Headhunting and Zu @zu-daba - Tumblr Blog

A Year Later

Much time had passed since Zu’Daba had last seen the green hills of Stranglethorn in its full bloom and glory. Since he had seen his children’s faces, or Venomclaw’s glowing scales. His passing into the court of the Baron was a violent but proud one; The stuff of heroes. The kind of death any good troll might yearn for in their twilight years, despite his own being unexpected.

Truly, all the time since had been that way. When he stepped into Ardenweald as a volunteer to aid the Wild Hunt, he could never have predicted what would await him and much of his kind beyond. There he found the truest manifestation of his duties in life. He found purpose, and excitement, even in death.

Resting when he was dead took on a whole new meaning now.

The days melded together, marked only by occasional prayers or visits heard and felt from beyond the veil of death. Yet, an odd reminder of time’s passing came at the hands of a Forsaken, Zasharad. A Necrolord who fought the forces of the Jailer both in the Shadowlands and back in his own home... Azeroth.

The Great Hunt, he mentioned, had happened in the Plaguelands; The ‘tusks and their guests fighting against hordes of undead and worse.

He said that he was impressed with them.

He said that they were led by a woman with a mask much like his.

In his final years, the Shadow Hunter - oft wrought by doubt and grief over his flaws and perceived inactions - forsook pride not only for a lack of self-worth but for the fear of following in his own master’s footsteps.

But in that moment, he felt proud. Not just of himself, but of the clan he’d left behind. That they’d persevered through the challenges that followed. That they defeated Garax and remained strong still. Without him...

Duties had to be fulfilled. Even after Zasharad left atop his bloodied wyrm, the Shadow Hunter had much to do. He didn’t have much time to be idle...

But he did have time to seek someone out.

The Gossamer Cliffs, mere months ago, would have been a horror the likes of which only fools might visit thanks to the wrath of the spriggans and the Drust. After months of toil, war and the restoration of the Heart of the Forest, however, they shone in a new light. Threads of silk stretched across the archway at the edge of the world; Shining decadently in the twilight radiance that beckoned above. Zu’Daba stood peering up at them in the midst of a restored faerie circle, his bare toes buried into the soft loam. The scent of summer petals on the breeze. His ears pricked to a soft song from directly ahead.

Before the endless sea of blue mist that enshrouded the untold wilds of the forest below lay a tigress; Her body curled up upon the comfort of a flowerbed. Though her eyes remained closed, her voice drifted out over the cliffs as a lullaby for the little growing silkstriders and silkspinners. A single crunch of his foot on the grass was all that she needed to be alerted to Zu’Daba’s presence, and her eyes gently opened before she arose.

He spoke first.

“I should ‘ave come ta see you sooner,” He sighed, lowering down into a crouch and squatting before her. His lips drew into a frown, but she flicked her tail.

“I disagree... If you came as soon as you had wanted to, you would have missed so much more... Don’t you think?” Rising up and stretching, the feline sat back on her haunches and cocked her head to the side.

“You know what I meant--” He chuckled.

“I do. But you’ll forgive me a little joke, it’s been awhile.” A fanged grin followed before she continued. “I’m glad you came to visit me. I know you can’t stay long, but...” Her tail flicked for a moment as she lowered her head. “You had me so scared.” She whispered.

The Shadow Hunter looked down, as though to count every fiber of the moss patch that he’d found himself sitting upon. Anything to avoid her gaze. “I didn’t think I could live without you... When I lost you, when I lost him, I...”

“Went to the desert. I know. I watched. Fate has a funny way of getting in the way of plans, though, doesn’t it?” She teased, the melancholy plain in her tone.

“Venomclaw...” Zu’Daba whispered with a sullen smile, finally meeting her gaze again. “It does, yes. My little son. He’s still up there, you know.”

“And should be for a long time, if they care for him as much as you did. If they care for him as much as he cared for you.” She spoke, slowly blinking her eyes with a soft and peaceful expression. A bit of mischief, too, but such was cats.“They do say that the kyrian sometimes... Hm.” A flash of a smile in her eyes as she opened them again, then carefully stepped forward to brush past his face with her snout and cheek. A loving gesture.

“They say what?” He questioned, confused and caught off guard by the brush.

“Oh, it’s just a rumor. I’ve never gotten to talk to one of those stuffy angels.” She intoned with a sigh. “Too good to put their feet on the ground for a moment.”

There was a long, pregnant pause before Zu’Daba spoke again. “Did... Did I make the most of it, Dhea? I had kids, I led my own clan, I trained so many in this path an’ tried to unite the tribes... I met so many wonderful people, an’ conquered so many challenges. Did I waste it?”

“Not a single moment, Zu’Daba,” She spoke, ever so gentle while standing up and walking a little circle around him. Finished, she sat before him again. “You did everything you could have done. What would have been a waste is if you died for those of us who were already gone... But, I guess death has a funny way of telling us when it is or isn’t our time.”

“I know we’ve moved apart, after so long,” Zu’Daba ventured. “But... I have to tell you about all of it. Everyone I’ve met. Everything. Can I sit with you for awhile?”

“Of course you can,” She gently laid down again, resting with her head upon his knee. With a shaking hand, the Shadow Hunter brushed a palm through her mane before relaxing... Closing his eyes. He could swore he heard rain.

“Just... Skip to the part where you got to their gates.”

“I am Shadowtusk.”

His first, and last, words as Chief were his most core truth. His very being lain within those words was spoken with such resolve that his whole body quaked from a mere spoken word. Bloodied and battered without a hope in the world, the rumble of thunder that pierced the silence of death and ash around him was deafening - Cacophonous. The bright light descended from the sky with a great crash of force that sent ripples through the air and through the wilted grass; spilling out in every direction as it curled as a serpent about his arm. Even the massive C’thraxxi before him was taken aback by such power - Staggered as the Shadow Hunter nearly collapsed. It took all of his strength to even hold this power, let alone direct it to his own whims.

He drank in that moment for an eternity - A second stretched well beyond reason and well beyond logic. This was the death he had foreseen, even if he could not have anticipated it would happen so soon.The smell of atmosphere filled his nostrils alongside acrid smoke and blood. Coarse sands trickled beneath his toes as he curled them into the ground beneath him, while the numb stinging of his missing arm caused his entire body to ache. His tongue swelled in his mouth, and his throat clenched in anticipation. His ears heard naught but silence, but in the distance he could see them..

His clan. Those he had fought for. Bled for. Those he had led through strife and victory, watching, waiting - Hoping with heavy hearts that he would live. A hot tear streamed down his face as, for the first time, they saw not the perfection of carved and painted wood... But flesh. Imperfect, scarred and worn. He did not fear death, but he did not wish to go. He did not regret his life, but wished that he had more to live. He did not want to say goodbye, but the clan needed to survive and flourish. That was his duty as Chief. It always was. It was greater than him.

All of it faded as the lightning jumped from hair to hair, fiber to fiber, pore to pore. His fur was singed and stood on end as he hissed in pain; the electricity cloaking his entire form in blue luminescence. With only one path to channel it, he was forced to pass the energy through his own chest - His heart screaming in his chest and slowing to a stand-still; already damaged by using his left-handed blade to slice off his arm earlier that night. Still, he fought through the pain, and with a roaring thrust of his palm he sent the blast directly for the oil rig.

No sooner than did it leave Zu’Daba’s fingertips did he collapse onto his hand and knees; panting heavily and clutching his chest as the dull roar of flames bursting forth from the brimming rig touched his ears. He furtively pulled the ramshackle totem from his side and ran his calloused fingers over the visage of Venomclaw; turning to stare vengefully at Garax as the seemingly indomitable creature - for the first time - looked to be retreating.

He looked upon the clan - He heard the howling cries of Malashae, and the shock in the voices over the skull. This was his last act as Chief - To assure that all they had worked towards would not be in vain. The rig groaned behind him and burst open as the fires washed forth like a titanic tidal wave of heat and force; bursting through the nearby structures and showering him with shrapnel. As he clasped his arms and curled protectively around Venomclaw’s totem, he spoke one last phrase:

“H-hoowah...”

His entire form was jolted as the explosion drifted over him; flames licking over his skin as the air was sucked from his lungs. He coughed, he choked - His eyes closed as he tightened his grip around the totem and dug his knees into the dirt underneath him; never letting go, even for a moment. The flames, by some intervention, were not incinerating him... But the rest could not be averted.

Thump thump...

(For my loa...)

Thump.. Thump..

(For my clan...)

Thump... Thump...

(For my friends, my family...)

Thump.... Thump....

(For Malashae, for Mai’jani, for Mozu, Tanaji and Zazuli...)

Thump..... Thump.....

(For Tezuli, for my students...)

Thump...... Thump......

Zu’Daba felt his throat cracking - Blood spilling from within it as his entire body screamed with pain; his strength leaving him as his heart ceased to beat. His eyes were forced shut as tears opened all along his body and his lungs were drained of their air. His fingertips, jagged and torn, dug deeply into the soil to hold himself still as darkness ebbed in from all sides. Cold... Nothingness. Sleep. He could no longer feel himself, or the pain around him.

T h u m p.............. T h u m p..............

(For me, I offer my life...)

(Please, Dark Six, I beg of you - Do not let it be in vain.)

.....................................................................................................................

((Art by Osyra-Art, Song by Les Friction))

Who Are You

The warm sun of Durotar shone upon the Shadow Hunter as he quickly gathered his belongings; placing his Rush’kah back on his head and sheathing his glaive on his back while his brow remained creased. A week - He was gone for a week. How did this all happen in a week? All he wanted was to set up farming back in the city, and now he had to deal with some facsimiles attempting to usurp him?

“Zu-Zu..?” Came his mother’s uncertain voice. The Shadow Hunter froze and turned towards her with an apologetic grimace.

“You are leaving..?” She asked.. Her tone and her face fell with dread. He could tell she did not want him to leave - She didn’t even have to say a word.

“Mah city is undah attack, ma’da.. Fiends of shadow an’ void have taken up oah forms ta attack oah ranks; likely conjured by dat C’thraxxi.. Or N’zoth himself. Ah need ta get home ta help dem fight. But..” He paused, taking a deep breath.

Stepping forward, the Shadow Hunter wrapped his arms warmly about his mother and held her close. The cool stormsteel of his protective mask laid against her forehead as he closed his eyes and she gently reached up to return the caring embrace after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ah love you.. Ah am ashamed ah left you alone fah so long, ma’da. You of all people deserved bettah dan what ah gave you. When all of dis is done, ah am gonna bring de whole family here.. Mah sister in faith, Tezuli.. De love of mah life, Mai’jani.. Dem three lil’uns you so excited fah.. You gonna see all of dem. An’ you’re gonna see me again, too.” Drawing back, the Shadow Hunter took her hands in his own and bowed his head in respect.

