the barrier, rushing against and around the anchor. The tar, so protected from fire and earth, held no such protections against the power of water, and found itself being blasted away from the totem of bone in seconds.

With the tar no longer there to hold it together, the bones fell away, and the cavern began to quake. At Rakaj’s thankful instruction, the elemental water quickly returned to its plane, as the shaman took in his surroundings. He could hear the elements outrage - not at him, but at their would-be captors. Stones began to tumble from the cavern’s ceiling as the magma lake began to surge. He had to do something. Rakaj called out, a desperate plea, and things began to settle. Everything grew calm.

Suddenly, the fallen rocks tumbled towards each other, forming together into the shape of a large earth elemental, gleaming metal bracers forming on its wrists to bind it to the physical plane. At the same time, a flickering flame ignited and rapidly grew larger, similar bracers forming as it took shape. Rakaj now stood between two greater elementals, one of earth and fire.

“Little shaman,” began the earth elemental. It’s voice caused the cavern to quake slightly, but in a much more controlled manner than the rage felt moments before, “thank you. We heard a call to return to this forsaken island, but-”

It was cut off by the fire elemental, whose heat flared up considerably, making Rakaj wince, “But we were imprisoned as soon as we returned! We should incinerate this whole island for its insolence!”

Rakaj took in a deep breath of heated air, straightening up as he addressed the elementals. “I know well your fury, and your indignation. But I respectfully urge you to spare this island your rage. My people and I, we seek retribution against the very same beings who bound you, and we -will- have it. They will be driven from this land forever. You will never be bound here again, I swear it.”

The flames roared closer to Rakaj, who didn’t flinch away, even as he could feel his skin beginning to burn despite his protections from the heat. The elemental, despite lacking a definite face, was clearly inspecting him. After a long, painful moment of scrutiny, it finally backed off, the shaman letting out a relieved sigh.

“I see the truth in your words, little shaman. Very well. We will spare your island. You have aided us, so we will come when you call. You, and any other shaman among your people.” With that said, the flame elemental’s bindings suddenly shattered, and it flickered out of existence, returning to the Firelands.

That left the earth elemental, looking on impassively. “You have freed us, but the air and water here are still bound by another anchor. You will find it in the skies above, where the earth cannot reach and the air is too strong for fire to form. Good luck, little shaman.” Similarly, the earth elemental’s bindings broke, and the stones tumbled to the ground, its spirit returning to Deepholm.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Rakaj hastily made his way out of the volcanic cavern, desperate for some water.

-------

It was later in the day now. The rumblings from the volcano had calmed down, and the light breeze had cleared the rising smoke. Rakaj now stood at the mountain’s peak, atop Kulu, his pterrordax companion. With a hand raised to shade his eyes from the sun, he scanned the sky, unsure exactly what he was looking for.

It was a clear, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky- wait. Rakaj squinted his eyes, tilting his head back as he looked into the sky. There -was- a cloud in the sky. A single cloud, suspended directly above the island, and… not moving. That was strange. Strange enough to investigate. Rakaj flicked Kulu’s reigns and gave a click of his tongue, the beast screeching and taking to the skies with a powerful flap of its leathery wings.

As they approached the cloud, it was very clearly a lot denser than a normal cloud, despite being fairly small. It was just large enough that Kulu would normally be able to land upon it, were it not for the binding anchor sitting right in the center. It looked exactly the same as the one from the volcano, and it too was protected by the elements besetting it.

Deciding to take the risk, Rakaj gave another click of his tongue as he leapt from Kulu’s saddle, taking a very literal leap of faith. However, rather than plummeting through the cloud… he landed upon it. The cloud was dense enough to support his weight, and it felt no different than walking on water to him, though it was certainly a first. With a pleased grin, Rakaj commanded his pterrordax to return to the island, and the beast obeyed without question.

Now alone on the cloud, the shaman began to inspect the second binding anchor. Much like the first, the elements present - air and water - were working tirelessly to free themselves, but to no avail. From the cloud, several thin jets of water assaulted the totem like needles, but only splashed harmlessly against an invisible barrier. Similarly, from above, lightning contintually gathered in the air and slammed against the barrier, fizzling out when it reached it.

Once more, Rakaj began to chant in Kalimag - Ignan this time, the language of the Firelands. Given that the air was thinner up here, it was harder for fire to occur naturally, given the lack of oxygen for it to feed off of. But the elemental fire came to his hands readily, responding far more easily than it had on the island before.

With a please grin, the shaman waved his hands through the air and raised them above his head. An inferno of flame burst into life, swirling around the binding anchor and passing easily through the barrier. The tar holding the structure together ignited quickly, burning away within seconds under the fiery assault. When the last vestiges of tar were burned away, Rakaj ceased his chanting, and the flames flickered out of existence.

The bones of the totem collapsed and fell through the cloud, which wiped the grin from the shaman’s face quite quickly. The cloud was dispersing quickly, and before Rakaj could say anything, he too fell through, plummeting to the ground below.

As he fell, he tried to call out to Kulu to catch him, but the beast wasn’t watching, and his words were snatched away from him by the wind before they could be heard. As the ground rushed up to meet him, Rakaj closed his eyes and braced for an impact that didn’t come. Instead, he felt a strong upward gust suddenly catch him, slowing his descent enough that he hit the ground with only a mild grunt of pain, rather than his bones shattering on impact.

While Rakaj got to his feet, another pair of elementals formed in front of him - air and water.

As the air elemental spoke, the water elemental reached out towards the shaman, the water from its arms reaching out to flow over Rakaj’s body, soothing his pain.

“Thank you for your aid, shaman. We were called back to this land, but were bound the moment we returned. Nothing we did could free us.” The air elemental rumbled, sounding like thunder within its swirling body of wind.

“We heard the rage from the earth and fire below,” the water elemental spoke, drawing its soothing waters away from Rakaj, “and I suppose that was your doing. You have our thanks, and our assistance.”