“Take off your mask,” Zin’adi demanded sternly. “You might be a Chief.. You might be a Shadow Hunter.. But ah am your mada. Let me see my son’s face before you go, if you must leave so soon.”

Taken aback, Zu’Daba laughed; removing his helmet and setting it under an arm to keep safe for later. Without skipping a beat, the older woman leaned up to put a motherly kiss on his cheek before stepping away. Zu’Daba met her gaze for a moment of silence, then smiled.

“You bettah be -safe-, Zu-Zu..” She spoke with her eyes narrowed.

“Ah tell everyone dis.. Ah never promise ta be safe. Safety ain’ a concern for a good Shadow Hunter. Ah sure de Siame Quashi you know will agree.” He replied with a joking snort.

“Ta a little old lady like me? Dey don’ talk. Dey jus’ watch. An’ judge. Probably.” Her shoulders rolled into a shrug as she met his gaze.. No joking.

“..Alrigh’. Ah stay safe as POSSIBLE, mada. Ah live in a jungle full of creatures dat bite an’ war dat nevah ends. Ah promise ah return here alive, someday.” He laid a hand on her shoulder; earning a begrudging nod of acknowledgement.

“Tell ya clan ah said hi.. An’ dat you’re a foccin’ fool fah not even sendin’ a damn lettah ta ya mada fah -eight years-. You don’ gotta tell ya children dat.. But do tell dem ta expect a package of gifts from deir grand-mada.” She wagged her finger at him to a whole cascade of half-guilty, half-humored chortles from Daba.

“Alrigh’.. Alrigh’. Ah will. You best stay safe yaself, mada.. Even if ya are gettin’ on in age, keep on fightin’ off Bwonsamdi for a bit, will you?” He lofted a brow.

“..Don’t you try ya luck with jokes, boyo. Ah’ll pull off ya ear.” She harumphed, but nodded nevertheless. She would be safe..

“Befo’ ah go..” Zu’Daba’s gaze swung over the vast expanse of the Echo Isles. Distant palm trees and the sun setting over the smooth, white beaches were all he saw besides thatch roof-tops and young trolls finding their way in the world.

“Ah still not sure ah have de strength ta see dis through.. You got any wise word fah dat, mada? Ta give me confidence, like you used ta?”

“Hmm..” She chuckled, “No-- But ah do got a question. Who are you, Zu-Zu?”

“Your.. Son?” He blinked quizically.

“No, ya daft fool! You know what ah mean.. You don’t gotta answer et now. Not even for awhile, but think on dat..” He reached up to pat his cheek; smiling warm and then jabbing her thumb against his shoulder.

“Now get goin’! Ya clan’s waitin’ fah you. Don’t let dem start thinkin’ you are some absentee Chief. You don’ live here anymore.. Ah don’ tink they would treat you like Vol’jin when you came back.” She grinned cheekily as he rolled his eyes and turned around. “Loa guide you, Zu-Zu..”

“Loa guide you an’ shadows guard you, mada. Ah’ll be back.” He called in return as his steps brought him down out of the Darkspear Hold and through the training grounds. When he finally reached the pier, he paused and looked up into the sky; putting his Rush’kah on. The sapphire light of it blazed outwards as he took a deep breath and the voices of the loa returned to him.

“I am a Shadow Hunter..”

“I am Chief Zu’Daba..”

“An’..”

Seeking Forgiveness

It’d been an hour or two, now. Zu’Daba’s body was still bruised in places from his mother’s righteous assault, but his mind had been soothed by some good herbal tea and a skewer of fish. They sat, face to face, across a fading bonfire; having already discussed much of what had come to pass since he left. Every little detail from his venture through Un’Goro, to his return to Durotar, to all that happened while he was overseas in Stranglethorn. Everything.

“Three kids?” His mother laughed, “An’ not even a single lettah.. Do dey know about me, Zu-Zu?” He asked, gently, having calmed down from earlier.

“Yes, mada.. Dey do. Ah would like fah dem ta meet you one day, or perhaps to have you come an’ meet dem in Zul’Gurub. You would be welcome there.” He spoke hopefully, his tone trailing off towards the end inquisitively.

“No, no..” She sighed, “My home is here, wit’ de Darkspear.. Ah would love to see dem, but ah am getting old my little son.. An’ Stranglethorn is far away. I know it is your home-- And I know you are proud of it.. But I cannot.”

There was a long, discomforted pause as Zu’Daba peered down into the sand; his toes curling among the grains as he sighed. “Ah understand.. Perhaps ah can bring dem here, but-- Et ain’ easy. Ah have a lot ta do back home.”

“Surely dey can be without you for a week, child..” Zin’adi wilted an ear.

“You don’t understand .. Ah have so much work ta do. So much ta make up fah. Ah do not have time fah personal mattahs.. Even dis may have been a terrible ting fah me ta do, aftah all dat has occurred. Ah should get home--” He paused, catching himself and peering at his mother as she narrowed her eyes.

Yet, the question which followed was unexpected.. “Aftah all dat has occurred? You’ve only mentioned a spare few tumultuous times ta me, Zu-Zu. What did you leave out while you were speaking?”

Zu’Daba took a deep breath, “De Shadowtusk Clan has seen much hardship, but dat which has occurred durin’ mah Chiefdom stands out ta me. De Alliance struck at oah city.. Butchered folk in de streets, killed dem in de shrines. Dey cornered families in deir huts an’ burned dem alive. Much worse tings dat ah would leave unmentioned, as well.. Et was horrible.”

“De Alliance.. Attacking Zul’Gurub? Zu-Zu, ah know you are not so foolish as to try summonin’ Hakkar.. An’ ah would’ve heard of et.. Why would dey strike at you in Zul’Gurub. What happened?” She asked, gently, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder with a soft squeeze.

“A boat..” He sighed.

“Elaborate,” His mother spoke.

“We made a boat.. Collected materials from around Azeroth ta make a vessel in de Zandalari style dat would be nigh-invincible. We got some materials from de outlyin’ regions, like Redridge.. Westfall.. Duskwood.. Blackrock..” He snorted, quite regretful. “Brought de fury of de Alliance down on us..”

“An’ why do you tink dis was your fault? Only yours?” She asked.

“..Ah ordered et. Et’s mah fault by default.” He laughed, bitterly.

Frowning, Zin’adi smacked him upside the head. “Don’ get short.. So you ordered your clan ta attack dese places? Ta thick-headedly draw de ire of de Alliance through reckless harvestin’ an’ butchery?” She didn’t seem so much angered by the thought of killing Alliance, so much as by the recklessness.

“No, no! I didn’t, no.. Ah-- Ah tried ta get dem ta be subtle, in a lot of places. But many of dem did not listen. Dey butchered innocents.. Dey were reckless in deir methods an’ did not disguise demselves. Most of de time, ah didn’t even know of et until far too late ta solve de problem.” The Darkspear rubbed his palm against the back of his neck and wrinkled up his nose.

“By Bethekk.. Zu’Daba,” Zin’adi spoke, immediately garnering his attention. It was not often she didn’t use her affectionate nickname for him. “Are you a mon who thirsts for blood?”

“..No, mada..”

“Do you lack subtlety? Are you witless?” She sighed.

“No, mada.”

“Did you start buildin’ dis boat wit’ every intention to piss off dese people an’ bring trouble upon your clan?”

“..No, mada.” Zu’Daba growled.

“So why are you blamin’ yaself? You said you gave good ordahs. You said you were intelligent. You tried ya best, an’ de whims of oddahs got in de way. Et is possible ta do all you can an’ still lose-- Dat’s jus’ how tings work. Life ain’t fair like dat, an’ you got a tough lot. Besides.. You beat dem back, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” She offered a supportive smile.

“Ah-- Yes, we did.. We killed de Alliance. Sent ‘em pissin’ back ta Stormwind wit’ powerful voodoo an’ a divine storm, den we killed deir commandah. Had to work for months in Zandalar ta get de support ta defeat dem, an’ ah led us every step of de way. But et doesn’t change dat a leadah must be able ta control everyting in de ranks of dose who serve him. All tings fall onto his shoulders--”

“Bullshit.” She stated, simply. “What kind of foccery is dat? You tink Thrall could have controlled what Garrosh did aftah appointin’ him? You tink dat Vol’jin could control de Darkspear Rebellion’s initial losses? A leadah can only do so much, Zu-Zu. You are not de savior of your people. You are not deir sole hero.”

“..Is dat supposed ta help me feel better?” Daba spoke, crestfallen.

“No. It’s supposed to humble you.” His mother snorted. “You are not de only one who controls de fate of your people. You remember dat phrase? You can lead a raptor ta watah, but you..” She trailed off.

“Can’t make ‘em drink.” Daba finished, for her.

“Right. Dis clan you lead made mistakes.. An’ maybe you made a few with dem. But unless you held de torch ta dese families.. Unless you held de rifles ta de back of deir necks an’ unless you directly participated in all of de torment dat your clan caused de Alliance.. Et is not only your fault. An’ while et is good dat you were willin’ ta fix what happened.. You should nevah have taken dat burden as your penance for your mistakes. A leadah cannot lead alone.” She rubbed a hand against his back with her brows furrowed.

“Anehone who says oddahwise doesn’t know what et means to lead. Anyone who blamed you, an’ only you, fah what happened.. Dey’re cruel.” She offered.

Zu’Daba sighed and sat up, looking at the stars. “Dat’s not de only problem.. A great creature, a C’thraxxi, stalks us at every turn. If ah had jus’ gone away.. It would never have come aftah us in de firs’ place. Maybe if ah go away now, it will too-- Et seems like et WANTS us ta fight. Ta draw inta oahselves. Am ah only makin’ tings worse in dis struggle?” The Shadow Hunter closed his eyes.

“Where would the clan be, if you weren’t dere?” Zin’adi lofted a brow.

“I.. Don’t know. I don’t know who would have led. I don’t know who would have stayed or left. I don’t know if de whole clan would collapse, dere’s no way to..” He trailed off, seeing her point and shaking his head out.

“Your loa, Legba, ever remind you of dat? Or did you simply forget ta listen ta his voice in ya Rush’kah? Ah shouldn’t need to tell you that, Zu-Zu.” His mother teased.