Rakaj smiled and bowed respectfully. He always found the air and water to be much easier to deal with than fire and earth, and was glad to hear their gratitude. “It was my duty. I ask only that you remain here. My people and I are going to liberate this land from the beings that bound you, and it would be incredibly helpful to have you on our side, during and after that time.”

The elementals spoke in unison, “You shall have our aid.” With that, they departed to their respective elemental planes, and Rakaj allowed himself a relieved sigh, bringing a hand to his pounding heart. As the adrenaline from his fall began to fade, the shaman made his way towards the outpost on somewhat shaky legs.

“I need a nap.”

[zandali-dominion]

Finding the Found

(Written by ZhyZak!)

Coming here after the events that took place last evening took a certain amount of both bravery and determination. Though none truly understood, or at least had taken the time to understand, the strength of a certain Raptari’s conviction. She had been sent to this isle for a reason she hadn’t truly come to understand till a few days after she arrived. It hadn’t even been a full week since she came to the isle but already so much had happened, so much had changed. Her eyes had been opened and her sights set on the promise of a future she had been unknowingly seeking. Step by step, she approached the Pillar of the Loa of the Found which resided within the Temple of five Pillars. A place she honestly hadn’t spent much time within till last night and it became apparent to her that it even existed. Her clawed toes clacked quietly against the stone as she approached within her ravasaur form carrying with her the body of a recently killed Saurid within her toothy maw. Keen eyes peered around the location, remembering well the giant being she witnessed here last evening and what it had done to the spirit that tried to possess Rakaj. But seeing it was early morning and far less eerie out that it had been the night before she felt rather confident the danger was gone… for now. She slowly set the carcass of the saurid down before the pillar as she looked up at it with her keen piercing eyes. Slowly she shed her favored form gifted to her once she became a follower of Gonk and his pack of Raptari years past. She brushed her hand along her giant white hawk and softly sighed as she’d slowly kneel one knee, then the other as she assumed a position of prayer before the pillar, head canting back as her eyes closed and she held her hands out on either side of her. “Hear me oh Loa of the found. Hear me and what I have to offer you.” She said in a loud, strong trance-like voice. “This island of Zul’rokh is troubled. It has been lost and found again and your people have come to return it to its former glory. A home, worthy of your presence once more.” She said remaining steadfast as she felt a breeze start to pick up carrying the strong scent of the salty sea nearby. “To you Krag’wa, Loa, Guardian strong, to you I offer my services to protect the small, the meek and those who need it most.To the creatures of this isle as we bring them here to be or those that already exist they will have my protection and my service to see that they flourish. For those who are meek and need help most, I have already put others here that were in need before myself. Look to me and my deeds and know this is true as it shall continue to be. I return home on the morrow to seek a way to find answers to help those in need here, to find supplies and hope for what I intend to bring here and for a cure to save another. This will be my home, of this I have no doubt. And thus I will protect it with all that I am if you would only offer to me your strength to make this isle a home worth saving. A great feast will also be offered in your name once we have the means to provide such with the fruits of our labors.” She went silent, shifting her head a bit as she breathed in deeply and spoke once more. “To you Halazzi Loa of the lynx, to you I offer this bit of food I’ve taken of the isle itself. It is small but this is all it has to offer right now. So I ask you for the wisdom and speed to bring to this isle what is needed to make it fitting for a home of your kind and mine to roam once more. Protect us, and I will see to it your people come here to give their thanks in offerings of prey worthy of your fangs.” Again she fell silent, shifting her focus and her senses as she rolled her head back further. “To you Akunda, Loa of storms and new beginnings. To you, I offer you the promise of -our- new beginning here. This isle is full of regret and sorrow in the spirits that haunt it. We seek the power of your storm to cleanse it. The strength to cleanse our minds of our fears and those that try to ward us away. This isle will be our home, a home worthy of your followers and our people. Not just the Zandalari but all troll kind who wish to live here together. Think of those who we could bring to ya in this promise of a new start. Of myself, I offer the promise of my own good works for what I intend to bring to this isle and the people of the Dominion.” And finally, a smile came to her face as she seemed to light up some and strength filled her lungs and being as she spoke with a fondness in her spirit. “Gonk, oh mighty Gonk. My Loa the great hunter and master of shapes. I have followed your desire to come here and to find a new people. To make myself worthy of a pack anew and to start one of my own. I have finally come to understand why you sent me here and have found the answers I seek. Quick of mind and sharp of claw you were right to send me on my way. But in this home I have found we seek your aid even here. You know that I intend to reinhabit this isle with the creatures small and large, predator and prey. You know that I have arranged to bring supplies so I may start to build the pens to protect those we bring till this isle is safe to set them free. Guide me as you always have oh Loa and see that I bring life to this isle once more in your honor. Do this, and I will promise to you that once my pack is ready to run here within our home you will have our first great hunt and we will share in its spoils.” A long deep breath in and out as she felt the breeze still blowing along her pale scaled skin. She’d slowly open her eyes as she looked once more to the pillar and to those Loa who she had honored this day. Time would tell if they heard her, time would tell if she’d prove worthy. But she stood confident and full of that conviction to see it all through as she turned and looked to the isle beyond the temple. This, would be her home. And here, she would find and start her new pack. As thoughts of a certain few within the Dominion filled her mind who would be at her side to see this through a determined smile filled her feral features as she’d turn to make her leave and get ready to set sail back home to begin.

[darkspear-dancers]

Dreamless

The winding whirlwind of months that had passed since Azae'latl first stepped foot on Zandalar’s shores were little more than a blur, an incomprehensible mosaic of battles and hardships with interruptions far too few and far in between.

She didn’t know what to expect when she left the Echo Isles behind. Perhaps she dreamed of triumph and glory achieved in the heart of the Zandalari capital, gilded processions of palanquins and showers of riches, endless treasures and more gold than she had ever imagined existed. Perhaps divine revelation from the voices of the loa that always seemed to elude her, recognition of piety and of faithfulness, and further purpose to a higher calling. Perhaps the grand adventure that her mentor truly believed to be awaiting her, the crucible that would prove to all - prove to herself - that she was all that she believed herself to be.