“Ya righ’, yes.. But-- De fightin’.. What if ah jus’ givin’ Garax what he wants? What if he wants us ta fight? He seems ta always be a step ahead in his grand design, an’ et seems like de more we fight de more power he gains.. Should we run? Should we surrender ta survive, or throw oah lot in wit’ anoddah?” He cringed at the mere thought, red-eyed gaze meeting the older woman’s.

“Can you run?” She canted her head.

“No.. No, we can’t. He’ll jus’ chase us..”

“Would you willingly surrender?” She narrowed her eyes.

“No-- No! Of course not, et’d cost us everything.. We’d all be consumed an’ all we fought ta build would mean nothin’. All.. Obliterated.”

“Would you throw your lot in with the Horde?” She finally offered.

“No.. We are not de Horde. We are many, many tribes.. Ta join de Horde or any oddah folk would insult many of mah own clansmates.”

“So.. What choice remains?” She questioned, assuredly rhetorical.

“Fight..” Zu’Daba clenched a fist.

“Aye. If you hadn’t fought, where would your clan be? What would have happened to all you built if you nevah fought against Skaldrean?” She continued.

“Gone ta dust.. Nothin’. We’d be homeless, an’ destitute.” He already seemed to be perking up in that moment of realization.

“An’ what will happen if you do not fight against dis.. Garax?” She grinned. Now you’re starting to get it, son. “You know de answer, Zu-Zu.”

“Mah children.. Mah clan.. De tribes we’ve aligned wit’.. All of dem will fall down an’ be destroyed, eiddah by time or shadow. We need to fight.” He snarled.

“Dat’s right. You do. An’ even if ah cannot join you in dat fight, Zu’Daba, ah know dat you can win et. When we are attacked, we do not sit on oah laurels an’ take et. We do not -bow- to de darkness dat would consume dat which we love. Even if we lose, as you have, we get righ’ back up an’ start fightin’ again. Until we are nothin’ but ash.. We must fight fah what we are, an’ what we believe in. Ah know dat is what went through ya fada’s head as he shielded us from de sea.”

After that speech, Zu’Daba swiped some tears from his eyes.. His teeth grit and he murmured ever so softly to his mother. “Thank you.. Thank you, mada.. Ah don’ think you know how much ah needed dat remindah. All dis time, ah been called a fool fah fightin’.. Fah strivin’.. Fah standin’ up fah what ah believe in an’ fah de culture of mah people. But ah knew dey were wrong. Dey jus’.. Scared. An’ dey not stupid ta be.. But we all pay in blood, one way or de oddah.”

His mother nodded as he met her gaze tearfully, leaning in to embrace her tightly and shuddering. His face pushed slightly against her cheek as he wept and took a moment to compose himself.

“Ah.. Should probably sleep soon, if you’ll have me here. But.. Can ah ask you something, before ah do?” He closed his eyes and sat back on the stump he perched upon. The cool ocean breeze brushed through his fur as his toes curled into the sand and the stars shone upon the waves crashing against the shore.

“Anehthing, Zu-Zu.”

“Did you know ah was still alive?” He spoke, barely above a whisper.

Smiling, Zin’adi stood up and offered him a hand. “Do you remember what I tol’ you when you were young, aftah ya faddah died? Dat every time a great troll dies, de loa put a star in de sky ta honor deir passing?”

Zu’Daba nodded, standing up and grabbing his Rush’kah from the stump nearby so that he wouldn’t leave it out in the open to be taken by passersby.

“I never saw yours.”

The Eternal Son

Waves softly lapped against the bleached white snow - Torchlight illuminating the verdant canopy of palm-leaves above. The Shadow Hunter sank down to his knees before a shorter palm. The soil before it had bloomed with a great deal of flowers in the time since he’d seen it last - And the tree itself was healthy.

He regretted not coming here sooner - But he was thankful that nobody was around to question him for in this vital moment. Sighing, Zu’Daba removed his mask and laid it nearby in the sand. Silence, now - The loa’s voices could not speak to him without his mask. He lifted a ramshackle object from his waist and laid it to his other side, the totem carved by wood and crafted with various goods or curiosities to make the facsimile of a ravasaur. Venomclaw’s totem..

“Dhea.. My sweet druid..” He closed his eyes, fighting back tears as they strove to erupt from beneath his lids. “I am sorry I took so long to come back..”

“I know you have been with me, dis whole time. Dat you’ve seen me grow from a small, foolish an’ cowardly mon.. A bastard dat would have thrown his life away for sadness.. Into a mon who learned ta care fah dem around him. Fah his beast and fah his way of life. A mon who became a Shadow Huntah.. A mon who had become Antu’zul, an’ latah became Chief. Dat ya spirit always been watchin’ me. Dat’cha soul has given me de strength I needed ta move on.”

He stroked his fingertips softly over the fire-roc feathers adorning the totem, shuddering and giving a careworn chuckle. “Ah know too.. Dat oah son has been with me. De little child, taken from dis world befo’ dey could even see et. De loa work in mysterious ways, dough.. An’ ah know in mah heart of hearts, dat he will not evah die. Even if ah do.. Ah wan’ him ta see de world.”

Zu’Daba glanced down to the totem at his left, “Ah wan’ him ta feel de sun on his scales an’ de wind through his favorite feathers.. Et was a wicked thing, done to you, but through de spirits’ grace ah have held oah son fah long since. Maybe it was you who delivered him to me.. Ah am not sure. But I thank you, Dhea. For all I was. For all I’ve become. For all you’ve given me..”

Laying his head down against the sand, Zu’Daba’s tears flowed freely for a brief moment of silence. When he rose again, he spoke in a sullen tone. “I am a mon of great shame.. Leavin’ dis place intent upon killin’ mahself. Ah must visit mah mada. Ah must make tings right.. An’ even if little Venomclaw is a spirit, ah must promise you dat he will never come to harm again. A mada’s love fah deir child nevah dies..” He pounded a hand against his chest, rising up and gently taking the totem up under his arm.

It wasn’t long before he returned to the village proper - The grains of sand on his feet scratching and scraping against the wooden boards of the pier out of the Bloodtalon Shore. The Darkspear Hold was a short trip from the end of it; all surrounded by towering stone walls and hills to form a defensive bunker of sorts.

The thatch structures stood on stilts of tropical wood; light and easily repaired for the sake of the Darkspear’s seaside lifestyle. The dying embers of a collapsed bonfire illuminated the beaten path through this square - The core of what remained of the Darkspear Tribe. A few Siame-Quashi guarded the walls, and guardsmen gawked at the opulent Shadow Hunter as he passed, but he wasn’t intent upon paying mind to them. Ahead, a larger hut with bone struts and walls of hide sat in the corner of the village square.

The sand crunched under his heels as he rapped his fist against the doorway; absolutely silent for the time being. When no answer came, he knocked again until he could hear a soft shuffling towards the front. The thick flap opened to reveal a woman of relatively old age - Likely just shy of fifty. Her nose was a little wrinkled in irritation and her face appeared gently stretched from years of worrying and toiling around the island. Nevertheless, verdant green hair spilled down her back with no signs of white or grey to speak of.

“..Aren’t you a strange one.. Why are you waking an old woman up from her rest so late at night? I would ask if you were a spirit, but the Siame Quashi would be stopping you.. And we had enough ghosts from Zalazane’s return.” Her voice was just as kind as she remembered. Age hadn’t tainted it, not by any stretch.

“Ah..” He could see her face whiten in the torchlight the moment he spoke. With a pregnant pause at her bewildered expression, he removed his Rush’kah from his face; that blue glow giving way to deep sanguine eyes and the beautiful gold trimming giving way to sea-blue skin. The top of his head was adorned by a full and lengthy braid of emerald hair like her own, while a braided beard hung from his painted chin. The old war-paints he’d worn on the Echo Isles hadn’t been lost from years prior.. His mother’s face twisted from shock, to happiness, to sadness and finally to.. Rage? “Et’s me, mada, Zu’Daba--”

WHAM!

A wooden ladle snapped over Zu’Daba’s head as his mother fumed and the Shadow Hunter stood in no small amount of shock. “YOU FOCCEN IDIOT!”

“Mada, please-- Jus’ let me explain!” Zu’Daba held his hands up as she rushed back into the hut; a deafening clamor echoing across the empty village center. The Siame Quashi subtly flitted their gaze to watch, while the guards turned to one another and grimaced.

“YOU LEFT FOR EIGHT YEARS-- EIGHT. YEARS! NOT EVEN A LETTER?!” A whole drawer of wooden utensils was tossed for Daba; crashing against his chest as he spoke quickly to try and explain himself.

“Ah couldn’t! Dere was nothin’ in Un’Goro, an’ when ah got back de orcs--”

“OH, DE ORCS STOPPED YOU, HM?! YOU DIDN’T EVEN TINK TA CHECK IF YA OWN MADA HADN’T GOTTEN IN THE SAME SITUATION?!” She only got angrier; random bowls, plates and even small chairs tossed out of the hut’s door as the Siame Quashi looked away and did their damndest to stifle their laughter.

Zu’Daba took each blow with all of the dignity he could - He knew he deserved them after all of that time as his mother physically picked up each and every little thing that wasn’t bolted down to wail his way. “Ah sorry! Ah am.. Mada, please.. Ah sorry-- Dat’s why ah’m here.”

Zin’adi finally ceased.. Her breath hitching in her throat as she put down the CAULDRON she had hauled up into the air with every intention to toss at him. Furrowing her brow, she stepped outside and grabbed Zu’Daba’s ear. “Den you best get -talkin’-, little Zu-Zu.. You have a lot to explain ta me. Ah don’ care where you been, wit’ how you left you’re lucky ah ain’ bein’ dragged off by the Siame Quashi at my -request-.” She snorted and growled, turning around and dragging him inside. “Oh.. An’ -you- are cleanin’ dat up.”

“Ech.. Yes, Mada..” He grimaced, pulled inside. This really was going to be a long talk, but he hoped she could forgive him. With how he left, it’d be a miracle.

Echo of the Past

Crunch.. Crunch..

The red, dry soils of Durotar were crushed under Zu’Daba’s feet as he strode from the gates of Orgrimmar. The city was too crowded for him, and there were too many changes for his liking. So many new strangers walked around that old place and its valleys and the air was filled with the smog of churning war machines and forges. Nightborne, Vulpera, Sin’dorei, Highmountain Tauren and even the Zandalari walked around as though it had always been their home.