But she knew that she never expected this. To feel this tired, to feel this worried, to feel this pained. And even so, just the same, to feel this happy.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t feel alone. Yes, she felt tired, aching and close to breaking but she knew she wasn’t the only one, as evidenced by the slumbering woman draped atop her, who had only finally ceased tossing and turning in her sorely-needed sleep. Yes, she was worried, but it was hardly for her sake… after all this time, after having closed herself off, she had forgotten what it felt like to genuinely care for someone else’s well-being. Yes, she felt pain… the garish wound on her back courtesy of the ethereal blade of a spectral, decrepit enemy ached hours upon hours after applying dressing, but that paled in comparison to the memory of watching someone she cared for suffer and fall. Even if it was just her wrist. Even if she was fine. It wouldn’t stop her from worrying sick, and damn it all, she wouldn’t change that for the life of her.

And so… so far removed from home that she didn’t even know if she had one, now, on a damned, cursed, loa-forsaken island leagues from Zandalar’s paradisaical shores, exhausted, battered, shaken, and lost… she at least knew she wasn’t alone. And she would count her blessings… reminding herself all that she had to be thankful for.

Pale moonlight crept in through the opened window, streaming white light illuminating the barren barracks that they found themselves in. There was just enough light in the darkness for her to take in every detail of the veildancer at rest, strewn on top of her, her head buried in the crook of her neck and her body covered in blankets and her very own jaguar shawl. It had ceremonial, sacred purpose… but she had to admit, she preferred it being used in this context. Her braid unfurled, her locks of jungle green entwined with the purple of lilacs and the white of orchids cascading freely.

It was a more beautiful sight than she would ever find on Zandalar, she reckoned.

She drifted off, a dreamless sleep taking her. It mattered little; she was already living one.

[ Just a short written blurb for @paragon-interrupt and her endearingly lovely Veildancer, @zandali-diva!! ]

[death-shaman]

Ashes to Ashes

Dusk had settled on the island. The ritual had commenced and Taz glanced at his hand scrawled with blood. Fon’Watha was the only place he found peace, outside of that incessant Luna’lai that was ever present. Still…he enjoyed the lost woods of their island. The Island of the Great Apocalypse. A name that was wrought with disaster but currently teeming with life. He didn’t trust it.

The Darkspear was settled into the large open hut enjoying the crisp breeze from the ocean as the sun began it’s descent on the horizon. He twirled the vial of ash from the ceremony in his right hand as he thought then his glance returned to the dried blood on his hand. “Power.” He recognized it the sigil. Surely Zin’Vik knew he would recognize it. Perhaps that was his reasoning. The snake priest wanted the death shaman to think on it. What was written on his forehead? He had no idea and he didn’t care to look at the sigil. But the idea of “power” being one of the main things Zin’Vik attributed to him was curious.

An exhale breathed from within his mask as he stood up, still grasping the ashes. Now he thought of the question the Antu’jin posed the Dominion. “Where would you place this? Place it somewhere with meaning, somewhere you believe is important.” As he thought on this Taz uncorked the vial and poured the ashes into the hand with the blood sigil. Taz squeezed his hand into a fist and spoke a quiet voodoo chant, “Jang siame mojo. Loa atuad ju.” A bright purple flame erupted within his palm as his armor rattled. As often when he spoke his voodoo, the feathers and bones shook in response. They were soaked in mojo so that Taz could more accurately speak his voodoo without needing to dance as others may need to.

The purple flames ignited within his clenched fist as it singed the blood sigil into his palm. After a few moments, the flames had died and the Darkspear opened his fist to look at his hand. Now, the sigil was burned into his palm. A temporary reminder, better than blood and more powerful with the voodoo he had imbued within the blood. The snake priest’s blood was now bound to his palm. Not for any sinister purposes, but for protection. He had bound himself to Zin’Vik’s life. 

Trust given and trust taken.

[death-shaman]

Ashes to Ashes

Dusk had settled on the island. The ritual had commenced and Taz glanced at his hand scrawled with blood. Fon’Watha was the only place he found peace, outside of that incessant Luna’lai that was ever present. Still…he enjoyed the lost woods of their island. The Island of the Great Apocalypse. A name that was wrought with disaster but currently teeming with life. He didn’t trust it.

The Darkspear was settled into the large open hut enjoying the crisp breeze from the ocean as the sun began it’s descent on the horizon. He twirled the vial of ash from the ceremony in his right hand as he thought then his glance returned to the dried blood on his hand. “Power.” He recognized it the sigil. Surely Zin’Vik knew he would recognize it. Perhaps that was his reasoning. The snake priest wanted the death shaman to think on it. What was written on his forehead? He had no idea and he didn’t care to look at the sigil. But the idea of “power” being one of the main things Zin’Vik attributed to him was curious.

An exhale breathed from within his mask as he stood up, still grasping the ashes. Now he thought of the question the Antu’jin posed the Dominion. “Where would you place this? Place it somewhere with meaning, somewhere you believe is important.” As he thought on this Taz uncorked the vial and poured the ashes into the hand with the blood sigil. Taz squeezed his hand into a fist and spoke a quiet voodoo chant, “Jang siame mojo. Loa atuad ju.” A bright purple flame erupted within his palm as his armor rattled. As often when he spoke his voodoo, the feathers and bones shook in response. They were soaked in mojo so that Taz could more accurately speak his voodoo without needing to dance as others may need to.

The purple flames ignited within his clenched fist as it singed the blood sigil into his palm. After a few moments, the flames had died and the Darkspear opened his fist to look at his hand. Now, the sigil was burned into his palm. A temporary reminder, better than blood and more powerful with the voodoo he had imbued within the blood. The snake priest’s blood was now bound to his palm. Not for any sinister purposes, but for protection. He had bound himself to Zin’Vik’s life. 

Trust given and trust taken.

[zandali-dominion]

Safe

(Written by Rakaj!)