In reality it was, and he was the stranger. That irony wasn’t lost upon him.

Still.. The walls of Zul’Gurub held familiarity and comfort, while this place held nothing but pain and misery. A reminder of when he did try to come back - Of how the orcs held him and Venomclaw in a cage, ready to be slaughtered and buried in a forgotten ditch. A mournful memory, and one of some shame.. He knew that he should have stayed and fought, but he had found his calling elsewhere. He was Horde no longer. He was something else..

Not much had changed, this far away. Razor Hill was the same as it ever was.. A humble militant village that had miraculously become the staging ground for not one, but TWO separate assaults upon Orgrimmar. The desert certainly hadn’t, either - It was red. Just as it ever was. A place for orcs to atone, or so he had heard from his mother. The Darkspear had joined them for saving them from extinction, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly his opinion of them turned.. As a child, he adored the orcs. They were his heroes.

Now? They had crushed his culture. His lifestyle. They denigrated him and his people for trying to live the traditional lives of trolls, and eventually attempted to exterminate them down to the last. Sure - Many of them had changed. But the sting of such deep-seated hatred would not abate in his lifetime. Not easily.

His toes struck water-- Had he been so lost in his thoughts he nearly strode straight into the sea? Legba’s growling chuckle echoed through his thoughts as he sighed and looked south. Sen’jin Village couldn’t be far..

“Oh, laugh et up..” The Darkspear muttered. “At least I noticed.”

Despite the humor of Legba’s tone, he - and the rest of the loa - were rather quiet during this journey. One would expect the very deity that encouraged living in the now and not the past or future would have outright denied the Darkspear his pilgrimage, but they had no complaints.

That bothered Zu’Daba. He couldn’t put his finger on why..

Skirting around the edges of the Kul’tiran’s old keep, the Shadow Hunter could walk a few more hours before even reaching Sen’jin Village. When he did, he almost laughed at the familiar ditch that served as the quaint passageway from the beaten road off towards the troll village. They hadn’t changed that yet? In all of these years, they’d never bothered? It was typical. It was stubborn. But, it was appreciated nevertheless.. He remembered a lot about what was around him.

That first venture through the Valley of Trials.. How scared he was of the scorpid and how he didn’t want to kill those tiny boars. The cactus apples, and the fact he was tasked with thwacking lazy peons with a beatstick.

That last one paid off..

But he also remembered how the guards watched him walk off for the last time, in the middle of the night; his body disappearing past the torchlight. His grief and his anger at the fate of his mate and their unborn child. He remembered how he had planned to die. How he had told his mother if he did not return, that he was dead and would never be coming back. That was why he was here. To quell the ghosts of the past, and through confronting them.. Better understanding himself.

As he strode up to the village, the Darkspear couldn’t help but peer around with some curiosity. The Darkspear had grown.. Much more than he’d suspect after the Siege of Orgrimmar, at that. Children chased raptor hatchlings through the center of town, laughing with glee. Adults sat around the evening bonfire and many others lounged in their huts working on projects or practicing their arts. There weren’t many others around besides those old trolls, but the man stood out like a sore thumb nevertheless.

He could see how the tomahawk-wielding watchers peered at him with absolute uncertainty in their eyes. What wily fool would come here dressed to the nines like a damned peacock? The man wasn’t a Chief, here.. And he certainly was not a Zandalari! He was too short for that much. Shadow Hunters wouldn’t be recognizing him either, if mostly because their traditions were different. He was an oddity.. And the discomforted silence of those around him was punctuated by their whispers. The stopping of children to stare in bewilderment.

“Who is dat..? Marchin’ all up in here like a king..”

“What a strange mask.”

“Woah! Dat mon’s got a hat biggah dan ya mada, T’zaka!” “HEY!”

He steeled himself and proceeded forward. They were not his people, and frankly he was used to those sorts of jeers. These strangers meant nothing to him, and the moment he arrived on shore he beckoned one of the oarsmen over to assist him with crossing the waters to the island ahead; gently lit and floating upon a sea of reflected torchlight. Stars..

“Ya need a ride, mon?” A voice called from nearby as Zu’Daba growled. He much preferred the idea of going it alone, but he’d understand if they didn’t trust a stranger with giving the canoe back. Still, he replied reluctantly..

“Yes..”

“Good! C’mon, don’ be shy, big mon! Hop aboard. What’s ya name? You don’t look like you’re from around here!” A Darkspear with a head full of ruffled red hair gestured jubilantly towards a well-crafted canoe and then hopped in to grab his oars. Daba steeled himself and walked forward to get in. He knew how this went.. Talk, talk, talk, talk. Even when he was younger, these oarsmen didn’t know how to shut up and just let their passenger relax.

Climbing into the vessel, the Shadow Hunter settled and laid his glaive at his side. Predictably, that was exactly when the man started asking questions.

“So.. Where’d ya get dat? Dat’s a neat glaive!”

“Row.” Zu’Daba sighed.

“Murder Row..?”

“No, ROW.” The Darkspear repeated.

“Oh..” The oarsmen frowned and furrowed his brows, pushing off the shore with his oar and beginning to move towards the isles in the distance.

“Which island are you lookin’ ta go ta, shiny-mon?”

“I don’t know. The main one.” Daba replied, short and succinct.

“Righ’..” The oarsman replied with a shake of his head. He knew that this man didn’t want to talk, but he was a young troll - Barely an adult. He couldn’t help but ask nevertheless. “Are.. You from around here?”

“Not anymore, no.” Daba set his jaw and stared ahead; drinking in the feeling of how the waves made their boat move and the sound of them sloshing around the vessel on all sides. It was soothing, in a way.

The oarsmen replied, inquisitive. “Not.. Anymore? So--”

“I was raised here. I left and did not return, until now. I’m not a Darkspear.”

“..Well, you don’t look like one..” The oarsmen muttered, only to have the Shadow Hunter turn back to glare at him. Those intense blue eyes blazed with no small amount of irritation.

“No.. I should expect not. I am the Chief of a clan. The Shadowtusk Clan.”

The oarsmen blinked and sat in silence for awhile, “Uh.. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the ‘Shadowtusk Clan’. Where do you live?”

“Zul’Gurub.”

“With the Gurubashi?”

“Yes, with the Gurubashi.”

“So.. Why are you coming here?”

“You’re very new at this job, aren’t you?”

There was a long and pregnant pause as the oarsman sort of sat there in shock. He didn’t even know how to reply to that.. He simply stayed put in the water, swallowed and then spoke softly. “My.. Father died, in de Darkspear Rebellion. I was young, but-- You don’t gotta be old ta row a boat. I.. Am new, ah suppose.”

Zu’Daba’s expression swiftly melted into a frown as he turned away and heaved a sigh. The oarsman got back to rowing in short order, but the Shadow Hunter couldn’t help but curse himself. Why was he being so cruel? The little man was only asking questions of him. It couldn’t hurt to answer them.

“..My mother. I’m-- Here to visit my mother, and my old mate’s grave.” He finally answered, looking down between the canoe’s seats.

“Ah left in a time of weakness.. Tried ta return, but was nearly killed by de orcs. Made mah way ta Stranglethorn, became a Shadow Huntah.. Became a Chief.. An’ now ah’m here, tryin’ ta settle de ghosts of de past.” He murmured.

“Shadow Hunter? Are ya sure..? Ya are wearin’ a mask.” The oarsman perked up a bit. This old bastard (which, mind you, wasn’t actually even that old) was starting to open up. Now he was getting somewhere!

“Different tradition. Still a Shadow Huntah.” Daba replied, earnestly and with a chuckle. “Trust me.. Ah get plenty of questions about dat.”

“Right. I’m-- Sorry to hear about your mate.. Maybe ah can help? With your mada, I mean. What’s her name? Ah might know her! Ah help a lot of people wit’ crossin’ de watahs between Sen’jin an’ de Echo Isles.” The oarsman spoke, all while still making his way over the waves. They had to be careful at night, lest makura strike out from the waters and potentially drag both of them to drown.

“Her name is Zin’adi. A kind woman.. Wife of Zu’Adra, who died in defense of de Darkspear Isles against murlocs an’ naga.” The Shadow Hunter spoke as they cut through the waves. “My name is--”

“Zu’Daba..” The young oarsman blinked, “Yes-- Ah met her! She’s always spoken of her son. She’s growin’ old, but her wits are still about her. She lives in de Darkspear Hold on de main island. Do you need ta know where ya can find ya mate’s old grave--”

“No. Ah know where dat is.” The Shadow Hunter spoke with full confidence. In that moment, they struck the shore and he stepped out into the sand and silt; toes curling among the once-familiar grains as tiny waves lapped over his feet. He smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling forth a bijou to leave on the edge of the canoe before walking forward into the torchlight.

“Thank you, oarsman.. Ah am sorry for being so short with you. Have a good night, heard? Loa guide an’ shadows guard you!” He waved and disappeared beyond the palm trees and past the banners.

The oarsmen quirked a brow and picked up the bijou, turning it around in his hands and murmuring. “..Zul’Gurub, huh? ..Cool!”

A Happy Hallow’s End

“Your heart has grown dark, Darkspear.”

“How many have you killed? Five dozen? More? Was your butchery a matter of necessity, or simply a matter of ease? Maybe you don’t even care about who you killed. About what you killed. Understandable, of course.. I too have goals, even if so very few believe in them. There’s always a cost..”

“But I know what you do care about.”

“You care about those you failed. Some of them have names.. Olivia, Jazmon, Ryzaji, Dhea, Venomclaw and Chinaka. Others you never bothered to learn..”

“So, so many others.”

“What happens when your family looks within your soul and sees only rot?”

“What happens when your clan decides they’ve had enough of your incompetence? Your supposed pragmatism?”

“What happens when the loa realize how worthless you have become?”

“When death comes, will you finally be at peace.. Or will the nameless faces be your company for all eternity?”

“Oh, don’t be so cocksure.. I know even I cannot scare a Shadow Hunter.”

“But doubt?”

“It already plagues you. And that, I can work with..”

The Shadow Hunter awoke with a start, his teeth grit and his fists clenched on either side of himself. The cool breeze of the midnight air flowed over his sweaty face as he swept a palm along his arm; flattening the erect hairs and feeling the goosebumps that rose from below. His breath was haggard, and a dull pain wracked his head as he took in a steadying breath. In and out.. Easy.. Just calm yourself, and His voice will go away.

The whispers ceased.. And with them, so did that awful ache. It had felt like his skull was crushing his brain - Like his eyes were prepared to pop from their very sockets and splatter onto the bedroll around him.