“Please, please, I just wanna go home…”

Rakaj felt his heart break as he heard those words. The others around him were arguing about something, but he couldn’t hear them. They weren’t important. What was important was this poor, tortured soul in front of him. Ko’tiji, a young troll and a scapegoat in an assassination plot, accused of killing a much-beloved High Priest of his own loa and sentenced to exile. Marched into the harsh deserts of Vol’dun with no supplies, but it didn’t end there. Of course it didn’t.

He wasn’t simply turned loose, as most exiles were. He wasn’t even given the chance to run to the temple of Akunda, his loa. Go’jakar, the seemingly corrupt Prelate who was, at the very least, in on the plot, had personally marched him away from the temple, out to some abandoned ruins where no one would think to look. He killed his own men before beating the young troll to within an inch of his life, the boy crying, begging, pleading for it to stop.

When Rakaj, along with the other members of the Zandali Dominion, had come across the scene of a small, distant fight, he had been torn. If this was who they were looking for, they absolutely should get involved, but if it wasn’t, this would simply waste valuable time that Ko’tiji didn’t have.

He was so glad they got involved.

When the fighting had stopped, Rakaj immediately went to comfort Ko’tiji. The boy had been thrown to the floor, and awoke just as the shaman reached him. Immediately he began to scurry back, fear clear in his eyes as he begged for his life.

“Please don’t kill me,” he cried, as tears welled up in his eyes, “I didn’t do it! Ask Auntie Aizuna! I would have never… I loved him…”

Ko’tiji broke down then, and Rakaj moved to comfort him. The boy threw his arms around him, sobbing with a mix of pain and relief as he began to realize that he was saved. Rakaj lifted the young troll into his arms, intent on carrying him all the way across the desert if that’s what it took to get him home.

And so he did.

The sun was steadily dropping behind the mountains by the time they reached Akunda’s temple in Vol’dun, and for Rakaj it was a welcome sight. Ko’tiji had fallen asleep shortly after they departed the ruins, curled up in the shaman’s arms, and Rakaj was perfectly fine with letting him sleep. The group came to a stop outside the entrance of the temple, to rest and get some food and water, but Rakaj just kept walking.

The barrier of lightning which kept outsiders from simply walking into the temple offered no such trouble to Rakaj. He was a priest of Akunda, and the boy in his arms a devote follower. The lightning danced across their bodies as they passed through it, but no harm came to either of them.

Static began to gather in the central room of the temple as Rakaj entered, energy building until, in a flash of lightning, Akunda appeared in the center of the room. Rakaj bowed his head respectfully to his loa, but for once did not kneel, with Ko’tiji still in his arms. The boy stirred, glancing around drowsily as consciousness returned to him. His eyes went wide as they fell upon Akunda, words failing him as he found himself in the physical presence of his loa for the first time. Joyful tears began to stream down his cheeks as he realized that he was, finally, safe.

Akunda let out a low rumble, and those present could almost swear they saw the great thunder lizard smile.

“Hello, my child. It is good to see you safe.”

Rakaj chuckled softly as Ko’tiji failed to speak. He gave a quick nod to one of the other priests in the room, who nodded in return and ran to fetch a blanket, laying it out on the stone in front of Akunda. Rakaj gently set the young troll down atop the blanket and waved a hand to either side, gesturing to the fountains at the corners of the room.

Glowing waters rose from the fountains, flowing elegantly through the air and streaming gently towards Ko’tiji. The waters swirled around him, smaller rivulets flowing from the larger stream to start gently healing the boy’s wounds, as he stared in awe at Akunda. There was a peaceful silence in the temple, broken only by the sound of running water, distant prayers, and a gentle hum of lingering electricity in the air.

--

A bit later, the sun had finally fully set. The Dominion was settling within the inn, or had gone off… somewhere. Probably back to Dazar’Alor. Rakaj fiddled with an uncarved chunk of wood, that the one called Xen’aji had hastily shoved into his hand as he joined their group. One of the other members had later explained how it worked, and now it held a faint, brilliantly blue glow.

Pocketing the trinket with a hum, Rakaj looked across the temple, to a small alcove hidden away in the corner. A small cot had been set up, and a trio of trolls were chattering away atop it. Ko’tiji was in the middle, finally smiling again as the two women beside him kept him distracted.

Rakaj had sent word to Aizuna in Dazar’Alor shortly after he finished healing Ko’tiji, and she had, of course, brought his mother along. They were welcomed into the temple and, after a joyful reunion, informed Ko’tiji that he would be coming home with them the following day. There were tears, not just from the trio but from… well, pretty much everyone in the temple who was there to witness it.

With a smile, Rakaj got up and made his way for his own bed within the temple, exhausted but excited for the road ahead.

[sistah-tidereader]

Mene’kua & Mene’nui - Zandalari Fanon Loa

————– T H E ☀ T I D E B R I N G E R S

The Twins of the Tide - Mene’kua, the Pale, and Mene’nui, the Shadow - are believed, by some, to be two aspects of one loa.  Their binary nature is often likened to the layers of the open ocean: the photic layer, where the sun’s rays give life to millions of microscopic creatures, and the aphotic layer, where dwell a untold number of alien beings that have never known light, each relying on the other but never giving ground. However, the Zandalari druids who revere the philosophy of balance understand the Twins to be a representation of the phases of the moon, and thus have named them the Tidebringers, for they give breath to the ocean, causing it to swell and wither in turn, endlessly.

The ceaseless rhythm of the tide forms the basis for the Mene’rai druids’ philosophy: “The tide will bear the willing and drown the unwilling.”  In other words, fate cannot be fought, and what is set out before us is immutable and enduring; those that understand this shall prosper, and those who fight it will inevitably fail.  These druids walk the world with absolute surety, believing that whatever befalls them is what was always meant to pass.

Mene’rai who find perfect harmony with the philosophy of the tides are said to have the ability to see the future among the waves.  Called Tidereaders, these druids gain this valuable insight in exchange for the burdensome knowledge that what they have seen cannot ever be changed. For this reason, Tidereaders are often reclusive, and are disinclined to share their visions with others, lest those poor souls fall victim to the madness of inescapable fate.

{ Big thanks to @thewardancer for the brainstorming and inspiration <3 }

[onesharpfang]

Loa of Discarded Things

The jungle air was warm and humid, leaving a dew-like sheen over Amiya’s forehead as she climbed higher and higher into the canopy. Her parents were far, far away in The City of Gold while she spent the majority of her time finding and talking to the beasts that inhabited Zandalar. They were rather astute and high up in rank, though this never mattered much to the young girl, finding her peace in solitude rather than money and expensive linens. She would stare at the Treeline, watching as the sun peeked over it and illuminated the peaks and valleys below, earning a soft hum from her as she bit into a juicy peach. She enjoyed watching the morning overtake the night from her perch on a tall tree, one that was at least a good hundred feet in the air and took her a good twenty minutes to climb. By the time she reached the top she could feel her heart pounding in her chest and the sweat dripping off her pale skin, though she would always greet the sun with a big toothy smile.

Keep reading

[zandali-dominion]

Potions, Patents, and Beyond

(Written by Kutaz!)

Kutaz had managed to slide under the radar since joining the ranks of the Dominion on Zul’rokh. When you are adept at shadow magic it is actually quite easy to slip into the shadows. Unfortunately, you can’t put herbalism on your resume and then be upset when they send you to find herbs, so here he was, halfway up some loa-cursed rock with nowhere to go but up. Fortunately the troll had the sense to leave most of his baggage behind. Crawling around roots and climbing miserable rocks like this one were not activities encouraged by carrying half the things you owned.

The prize? Steelbloom. The shit that grew in all kinds of precarious places, but was too useful not to pursue. It would have been better to pretend he never found it. Once you deliver, they’ll expect more. Oh, ya got ten last time Kutaz, how about you get fifteen this time? Or twenty? We got quotas, they’d say. Unfortunately, he took pride in his knowledge of flora, and he wanted to deliver on his word. He was and wasn’t a lot of things, but at the very least, he was true to his word. So here he was, covered in scrapes and dust as he tried to mountaineer his way up to this damn plant.

It might not have been so bad if his tusks weren’t so darn big. Mobility and vision isn’t the easiest when you need to turn your head every which way while trying to climb something. Not great for the neck, but fortunately he had a few bottles of va’po rub back in his quarters. That shit fixes everything.

In truth, the island was quite beautiful. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d admit, but there was a lot he kept to himself, especially his love of the natural world. There was something interesting about Zul’rokh. He had seen all sorts of lands and islands in his day, but there was something about it that made it unique, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Somewhere between the Kalimdor he knew and the mysteriou, unexplored lands of the planet. Fortunately for him, he was able to navigate the environment in his attempts to locate this loa-damned weed that decided to make its home at the top of this rock.

After finally conquering the mountainous molehill, he took a few moments for himself to rest in a squat and sweat a little less. He took off his straw hat, and fanned himself, his long, white braids unfurling down his back. He wanted a smoke, but was too damn hot.

Kutaz collected several blooms. Not the entire plant, of course. He left blooms for the birds and bees and whatever, and took a few leaves just in case. With his fingernails, he carefully pruned off the parts he desired, and offered a quiet thanks to the island for its donation as he wiped his brow.

All right, Kutaz. One down, nine more to go.

[zandali-dominion]

The Weight of Failure

(Written by Banzako!)

Banzako climbed the golden steps leading to the king’s memorial, his bare feet pressing against the cold surface as he went.It was dark, and no one was around. Even if others were there, he wouldn’t have cared. His mind was on being ashamed of himself.

As a prelate, he was used to ceremony but not in a million years could he had thought to see the death of his King. The one he and others were sworn to protect.

“We failed you…” Banzako murmured to himself as he reached the memorial, his spear in his hand. The Prelate knelt before the memorial and placed his spear lengthwise before it. Silently, he lit each candle and began to shed his golden armor.

“We all failed you, my king…” he said as he threw his shoulder armor behind him, the gold clanking loudly as he did so.

“We were duped by dishonorable tricks of de Alliance, but dat be no excuse for our failure.”

Banzako’s armor was now shed completely, leaving him in but a linen loincloth.

“I forfeit my title of Prelate to the Loa, as I have failed ta uphold da obligations wit da title…Until I regain dat honor, I cannot be a dealer of da Loa’s wrath.”

He gave a deep breath and exhaled with a heavy sigh before lowering his head before the memorial. The candles flickered gently in the nighttime breeze, and the light stretched his shadow outward. It almost was as if the Old King’s shade was standing behind him, judging him for his failure.

With a heavy heart, Banzako stood and walked away from the temple. It was time to go see Azeroth in its entirety…maybe on his way through he will regain what he lost. The night air was crisp against his now bare flesh, and the moonlight soaked the open paths of the market now.

Banzako was now alone. First Rezan, now the king? What worth were the prelates at this point?

Banzako lifted a pair of linen pants from a crate that was toppled over, and slipped them on with another exasperated sigh. Where would he start? Orcrimar? Was that the name? It was supposed to be the city for the Orcs and most of the Horde. Orcs…The thought had never occured that his people would be siding with any of these savages.

Banzako finally reached his home, walking through the doorway to a home only lit by the moon. There was so much change. All in the span of a year? Less? Banzako could feel the whiplash from the speed of these events and he began to feel sick.

As he approached his bed he pulled the documents from underneath and read them closely.

“You are here by asked to aid the Horde, our Queen’s new allies, in the battle against the Alliance. You are to report to Orgrimmar at your earliest convenience.” the letter read in bright red letters, the symbol of the Talanji stamped at the bottom.

Banzako mouthed the city’s name, attempting to pronounce it all in orcish. Orcish was such a primitive language to him and the guttural growls and grumbles that went along with it just made it sound like a raptor vomiting to him.

Crumbling the paper, he gave a smile to the moon outside his window.

“Anything to get to the Alliance’s throats…” he said, “For my Fallen King.”

[zandali-dominion]

The Weight of Failure

(Written by Banzako!)