With it faded, he gently reached about the bedroll.. Surely Mai’jani could comfort him. She had little need for sleep - Hell, half the time he figured she just stayed with him to keep him comfortable. She was always there..

But when his palm slid to the spot he remembered, she was not there. A twang of confusion passed over his mind as he sat up more full, squinting through the pitch darkness that shrouded the upper floor of the Chief’s hut.

Mozu? Missing, a void left where she usually curled between him and her mom.

Tanaji? Mai’jani was gone.. He clung constantly to her as they slept, and with her departure so too did he disappear.

Zazuli? Gone with the wind.. The bedroll lifted from where she slept.

The troll’s eyes closed. It was a dream - Remember that. It was a dream. They would never leave him. Just wait a few moments, and all would fade..

But when his eyes opened once more, and their sanguine light met the dark, he found the same sight before him. His heart beat fast in his chest as he lifted up onto his scarred knees, and groped about for his Rush’kah.

Good.. It lay where it always had. Nobody had taken it. His fingers caressed over the smooth, burnt wooden surface - Those old fanged designs. Familiar and comforting. The loa’s power lay within, and their whispers would provide him some guidance. Some calm. His family would be returned, in due time.

Yet, their voices were silent.. And soon, the wood felt damp beneath his touch. He blinked only once, and rot had spread over its surface.. Chips and scrapes dominated the mask as it crumbled between his fingertips, falling - piece by piece - onto the ground and reducing itself to sawdust. A churning could be felt deep within his stomach as he blinked again.

Once, still gone..

Twice, still gone...

Three times.. His palms were still empty. Sweat dribbled down the Shadow Hunter’s brow as he quivered in place, his muscles beginning to stiffen. He tried to speak, tried to howl into the skull nearby for aid, but could only choke upon the air in his throat. As he clawed at the bedroll, his knees gave out on him and he collapsed onto the floor; roughly scraping his tusks against the wooden boards below. All went quiet as the air grew colder, chilling him to the core. His nose filled with the smell of rot and decay, as gravity itself seemed to press him down against the bedroll. He was suffocating.

Doggedly, laboriously, the troll flipped himself onto his back; mouth wide open as he gasped for breath. His ears splayed outwards, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Just let it pass - This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real..

The silent struggle stretched on for what seemed like an eternity before he could hear voices in the distant darkness. Giggles and shouts of celebration died down into sullen sobs of despair and screams of sorrow. Howls of fear. Hoarse panting echoed from every direction as silhouettes rose from all along the loft, and the scrape of rotted bones and shattered nails filled the air with a stifling din.

“Go away..” Zu’daba murmured, “Please.. Ah’m sorry..”

Thunk. The beams shuddered as the creatures pulled themselves over the edge of his home, crawling on their broken limbs towards him. The rot gave way to the distinct smell of burning flesh as their mindless groans drew closer. The floor creaked under their weight as Daba kept his eyes closed, unwilling to look upon them. He couldn’t - He did not want to see it.

“Go a-away,” His voice shook as he begged. “Ah’m sorry.. Ah’m sorry! Please, just rest! GO AWAY!” He cried.

The creaking stopped.. Had they gone? Was the nightmare over? He could not move, but maybe this terrible dream had passed.. He opened his eyes again, and peered around.

A horrid mistake.

Innumerable forms surrounded him in the darkness, watching him with their dull eyes. Some had their very skin scorched away from their bodies, musculature peeking from beneath their tattered and blackened skin. Others stood slack-jawed with holes punched in the back of their skulls, fluid and brains leaking onto the floor behind them. Still more had their heads barely clinging to their stems, as their slit throats leaked black blood onto the Shadow Hunter’s bare chest. A hundred, hundred faces, all staring at him at once. He tried to close his eyes..

But now, even they wouldn’t budge.

Nothing would..

The walking corpses leaned down and pressed their coarse hands upon his arms. It felt like cold stone scraping against his flesh as they shoved his limbs into the fabric of his bedroll, and pinned him onto the ground. The weight of what felt like six-dozen trolls trapping him under their strength.. Crushing him his final resting place, with no heed for his begging. He could speak no longer, as his lungs began to burn deep within his chest. As his head lolled, he could see more of them.. Their visages burned into his mind.

The torn child, eaten by dogs.

The ghastly mother, whose face was frozen in sorrow as she realized even her body could not protect the children she sheltered in her arms.

The tradesman father, whose face was twisted into rage at the inadequacy of those who were bound to protect them.

The Darkspear, whose belly protruded outwards; carved with the grisly word ‘Retribution’.

The headless Jaz’mon, who hefted his missing cranium by the hair up onto the spot it once lay.

The paralyzed Ryza’ji, with the knife sticking from their spine and blood dribbling from their eyes. Their face contorted into a persistent scream.

The human woman, whose throat bled ichorous blood and whose eyes were stained by dark tears. Her arms cradling a child who was no longer there..

But he could feel something by his toes. Four little hands, dragging themselves up his legs and onto his chest. His heart beat wildly in his chest and his vision churned as they drew closer and closer.. Sniffling and sobbing.

His chest grew cold, when their faces were finally revealed.

Two babes, their eyes sealed shut.. Groping about with no idea of what they were doing, or who they were. One covered in blood, blue and suffocated.. While the other had clearly been pierced by a bullet. Their grubby, graying hands clasped upon Zu’Daba’s nose. Their palms pressed against his lips.

He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as he tried to struggle and squirm, but his body just wouldn’t move. His lungs pounded in his chest, that burn becoming an unbearable sensation. His throat began to bleed, and his heart began to swell.

An encroaching darkness edged at his vision as he began to fade away, his mind screaming as the voices chanted around his ears.

“Failure..” “Weakling..” “Craven..” “Fool..” “Careless..” “Neglectful..” “Wicked..”

“You let us die..”

“You brought this upon us!”

“We burned in our huts..” “They shot us into ditches..” “BECAUSE OF YOU!”

As the accusations swirled around him, tears fell from Zu’Daba’s eyes. Things began to go numb, and darkness swept over his mind. At long last, the quiet came. The dream was over, but not without one final whisper:

“Take it from me, little child. In oblivion, you all will find peace.”

He Will Not Be the Weakest Link

Skaldrean stepped upon one of the dilapidated, soaked heads on the ground; crushing it beneath his plated heel as he observed the damage around him. What fools hadn’t quickly gotten to shelter were either smote by lightning, riddled with shrapnel or flung straight into the waters to be consumed by indigenous crocolisk, frenzy and hydra. Some further still were white as ghosts, their eyes having turned an odd pale hue. They were desiccated and withered, skin taut over the bone. Grisly, but Skaldrean had seen worse.

Hell, Skaldrean had done worse.

“What’s the damage, lad..?” He shifted to peer down towards the gnome walking alongside him, pink-haired and wearing an obnoxious gas-mask.

Sky Captain Pipp, Butcher of the Trade District, glanced up to him and sighed. “It’s not good, Commander.. They’ve killed countless members of our forces in a single night, their storms have absolutely DEMOLISHED our shelter and none of my machines are going to be working for at LEAST two days. Worse.. A good deal of the others that did get to shelter are complaining of some awful fevers and weird black poxes upon their bodies.”

“D’ye know what it -is-?” The dwarf demanded impatiently, his fiery beard shifting on his chin as his ashen brow scrunched. His hand curled into a furious fist while his gun hand hung stiffly at his side.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it? Don’t you worry, I’ve got JUST the gadget for figuring this out.” The gnome stooped down next to a head. “You should probably pinch your nose.”

“Just. Draw. The. Sample.” Skaldrean growled.

“..Right, aheh.. Right away, Commander!” Pipp stuck the sturdy needle into the side of the dead human’s head, reading the dog-tags out loud as he pulled back on the syringe. “First Lieutenant Cor--”

“Did I ask for NAMES, Air-Captain?”

“..No, Commander.” Pipp sighed, then squinted at the discolored blood within his syringe. Steadying his shoulder, he’d stoop down and procure a whirring machine from his belt. The liquid was steadily dripped in as it began sparking and spinning wildly. Pipp stood back, “This thing’s a MARVEL, you know! I’m not just good at burning down big trees, I make all sorts of inventions! This thing will tell us exactly what we have to worry about with the soldiers, and hopefully I can communicate with whatever medics we have left to get this affliction cured!”

It took awhile, but eventually the machine would spin down as Pipp stooped and squinted at the text on his screen. “Network connectivity-- Wait, wait, wait, gah! STUPID THING!” He slapped the side of it, then sat back on his rump with a gasp. “Oh.. Oh, Mimiron’s massive mechabots, this is not good! Not good at all! Skaldrean.. That’s a death knight’s plague! Highly contagious, extremely deadly and any victims have a chance to rise from the dead!”

“Er-erm.. Don’t quote me on that last one. But it’d make sense, right?! I’ll get to work immediately, I’m going to need at least five priests and a single paladin. Maybe a druid, too, for safe measure, and--”

Skaldrean stared at Pipp forcefully. “Get them all tae a pit and shoot them in.”

“Yes, of co-- Wait, what?”

“Did I stutter, lad? Get them all tae a pit, shoot ‘em in, an’ burn the bodies. We don’t have the resources tae help them.. An’ if they’re riskin’ everybody elses’ health, then we don’t need ‘em around.” Skaldrean finished with narrowed eyes.

“Erm, sir, all due respect but getting reinforcements from Stormwind is as easy as a radio-call away! If you’d just give me a few hours, maybe a day, I--”

“What. Reinforcements?” Skaldrean snarled, stepping forward as his gun spun up. It was practically a reflex at this point, he’d gotten significantly worse at controlling his anger. “Stormwind has nothing left ta spare fer us here. Execute ‘em, an’ get back tae workin’ on defending my city. They’ve already done this, taken a whole shrine and gotten my prisoner killed. I am done bein’ patient. If ye have any complaints about my orders, lad.. Yer welcome tae jump right in with the sick an’ dyin’, ain’che?”

“I’ll.. Get right on it, sir.” The crestfallen gnome shuffled off into the distance as Skaldrean eyed one of the nearby barracks. Overturned dirt and claw marks on the door. Looks like someone didn’t make it inside..

He shrugged and moved on.. So long as he got his vengeance, he was going to stay. He would not allow his family to go unavenged. The Shadowtusk would pay for their crimes, no matter how high the cost may grow.

For Glodbjorn Cinderborn, his adopted father.

For his blood brothers.