Banzako climbed the golden steps leading to the king’s memorial, his bare feet pressing against the cold surface as he went.It was dark, and no one was around. Even if others were there, he wouldn’t have cared. His mind was on being ashamed of himself.

As a prelate, he was used to ceremony but not in a million years could he had thought to see the death of his King. The one he and others were sworn to protect.

“We failed you…” Banzako murmured to himself as he reached the memorial, his spear in his hand. The Prelate knelt before the memorial and placed his spear lengthwise before it. Silently, he lit each candle and began to shed his golden armor.

“We all failed you, my king…” he said as he threw his shoulder armor behind him, the gold clanking loudly as he did so.

“We were duped by dishonorable tricks of de Alliance, but dat be no excuse for our failure.”

Banzako’s armor was now shed completely, leaving him in but a linen loincloth.

“I forfeit my title of Prelate to the Loa, as I have failed ta uphold da obligations wit da title...Until I regain dat honor, I cannot be a dealer of da Loa’s wrath.”

He gave a deep breath and exhaled with a heavy sigh before lowering his head before the memorial. The candles flickered gently in the nighttime breeze, and the light stretched his shadow outward. It almost was as if the Old King’s shade was standing behind him, judging him for his failure.

With a heavy heart, Banzako stood and walked away from the temple. It was time to go see Azeroth in its entirety...maybe on his way through he will regain what he lost. The night air was crisp against his now bare flesh, and the moonlight soaked the open paths of the market now.

Banzako was now alone. First Rezan, now the king? What worth were the prelates at this point?

Banzako lifted a pair of linen pants from a crate that was toppled over, and slipped them on with another exasperated sigh. Where would he start? Orcrimar? Was that the name? It was supposed to be the city for the Orcs and most of the Horde. Orcs...The thought had never occured that his people would be siding with any of these savages.

Banzako finally reached his home, walking through the doorway to a home only lit by the moon. There was so much change. All in the span of a year? Less? Banzako could feel the whiplash from the speed of these events and he began to feel sick.

As he approached his bed he pulled the documents from underneath and read them closely.

“You are here by asked to aid the Horde, our Queen’s new allies, in the battle against the Alliance. You are to report to Orgrimmar at your earliest convenience.” the letter read in bright red letters, the symbol of the Talanji stamped at the bottom.

Banzako mouthed the city’s name, attempting to pronounce it all in orcish. Orcish was such a primitive language to him and the guttural growls and grumbles that went along with it just made it sound like a raptor vomiting to him.

Crumbling the paper, he gave a smile to the moon outside his window.

“Anything to get to the Alliance's throats…” he said, “For my Fallen King.”

[zandali-dominion]

Nar’zuul’s Long Haul

(Written by Nar’zuul!)

Nar’zuul set off early in the morning for the forested parts of the Island so as to get an early start on gathering the Lumber needed to rebuild the defensive walls around the Zandali Dominions Outpost. With what shaping tools he could gather from the storage hut close to the Blacksmith’s post, Nar’zuul believed he had all he needed to complete the task he accepted from Overseer Zin’Vik in a matter of two weeks.

However things did not go all as planned. After finding a suitable tree that he could chop down and hopefully shape into wall spikes, Nar’zuul failed to see that the tree’s on the island we’re fairly thick at the truck and so he spent a good portion of just one day chopping halfway through a single tree.

“This isn’t going to work… I’ll be at this all month by myself!” He growled in frustration as he continued hacking away at the tree. Just as he could hear the mighty tree beginning to creak from its support being chopped away, the Sun was already nearing the horizon and Nar’zuul wasn’t willing to work any further if it carried over into darkness. “C’mon already! Just fall!”

With one last good swing, the tree finally began to buckle at where Nar’zuul had been chipping away. Sadly it didn’t fall in the direction he had predicted and he quickly had to run away as the tree began to fall towards him. Luckily he got out of the way in time but now the Tree landed in an awkward spot that would force him to have to cut the tree into sections if he was going to have any chance of getting the lumber back home by midnight tonight.

“A simple task I thought… this would be easy I thought...” He argued with himself while using a two-man saw to try and cut the tree in pieces. Of course this wasn’t going all too well either, in fact it was going much slower than he thought it would. Admitting defeat for the first night, Nar’zuul called it quits for the night and was beginning to pack up his shaping tools when suddenly he noticed that the tool bag he brought was suddenly missing.

“Wah- I could have sworn…” He started but then as he stepped closer to where he remembered sitting the tool bag, he saw little footprints leading off into some thick underbrush. “Ah you’ve got to be joking.” Annoyed that he now had to hunt down the tool bag not just for the tools but for his trinket communicator that he left inside the bag.

Taking up his lumber axe, Nar’zuul braved the night for now and crept deeper into the surrounding forest to try and find the thief who made off with his Tool bag. For awhile he wandered about with the creatures tracks leading him on but eventually they vanished and now he found himself lost in the middle of the creepy woods. By mere struck of luck he picked up on some rustling sounds close to what appear to be a pond so he moved to investigate. From the safety of the bushes, he found the culprit that took his tool bag. Is was none other than the little Saurid pests he was warned about.

“Lil’ thief... “ Again he spoke to himself while slowly inching closer towards his target. His hopes was to try and scare the beast off so he could retrieve his bag but the Saurid seemed to have found something it liked in Nar’zuuls bag which happened to be the Trinket Communicator which it happily began gnawing on it and occasionally smacking against the slab of rock it stood upon. “No!” Nar’zuul cried out as he suddenly leaped from the bushes. The Saurid quickly reacted but instead of fleeing, it held the Trinket in an open claw while holding its ground and growling menacingly at the intruder. “Hey, hey! Hey!... thats mine!” Pointing at the trinket and speaking as if the Saurid could understand him. “That is not a chew toy for you! So drop it!” The Saurid still keeping a safe distance, tilted its head in confusion at Nar’zuuls gestures and words. “Drop. It. Now.” Again he demanded and the Saurid just looked at him with those soul piercing eyes before letting out a horrible high pitched screech and then suddenly turning tail and running off with his Trinket in hand.

“No, no, no, no, noooo!” Nar’zuul cried as he gave chace. Following closely behind the the Saurid, Nar’zuul attempted many times to try and trip the Saurid with his axe but failed every time and every time, he swore he heard the Saurid chuckle. “Stupid lil’ runt! C’mere!” In his frustration, he dropped his axe and leaped at the Saurid in a final attempt to either grab hold of the beast or possible land atop it thus trapping it beneath his weight. Of course this idea was hopelessly flawed for the Saurid saw his pursuers action and quickly put on the breaks thus leaving Nar’zuul to belly flop into a patch of fresh mud ahead of where the Saurid was running.

The Saurid looked at the clumsy Troll who just lied still in the mud groaning into the mud from either pain or disappointment for failing in capturing his target. Feeling no remorse for the stupid Troll, the Saurid went on to use Nar’zuuls body as a bridge and gracefully trots across the mud only to stomp hard on the back of Nar’zuuls head to further disgrace the Troll by shoving his face more into the mud. After words, it gave a cute squawk and then ran off into the Forest with its prize.

Nar’zuul later returned to the Outpost with his tools in hand but he had been out for so long, the rising of the sun was already marking the start of a new day. Feeling tired from last night's hunt and embarrassed from being tricked by a simple Saurid, Nar’zuul simple dropped off his gear back at the Storage hut and went to sleep over on the hai bails by the Forge. “... Zin’Vik gonna scold me for sure …”

[zandali-dominion]

Studying the Shrooms

(Written by the wonderful Al’kazar!)

Tap tap tap. One two three, one two three. Tap tap tap. Al’kazar continued to tap his temple to the same short rhythim which his index finger, his short claw starting to wear a little welt into his skin that he hadn’t yet noticed. He pushed his long locs away from his face once again, stretching his back as he stood up straight for a few moments. All around him were various tools, vials, sections of bioluminescent mushroom, his mask and gloves cast aside so he could get a better feel for his work. He had set up a small tent and work station in the ancient and crumbling ruins of the ogre ‘race track’. He would have preferred to work in Fon’Watha, but the mushrooms seemed to lose luster the longer they had been taken from the source. And the track, along with the surrounding coastline, had the densest population of these strange mushrooms.

He pulled his mortar and pestle closer to himself, a hand-sized spider making itself known once its cover was taken. Al’kazar smiled kindly to the little arachnid, before returning to work. He dropped some shroom cuttings into the mortar and began to grind it into a wet paste, noting how turning into a pulp hadn’t diminished the glow. He paused and made a few notes in his journal, which already was several pages in on his notes. He flipped through them, skimming what he had written already.

“The mushrooms glow with an eerie light, shifting between blues, to greens, to yellows depending on how one looks at them, and the time of day. While large and firm enough to be sat on, they have enough give to feel like a cushion. The texture is supple, though larger mushrooms begin to grow ridges and lumps, likely due to age.

Spores often float from the mushrooms, which are irritating to both the eyes and nose, and explain how they seem to propagate. Though they seem to prefer the moisture filled, more humid and marshy-like environment of the shore, as the size and number of the luminescent mushrooms decreases as they reach further inland.

The mushrooms keep their glow for a limited time after being cut, but will slowly begin to lose their luster after an hour has passed until they go completely dim. The glow remains just as bright when mashed into a paste, making me wonder if the possibility to turn it into a paint is not so farfet--”

Al’kazar jerked his gaze from his journal as he caught sight of his little spider friend perched precariously on his mortar. “Oi! Sha’dii! No!” He swiftly put his journal down and scooped up the spiderling, setting it a little further away. “Bah...I cannot lose you too, little one. I do not know still if this is safe to eat!” he scolded, but the spider simply ignored him, feeling no remorse for sampling the weird mush the hexxer had made. Al’kazar sighed and rubbed his face tiredly, looking back to the mushroom mash.

Dipped a finger into it, he rubbed the substance between his index and thumb, making notes with his free hand about its viscosity. “Sticky, but not like gum. Smooth too. Very strange.” He swiped his finger across his table, to test if it still kept its glow, and for how long. “Perhaps, if I add a preserving agent, I can make a glowing paint?” He grimaced, knowing he had to do a skin test as well. He took another dollop of mushroom paste and rubbed it under his left forearm, studying how his skin reacted, if it reacted. It tingled for a few moments, and the glow remained.

While he waited to see how long it would take for the glow to leave, Al’kazar busied himself with the study of how different herbs and alchemical agents reacted to the mushrooms. Overall, other plant life had little to no effect on the glowing shrooms. Other fungi were swiftly taken over, at a rate that honestly shocked the hexxer. So far it had neutral reactions to whatever flesh he exposed it to, be it raw meat, rotted carcases, or just his own skin. Though, he did note that it did like the carcases as food, but that was to be expected. It was a fucking mushroom.

Al’kazar tapped his pencil on his journal, crossing out the swear word due to it being rather uncouth for a ‘professional paper’. He had tried to feed the mushrooms to caged animals he had brought to the island, but none would eat it willingly, and he didn’t have the heart to force them to consume it. Likely, the pungent spores caused the animals to avoid eating it, he assumed. He was tempted to try eating it himself, but he really didn’t want to risk a self poisoning.

The witch doctor had to pause for a moment, when something glimmered in his peripheral. “Sha’dii?” He drew closer to his spiderling, tilting his head. Her abdomen has a faint glow to it from under her carapace, but that wasn’t what pulled his attention. He watched as the spiderling spun a web, the silk glimmering with a soft glow that looked rather lovely, if a little intimidating for the unprepared. “Oh, now that, that is interesting...Thank you, little Sha’dii.” He quickly guided her to continue building her web elsewhere, so he could study the current one more closely, and take samples. “Very interesting…” Once again, he was jotting things down in the journal.