And for the innocents lost in the Domicile.

He could not lose this war.

A Great Cry in Zul’Gurub

This is war.

And so, Alliance, I understand what you have done. War is ugly.

Some of you chose to let us leave. Some pursued us across the seas.

But you let us live.You let us return.

And so you must understand what we are going to do to you.

We will bring to bear horrors beyond your imagination.

We will kill your friends, your family. Your young and your old.

There will be no surrender, no quarter, no mercy for the injured or captured.

There is only escape, or death. I pray to my loa some of you will be wise.

I pray to Lukou those of you who are not will receive respite..

But mark my words, Alliance. This is war..

And if you stay in my city, I will paint it red with your blood.

“Oi, lad, sod off!” The ashen dwarf growled at the elderly human standing before him. “I’ve got work tae do. It’s a logistical nightmare out here, we’ve got trolls chargin’ back into th’city an’ reports are sayin’ we’ve lost the old infirmary.”

“My SON was in that infirmary, you heartless Dark-Iron..” The human’s grey brow furrowed as he spoke, “If my son has died to those savages, then--”

“Save it, before ye say something you’d regret.” The Dark Iron eyed him critically; pointing a finger towards the north across Zul’Gurub. “We just sent another group in. A good group’ve ‘em, so don’t go givin’ up yet, lassie.” The dwarf waved the human away, kicking back in his chair and grabbing a tankard from nearby to quaff of. The air out here was awful and far too humid, but having a good ole pint Grim-Guzzler style was welcome reprieve and reminder of home.

It was all just noise to Captain Curtis. A veteran from the 2nd war, the knight was one of Stormwind’s finest. He’d seen the atrocities of the orcs during their rampage, as well as the wreckage of the internment camps during their various rebellions. The antics of trolls weren’t much different, especially up north nearby Zul’Aman. Zul’jin’s forest trolls were simply another breed of brutes, and while he’d heard plenty of horror stories of old Zul’Gurub, the human knew that its present residents were not the trolls of yore. They were not Jin’do, or the Blood Lord Mandokir. They had no blood god or the high-priests of their faith. They rolled them over on their first trip through the city, and they’d do it again. For good, this time.

“Captain!” The elderly gentleman called out. Curtis sighed and turned towards the fellow, his gravelly voice responding quietly. “Yes, Thomas?”

“When did we agree to start getting bossed around by dwarves?” He asked, earnestly, with a hint of subtle humor. It was a ploy to hide his worry and fear.

“When we came to this accursed jungle to help take revenge on some tusk-apes, I imagine.” Curtis replied with a gentle chuckle. “Getting cold feet, soldier?”

“You know I don’t do that, Guard-Captain.” Thomas replied shortly. “Withersfield might have died in that crash, but we of Lakeshire stand strong. We don’t hide from any monstrous ilk.”

The man was jolted by Curtis slapping him on the shoulder and steadying him there, “Ain’t that just the truth. Listen, Thomas.. I know the dwarves aren’t much comfort, but soldier-to-soldier, I bet your boy’s fine up there. Best in his barracks, studying with the Church of the Holy Light.. What’d the clerics tell you?”

“A few broken ribs,” Muttered Thomas.

“A few broken ribs? Soldier, we both took worse from sparring matches. He’ll be fine. We’ve got our finest healers up in that infirmary helping Skaldrean’s medics. He’s in good care.” Captain Curtis offered a reassuring smile, then fished a flask from his side to offer towards the soldier. Side-eyeing the stern dwarf nearby, he snickered when he heard Thomas taking a generous gulp.

“It’s hard not to be worried... He’s my son-- He’s all I’ve got left.” The man murmured, “You think Withersfield would be ashamed right now?”

“You want my honest answer?” Curtis murmured.

Thomas nodded in response, his expression listless.

“I think he would’ve left by now.. I mean, all this for a kodo charging over a bridge--” “More for the rest of them.” “-- Fair.. But, every day, this feels more like the Commander’s conflict.. Not ours. We should be in Kul’tiras, or on Zandalar. Fighting the Horde.” He held out a hand to retrieve his flask from Thomas, putting it back on his belt.

“You’re not a bad Guard-Captain yourself, Curtis. I think he always wanted you to succeed him. When we get back to Lakeshire, I owe you a pint--” A thick drop of water fell onto Thomas’ brow as the elder’s wizened gaze drew skywards. “Ah, another rain storm. Wondrous.. Just what these old, aching bones needed today.” He spoke with a careworn tone.

“You’d figure we’d get used to it after a few months, wouldn’t you..?” Curtis peeked betwixt the verdant canopies above, then frowned softly. “Quite a storm.”

A great shadow loomed over Zul’Gurub as the clouds rolled in without warning, suffocating the comforting light of the stars and moon as phantom winds coiled about his body. Curtis shivered and canted his head, observing how the sky above almost appeared to glow green. He’d seen similar storms before - Such clouds heralded monsoons or hurricanes. Whirlwinds, for the most intense of them. They could normally predict these storms..

Both of the men startled as lightning coursed along the blanket and then struck downwards around the city; almost as if it were aimed by divine providence. Fire spread outwards from their points of impact, turning garrisons and barracks into beds of chaos. Startled soldiers ran from their shelter into the waiting, malicious night; gathering the rain waters and tossing it onto the flames. Yet they did not cease, the sheets of falling rain causing the ground to quickly turn into an impossible mire. Muck stuck to Curtis’ boots as he looked desperately to his comrade, attempting to shout over the wind.

But to no avail. It howled like an unholy beast. The thunder from above was like the roar of a thousand drums, the cacophony interspersed with the cries of those who were torn from the central lake’s banks and plunged into its depths to drown. The pair hunkered down, clinging to the weighty log as the storm raged around them. Their very allies, their very structures, were as deadly an obstacle as the storm itself. This was no regular tropical storm.. This was vengeance.

A loud thump - The log shifted. Something bounced from Curtis’ shoulder..

He kept still, sliding his gaze over towards Thomas. The man’s gaze was fixed forward, and he could see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. It was heavy, and lay half-buried within the mud.

Don’t.

Thomas crawled out from cover, his knees dragging across the cobblestone pathway. Wrenching the object from the muck, he turned it over in his hands and stifled his breath. Blood flowed down his fingertips as dozens more landed nearby, and the lightning flashed above.

“L-liam..?”

Curtis recognized the boy. He’d seen him grow up on the farms in Redridge.. He’d seen him hold the line against orcs and worgs. His eyes had been dredged from his head, and his mouth was twisted open into a scream while the tattered remains of his neck drooped against his father’s palms. Yet the cruelty did not end there. A seed lay within, and it sprouted the moment the father’s hands pressed against his son’s jaw. An eerie, terrified scream lashed forth from the fallen soldier’s maw; stretching to an almost impossible length as his father trembled in fear and sorrow.

“THOMAS!” Curtis shoved out from behind cover, scrambling as the smell of rot reached his nostrils. He felt practically drowned, hardly able to breathe in the thick downpour, and his lungs labored for breath. Yet still he pushed forward, mere inches from grabbing onto his friend’s shoulder before lightning struck nearby; sending him flying from his feet and back against the ground. His ears rang, but he stood back up and limped forward, calling out again. “THOMAS, WE NEED TO GET TO SHELTER, NOW! SOLDIER, THAT IS AN ORDER!”

No response. The storm was becoming white noise now.. He was growing used to it, accustomed to it. Over the din, he heard something else..

Songs.. No, chants. Chants, whispers, gleeful laughs. Silhouettes flowed around him, fluttering through the air with vague and twisted faces. Men, women, children.. Soldiers both young and old. Ancient shades, older than even himself, that doubtlessly dated back to the age of the Soulflayer. They were black as night, with eyes of blazing coal. The boldest among them lashed out from the impassive fog; clawing at Curtis’ heart as the weakest crawled along the ground. They moved as sludge, pulling themselves with drooping and stick-like limbs as their unhinged and ectoplasmic jaws opened to exude hollow sighs of hunger.

Curtis dropped his sword and shield, trembling as they drew in closer. He could see them swooping through the air nearby, towards those he’d not even noticed hiding prior. They were hoisted up into the thick of the monsoon, screaming as if their souls were being rent apart. Blood spattered the ground from above, tainting the rain and letting the sanguine roll on through the puddles. He would be next, if he didn’t think fast. There was nothing more he could do for Thomas. Despite the efforts of the young spirits and their furtive grasp, he wrenched away; leaping over their lines and dashing for his life towards the nearest structure. He needed shelter - ANY shelter.

Kicking and crushing heads as he dashed, he let adrenaline take the wheel. His need to survive took over his sense of fear. His focus turned upon what lay before him, not what chased mere inches behind him. His lungs burned, and he barely kept aloft with all of the destabilized dirt and unearthed roots. The whispers of the spirits got louder, he could hear them in his mind.

“You killed us..” “My child..” “My mother..” “My HUSBAND..”

“You let us burn!”

“The Veil hungers.. We hunger.”

“Do not run.. Join us in the clawing dark..”

He shook his head wildly as images passed through his brain..

A great tree, once worshiped and exalted for shelter, had burned and fallen upon families in the district below. Women, children and simple tradesmen taking shelter.

Striped worshipers being shot into ditches at the foot of their own temple.

A slew of trolls falling from zip lines, mere minutes from their salvation while being shot by planes and dwarves on the great wall above.

Curtis pressed on, centering his mind.. And as he calmed, as instinct set in, the voices seemed less interested. His vision became more clear, and his shaking, clammy fingers found the door of his barracks. Opened, unlocked. He could hear the screaming of his allies nearby, but they were oft cut short. Fear.. Fear must attract these beasts! All the more reason to remain calm. He stepped into the structure that shook steadily in the rain, slamming the door behind him and barring it. Curtis’ muscular, aching back slid down against the coarse ironwood before he slumped against the floor; panting and centering himself.

Things were finally calming outside..

Until the door shook. Violently.

“Please-- Let me in, let me in! They’re coming for me, I’ve seen them.. They’re speaking to me, they want to take me off into the darkness in the north!”

Curtis spoke tiredly back against the door, but it was in his authoritative tone. He hoped it might appeal to the soldier’s sense of order. “Private.. I recognize your voice. Calm yourself-- I can’t let you in until you are calm.”

“S-sir, they’re here, I c-can’t s-stay calm.. There’s so many, they’ve killed everyone, and taken what remains..”