Hours passed like this. Experimenting on the mushrooms, acids and alcohols. Testing the strength of the glowing spider silk, seeing how long it continued to glow. The mushroom mash seemed to retain it’s glow far longer than the cut pieces, making it a reasonable way mark things temporarily at the very least. His skin never did react to the mash either, though it was difficult to remove without rough scrubbing. He discovered that spider venom made it really last a long damn time, and proceeded to see if other venoms did the same. “Hmph, that may amuse our esteemed venomancer,” he mused softly.

Unfortunately, alcohols just made it liquidy without helping the glow to stick around longer. Perhaps a good way to wash it off, then? “Wish I’d known that before I rubbed my arm raw…” Al’kazar rubbed his face a bit, sighing. He was growing tired, and it was getting late in the day. Perhaps sleep was in order? Ohh, but he felt like he was on the cusp of something good...Maybe not big, but at least good. Some good news, something at least moderately useful...He wasn’t sure if it was that feeling of discovery spurring him on, or just his pride, at this point. He wanted so badly to just prove himself. “No, bad...This isn’t about you, mon,” he scolded himself.

Alk took a good long stretch, looking around himself. Sha’dii had gone a little nuts with the web spinning, until she had run out of the glowing silk. Now she almost seemed to pout, which tickled Al’kazar a little. The poor little spiderling seemed very amused by her glowing webs, at least. And he noted how she had more success now with catching bugs, due to the glow. “At least someone benefits, eh?” he murmured, returning to his notes. He had so far discovered that venom allowed the glowing mushroom mash to not only be spread more easily, but retain its glow almost indefinitely from what he could estimate. Acids were a no go, and the preserving substances he had bought from undead traders a long time ago were not good to use on living flesh, though they did also retain the glow relatively well. “Loa, now I know why blight glows...Eugh,” he mumbled, waving a hand in front of his nose as if to shoo away the odor.

Finally, he decided to revisit the herbs he had. He took them to his mortar and pestle, his brow furrowed in concentration as he mashed them together. Flower petals mostly. While he still had difficulty finding something non-toxic to preserve it with, he did want to know if he could change the color of the glow. And, admittedly, the answer came to him much more quickly, making him feel rather silly for not trying it sooner. “Hmph.” In fact, any pigment he added did change the color, making his desire to make a paint from the mushrooms even greater, since now he knew he could make several different shades and hues.

But with that ‘distraction’ out of the way, he was left with that puzzling predicament. He wanted to make a paint, which he had effectively done! But it had to be used carefully, for fear of being poisoned by it. He wanted something he could use bare handed, something he could paint on himself and others. Just the idea of it, the Dominion marked with glowing paints while on a hunt or just for a ceremony...It sent a chill up his spine! It made him grin like a maddened cat with maddened glee! But if only he could. Figure. Out. HOW. TO MAKE IT NOT TOXIC--

“Deep breaths, mon, you got this,” he muttered to himself, slowly putting down his journal instead of flinging it like he had almost done. Al’kazar went back to his scrolls and books, his stocks of potions and bottled hexxes. There had to be...be something. He looked over his powders, narrowing his eyes for moment…”Wait...I’m a loa damned fool!” Sha’dii watched with vague confusion as the hexxer frantically cleared off his workbench to set up a place to dry the mushroom bits and pastes. Luckily he still had a little blow torch he’d drunkenly bought off of a goblin earlier in the year, else this would take so, so much longer…

Click….Click, click...Clickclickclickcli--FWOOM!! Al’kazar nearly dropped the blowtorch once it sparked to life, and Sha’dii scuttled away to hide from the flames. He quickly set to work drying the mushrooms, making sure not to turn them into a pathetic charcoal in his eagerness. It took much longer for the paste to dry out, but he didn’t care. He may have found the solution! Finally! A stroke of genius that even the greatest inventors would envy! Well, maybe not that far, but at least he wasn’t sulking anymore.

The mushrooms grew brittle once dried, and he was careful to not spill them as he ground them up into a fine powder. The powder glittered, but no longer glowed, and was overall dull unless light struck it just right. But that didn’t worry him. He had a plan this time. He mixed the powder in with his paints now, and left them to soak in what sunlight was left in the day. He was patient now--He had to be, or else this wouldn’t work.

When the sun finally set completely, he used a little water to wet the paints, as they had dried a little from being left out in the open. And as he mixed them, he saw it. Faint at first, but the darker it got around him, the brighter it got. “By the loa, aaahahaahhaHA!” He cackled loudly as he danced around with his finished product, haphazardly slapping the glowing colors all over his arms and face. “I’ve done it!” He stomped a foot down, stretching a shadow to engulf the fires near him that lit the area, snuffing them out so he truly could be in the dark. There it was! He had done it! He had made glowing paints! Al’kazar was so gleeful he ran over to the nearest giant mushroom and gave the thing a giant hug. He backed away, chuckling at himself for his own silliness, sauntering back over to his work station, utterly covered in glowing paint and glowing spores. But he’d done it! There was a use. The toxic paints he’d made with the venom could be used to mark buildings, even as a colorful weapon. But the dried powder could be mixed into any safe face paint, turning it into a paint that glowed once the sun went down. And by the loa, he couldn’t be more proud of himself, even if it was slightly silly and niche in use. At least the mushrooms could be used.

Al’kazar yawned, and his stomach gave a great grumble, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a long time. Absentmindedly, the hexxer grabbed a random, vaguely squishy object to gnaw on off his workbench, obviously believing it to be the dried meats he’d taken out hours ago but then forgot about. It wasn’t until he was a few chews in that he was very, very mistaken. “Bleugh!!” He spat out the mushroom on instinct, as he was still unsure if they were edible. Not like it tasted horrible, but it was weird to say the least. Alk heard a soft chittering, and glanced over to Sha’dii, who seemed to be laughing at him. “Oh shut up, you,” he grumbled. He walked over to his tent, and caught sight of himself in his dirty looking glass. Loa, he had really covered himself in glowing crap, mismatched colors all over his being. He stuck his tongue out at himself to express his distaste, only to receive a shock. The mushroom he’d mistakenly munched on had make his tongue glow now too.

“Loa help me, I’m an idiot.”