“You must, or I can’t let you in here.” Curtis peeked open an eye.. The roof was bent inwards from the heads striking against it. Even still, he could hear their sickening thumps and cracks as they landed nearby.. Then unleashed that ghastly and bone-chilling scream. “They feed off of fear.”

“PLEASE, LET ME IN!” The private shook the door as Curtis grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He wanted to hold his ears, but he couldn’t. The soldier’s breath was catching in his throat as he seemed tearful. “Don’t leave me out here.. I’m so scared, I can’t stop.. Go away, GO AWAY! PLEASE! I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING!”

He could hear their moans, their savage sounds of delight as they took hold of their prey. He could hear nails scratching against the doorframe as shivers ran down his spine, but all he could do was keep his mind center. Opening the door now would be suicide for himself and any other fool who had stumbled inside.

“PLEASE, CAPTAIN-- LET ME IN! LET-- LET GO! LET ME IN! LET.. ME... IIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH..!” His soul splitting scream rang in Curtis’ ears before it was replaced by silence. He was gone - Gone with the rest of them.

The Captain shivered and nodded to himself. He spoke, but was unsure of his own words. “Just a nightmare, Curtis.. Just sleep.. It’ll be gone when you’re up.”

It was not. For Curtis, and all of Skaldrean’s misguided soldiery..

The nightmare had only just begun.

snakerenzal-blog

STC back at it again

Being told by core members to remove my post when it’s the truth? You can’t hide your lies, manipulation and bullshit around people who know what’s really going on.

zu-daba

Hey there, Renzal! A few things. First thing, if you actually were having a lot of anxiety and IRL mental issues, I’m very sorry. Those things are serious and should not be faked or lied about. You’re very keen on saying the only reasons you were kicked was because you RP’d an antagonist and ignored us. Special snowflakes insult aside along with your #BringbackZalakar, we kicked you for a variety of reasons. These include repeated sass towards the officers when we tried to punish you, which - by the way - is what makes a BAD antagonist. Not a good one. You need to accept the punishments for your actions, and a character like Azanji who only wants to rampage, fight and beat his mates is gonna get it. That’s how it works, bucko.

Second thing. We were trying to contact you about whether or not Azanji ICly did what Jaz asked.. Nothing.

I tried to contact you for her.. Aaaand nothing.

We gave you a final warning for these behaviors and your rather dubious past, which I think we both recall, and I even encouraged you to speak to me to try and talk over or even overturn your final warning.. Aaaaand nothing.

All while you were constantly doing RBG’s, so you weren’t exactly busy with real life stuff or anxiety. You just didn’t care to respond.

In fact, you even decided to lie and say you were just removing Bah and I to make room for new PvP friends. In case you were wondering, I wasn’t born yesterday - I noted less than 5 minutes after my message when you were out of an RBG, you removed me. How convenient!

So you complain about being punished. You call favoritism constantly when others were punished along with you. You already had past issues, even if I’m the only officer who remembers them, and you ignored/lied to us when we were trying to be nice! Plus other interpersonal issues with guildies they want to keep private. Plus something I constantly saw from you, which was toxic PvP behavior like trolling people or the use of foul terms.

You’re on an alt, that’s true, but you were broadcasting all of this so proudly over your battle.net! Just a few of these things would have been worth a final warning, let alone a kicking, but we were trying to be nice.

I can’t say whether or not you were having anxiety, but it doesn’t change what all else you did. While I probably shouldn’t share many of the other screenshots that I have, as many are of private conversations between you and officers or other members of the guild, I will at least share this one.

Have a nice day, and stop slandering Shadowtusk. You got kicked. Goodbye.

In case you were wondering, that says “lf dh for rbgs, don’t be a sucky faggot” - Sorry for the quality there, just wanted to post the whole screenie.

Garax

A C’thraxxi sat at the bottom of the sea, clutched in a swirl of sand and fish that ambled by mindlessly. Their eyes devoid of thought or emotion as the elements themselves screamed in his presence, not that even the shaman could hear it above. They only heard him; responding to their pleas and ushering them off to the new land of Zandalar.

The Shadowtusk, the Gurubashi, the Bloodscalp, the Skullsplitter, the Hakkari and the Alliance.. All had fallen into place.

Skaldrean had believed the ghost of his adoptive father told him to seek revenge - Yet it was merely him. He was but a puppet in a scheme, albeit one who did not require much handling.

The devastated tribes of the jungle were all weak - Ripe for the picking, now. They would return, he was sure - Probably with friends - to kill the Alliance. Yet this too was the plan.. With the Skullsplitter weakened they would never be able to defend themselves after any allies left against his magic.

The Hakkari planned to rush into Zul’Gurub as the Alliance held it, expecting them to be unprepared. They would be wrong.. Slaughtered wholesale, their blood would taint the Blood God’s altar. More souls for an offering.. But not one of resurrection, Garax assured himself. One for a spell of great power: A plague.

Some of the Shadowtusk might remember the last.. He was nothing to them, then. A name. It was a mere sickness, an inconvenience in the sands of Tanaris.

A test.

Before the trolls foolishly freed him, his will on-far was only with small things like that. Small things like saving Skaldrean’s life from the lava. Small things like a storm which washed them towards his island. Small things that led to his plan’s conclusion, freeing himself and expanding his consciousness for miles..

There would be a new plague in Zul’Gurub. One far, far greater than anything they could ever imagine. One of beasts and horror. He might have to make a few appearances before then, but such was no worry to a being like a C’thraxxi. They were not the Amani of old. Nor were they titan keepers. They stood no chance against him. Not them, not Skaldrean, not the Hakkari nor anyone at all.

He knew that many of these conflicts were tenuous, at best. Even the night of their victory, many of the Alliance left in shame. Others turned tail; diving into the waters of Zul’Gurub to save those trolls that had fallen in. Smuggling the children, the meek and the injured from the city. He needed to be in the jungle to propagate his own creation, and could see to the events of his brothers on the continents of Zandalar and Kul’tiras later. Any who still remained would simply be more fuel for his ultimate goal - Hope turned to dreadful betrayal and loss.

What better way to break your enemy and start taking over the world?

The colossal being, towering up stories from the sand, reached to gently touch the bottom of the boat with his claw; sliding it along the ironwood surface as his humming made the waters themselves vibrate. Rippling out in all directions.

He could have grasped onto it and dragged it into the screaming depths had he wished to, but the Mada’jin would be safe. As his pincers drew away, he reached out to touch some of their minds and found grief, anger, rage.. But also relief. Not only had they escaped the Alliance and spread their people across the seas onto the islands about the cape of Stranglethorn, they had escaped him. The boogeyman a the bottom of the sea. The foe they could not defeat.

Little did they know..

He had meant for them to get away for the entire time.

Love Lost

The inside of the hut was warm, filled with misty incense and heat as the rain battered the walls outside. Out on the Echo Isles, storms were frequent, and this particular one had been raging for hours. Zu’Daba sat in the hut with his mother, who had brought him some cooked fish for the occasion of the visit. Her name was Mau’a, and her jungle-green hair was as bright as the young man’s own.

“..You know, if ya don’ eat et soon, et’s gonna be cold as when ah got et.” Mau’a spoke tersely as her arms crossed and she glared down her crooked nose at her son. Her lips drew into a gentle frown. “She traveled ta Quel’thalas, Zu’Daba.. She probably got caught up on de zeppelins.”

“Shh.. Shuddup. Ah know, ah know.” Zu’Daba waved his hand dismissively at his mother, dredging himself from his haze of dread. He slowly ate the tepid fish that she’d brought him, taking in deep and calming breaths as his mind wandered. Dhea.. Oh, lovely Dhea. So sweet, so kind. Could anyone have hurt a druid who only wanted to mend others? A trolless that was with child? They couldn’t--

“Zu’Daba!” Mau’a exclaimed, “Ya droppin’ et all in ya lap.. Gah, boyo.” She sat up and walked over as Zu’Daba peered down into his lap, seeing all of the fish sort of fallen into pieces from his hands having broken it up too much. Her arms wrapped softly around him as she growled. “Listen ta me.. Listen-- An’ look.” She tried to catch his wavering gaze, which she eventually did.

“..A-ah listenin’..” He replied timidly.

“She comin’ back, okay? Ain’ nobody in dis world cruel enough ta take away children from a mada an’ fada. We always kept you good an’ safe.. An’ ah bet, wherever she is, even among elfies.. Dey protectin’ de ‘ell outta ‘er. Probably not even lettin’ ‘er get her own stools!” She laughed softly as Zu’Daba hazarded a tiny smile at her words. “She be -fine- boyo.. Don’ worry about et so much. Jus’ get some sleep soon, okay? Ah should be headin’ back ta me own hut. Ah love you, Zu-Zu.” She ruffled his hair after a motherly kiss to his cheek and stood up; glancing at the doorway.

They both paused as they heard a rapping upon the doorway. Zu’Daba raced to it first as his mother stepped out of his way with a soft smile. He threw open the hut flaps, expecting to see Dhea standing there.. That beautiful red hair. That gorgeous smile. That perfect face, and a body beautiful despite how it swelled from her pregnancy. He found it more humorous than anything else..

It was not what he found.

A hooded Sin’dorei stood before him - A man named Mardrift, as he recalled, drenched in the rain that nearly wilted his entire outfit. Laying across his arms was that woman he waited for.. Her belly dredged open, carved with some words: ‘Retribution’. For what, he did not know.. But the horror frozen on her face, the pallid skin, the lack of heat - His heart nearly stopped in his chest.

Mardrift spoke, barely above a whisper. It could hardly be heard above the rain as Zu’Daba’s braid drooped from the water..

His mother watched from inside the hut.

“..Zu’Daba.. We were attacked, when she came to visit us. All of the company was. I did my best to save her, I did, but it wasn’t enough - The witch who did this was motivated and hateful. But I’m going to make sure that your family will be okay until the end of my life. I prom--”

Violently, the Sin’dorei found himself shoved back into the mud as Zu’Daba howled in rage; taking Dhea’s body from his grasp and shoving him with his shoulder onto the ground. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he stomped in Mardrift’s direction. “YA LET HER DIE?! MAH DHEA?!”

“Zu’Daba, I didn’t--” The Blood Elf started..

“YOU DIDN’T WHUT? TINK TA KEEP HER GUARDED?! TINK TA KEEP HER ALIVE?! YA A FOCCIN’ MERCENARY LORD.. An’ ya don’ even have healahs ta help her..” He weakened.

“They were all dead, Zu’Daba. Please.. Let me--”

“An’ you’re not?!” He snarled back, tears beginning to well at the corners of his eyes. “Go.. Go now, befo’ ah remedy dat. Filth..”

Shoving himself up from the muck with the entirety of his jacket and his pants wet from the rain and dirt, he stood up and sighed. Without another word, the elf shuffled off; disappearing from sight as the sheets of rain fell upon Zu’Daba.

He fell onto his knees, skin scraping upon stones stuck in the sand. Dhea’s body sagged in his arms as he wept above her body; tusks dipping to her chest as he sobbed violently. His body shook as he held her body against his chest, begging for a heartbeat. She couldn’t be gone - He wasn’t there to protect her. He let his mate and his child die..

His face nuzzled against hers, kissing her.. Over and over. “Wake up.. Please, Dhea.. Wake up. Wake.. UP!” He snarled, a mixture of rage and sadness swept him up like a tidal wave. “Please.. Plea-he-hease...” Slowly but surely, she was lowered onto the sand as he sobbed into the crook of her neck. There were no words of comfort, no smiles, no coos of affection.. Just her and the rain. Yet, a hand soon rested upon his shoulder as his mother spoke her own.

“Zu-Zu.. Ah.. Ah sorry. Ah didn’ know.. Please, know dat her spirit sits wit’ Bwonsamdi now. Her an’ ya son.. Dey gonna be celebratin’ dere, waitin’ fah you when ya actual time comes.”

“No.. No.. Ah need ta go ta dem, ah can’t..” He bemoaned.

“Zu’Daba-- No, please.. De loa do not take dem who--”

“Ah need to go ta dem, mada!” He shouted, throwing her hand from his shoulder as his tear-filled gaze fell upon her. His teeth grit, his fists clenched and his entire body quivering from the despair. “Dey were all ah had.”

“All you had..?” His mother pleaded, setting her jaw. “Zu-Zu.. Do you forget your family? Ah still here, don’ leave me. Ya mah only son..” Her eyes tinged with tears. He could tell by her tone, she was begging him. After his father had died, he knew he was truly all that she had left.

Guiltily, the headhunter looked away from her and stood up. “Ma’da.. Will you ‘elp me bury her? An’ give your prayers from Hir’eek?”

Over the next few hours, they toiled through the rain and night until the sun rose again. Zu’Daba’s eyes stung from the tears by the time it was done, though as they put her body into the earth and he collapsed nearby and begged to cry more, he simply could not. The tears had dried out.

Every shovel-full of sand, of dirt, of clay was a hammer upon his heart. A twang of guilt, despair and loneliness. When only he and his mother stood above the palm sapling and the circle of sea-glass, he leaned against her shoulder and closed his tired eyes. She spoke softly to him, humming the old lullaby from his childhood. At its end, she spoke.

“You remembah whut ah said ta you, when ya faddah died?”

“..Ah do, yes..” Zu’Daba murmured. “Dat whenever a great troll dies.. Deir spirit is put inta de sky as a star by de loa fah all to see. Dat dey may shine de light of hope on us.. When we need et most.”

“Tonight, look ta de sky fah her.” She pleaded, “An’ if you see her.. Because ah know you will.. Meet me between oah huts. Ah’ll sit wit’chu, an’ we pray for her. Jus’ please, lil son.. Lil Zu-Zu.” She paused, lip quivering.

“Do not leave me behind. Do not leave yourself behind..”

“Ah won’, ma’da.. Promise.”

That night, Zu’Daba indeed saw that star glimmering in the sky.. But there was only one star. The other had never had a chance to make themselves a legend.

When Mau’a stepped outside that evening, she never saw her son. Just as Zu’Daba would never see his, ever again.

Empathy

When T’ziko awoke, he found himself tightly swaddled in cloth. It hurt to breathe, let alone to speak, and so he kept quiet; watching healers and others walk about the room. Obviously the young boy had already been tended to, else he’d have perished, but he wanted to get out of his bindings. He was close.. An arm almost entirely freed before a man clad in beast hide, devilsaur scales and a variety of trinkets approached and held up a hand.

“Nah, nah.. Stop dat,” He stated firmly, but kindly.

T’ziko paused and peered at his face.. Or the mask over it. Blackened by flames and painted with a white serpent’s maw. It made him shiver, especially when it was coupled with the spooky red glow of the Shadow Hunter’s mask. His head turned away as the stranger wilted his ears.

“Ah am Chief Zu’Daba.. A’ de Shadowtusk, lil’un. De healahs here, dey been tellin’ me your name is T’ziko. Dat you came from de Trade District..” He sighed, “Ah am glad you are alive.. An’ ah felt ah should let’chu know dat ah proud of you for bein’ so brave.”

T’ziko murmured softly, then sniffled and squinted up towards Zu’Daba. He could hardly see out of either of his eyes, and the chief was a frightening silhouette to look at for too long. He only had one thought on his mind, “Where’s mah mada?”

Zu’Daba’s heart sank as he grit his teeth behind his mask. The loa were abuzz all of a sudden, speaking into his ears one at a time.

“Lie, obviously..” Dambala hissed, “You think he will know the difference? He is a child. Tell him when he is older.”

“Tell him the truth,” Spoke the calm Samedi. “He should understand death.”

“Tell him,” Boomed Shango, with a thunderous voice. “He must know. Though the misery may wreak havoc of his mind..”

“..a nurturing voice may make sure that strength grows in the wake of the destruction.” Lukou whispered softly, voice nearly a lullaby.

“Tell him how she died!” Laughed Ogoun, “That she choked to death and was crushed by the falling boughs of Mada Maisha! That her body was burned to next to nothing, as his would have been if that beast hadn’t rescued her..” The loa spoke as though they had a dozen separate voices all at once.

Legba.. Growled out nothing. The loa was silent. Words in and of themselves..

Sullen and silent, Zu’Daba met T’ziko’s gaze and grasped onto his own mask. Wrenching it from his face, he set it aside and swept back his hood; revealing a verdant green braid much like T’ziko’s own now-patchy hair. A beard hung from his gaunt chin, while white war-paints marked his scarred face. “She’s.. Not comin’ back, lil’un. Ah sorry..” He reached out to gently hold the boy’s shoulders.

T’ziko would cry, if he still had the ability. Instead, he stared ahead as his lip quivered. The Shadow Hunter winced and softened his expression before he asked his next question. “An’ m’faddah.. Whut about him?”

“Whut did your mada say?”

“Dat..” T’ziko sniffled, “Dat he was ensurin’ oah survival..”

“..Ya mada not wrong, lil boyo.” Zu’Daba paused, then sighed. “Are you okay wit’ me carryin’ ya? Ah jus’ gonna take you upstairs an’ outside. Ah wan’chu ta see someting.” He stood up after asking and canted his head gently.

Hesitant, T’ziko accepted and nodded his head. He couldn’t move on his own, so Zu’Daba gently lifted him as he would one of his own children; walking up the stairs while humming one of the old lullabies he’d heard from Mai’jani. “Before ah get you up dere, ah wan’chu ta know.. We gettin’ you through de next portal out of here, an’ we’re gonna make sure you get big an’ strong wit’ food an’ clean watah. We gonna take care of you. You an’ everyone else Xo’catl rescued..”

“Xo’catl?” T’ziko murmured softly, barely audible.

“Aye.. He’s a primal. Him an’ ah don’ always get along, but he’s a brave an’ strong mon. You can thank him fah rescuin’ you.. He’s big, always wearin’ a pelt on him dat’s a jaguar’s. Ya can’t miss et. Smart.. Like a raptor,” Zu’Daba smiled.

T’ziko sniffled more at that, and buried his head into Zu’Daba’s chest as they arrived at the top of the stairway. Stepping out under the picturesque starlit sky the Shadow Hunter gazed into it; breeze flowing against his unprotected face.

“T’ziko, boyo.. Mah mada used ta tell me a story.” He spoke, softly.

T’ziko glanced up, his eyes barely open. Yet he found himself so much more calmed when the menace of the Shadow Hunter’s mask was not dominating his vision. He nodded languidly.

Zu’Daba continued, “She tol’ me dat whenevah a great troll moves on, de loa put a whole new star in de sky. Ah seen a lot mo’ a’ dem lately, lil’un.. But tonight,”

T’ziko looked up towards the sky as Zu’Daba shifted him in his little burrito bundle, smiling softly and pointing out a pair of brightly gleaming stars right next to one another. A tear trickled down his face as he glance T’ziko’s way and saw the boy smiling.. If only a little bit.

“Ya mada was righ’.. Ya pa’s watchin’ over you, an’ all a’ us. An’ now she is too. Tonight.. Ah see two stars shinin’ brightah dan anehting dese eyes seen befo’..”

“An’ dey shine fah you.”

Trading Blows

A little boy, no older than ten and with a vibrant head of green hair, galloped through the Trade District of Zul’Gurub. Clutched in the north-west portion of the great city, it was idyllic even in this time of war - Bamboo chutes rustled in the breeze, the fountain warbled as dozens of civilians chatted and drew fresh water for their homes. The elderly, children, mothers and the meek craftsmen of Gurub all sought respite beneath the boughs of the old giant tree in the corner.

They called her ‘Mada Maisha’ - Mother Life. She’d watched over Zul’Gurub for thousands of years, and now the little tusklings danced beneath her overhanging roots. Frolicking, playing hide-and-go-seek.. Their mothers or grandmothers could chat by the fountain. It was a great time, despite the hunger growing in their bellies and the knowledge of who all had died. Thankfully, only some of them knew that much..

All the little boy had known was that his mother had stayed up late crying. That his father hadn’t come home yet, though she assured he was just out there vying to make their family safe. He took that as gospel, of course - His mother wouldn’t ever lie to him like that, even if she seemed so tired. He practically had to drag her out here to the fountain!

“Mada! Mada!” He shouted after thoroughly trouncing a girl half his age in a game of ‘raptor chase’. “Ah bea’ Ti’fon in raptah chase!~ She thought hidin’ in a tiny bush woulda got her away, but nah. Raptors smart!”

“Did ya, lil T’ziko..?” A woman with soft, emerald braids peered down towards him. He knew her as ‘Mada’, of course, but her name was T’zari. His father had named him after her in respect for all of the times he knew he would be off at war fighting. Yet her face was so worried, so tired. The circles under her eyes were dark as coal and her skin clung tightly to the contour of her jawline. She hadn’t been eating much, he recalled - Always giving her food to him.

T’ziko nodded, “Aye! Mada Maisha is fun. Ah like ‘er.” He glanced towards the tree, even if he thought it was weird they gave the thing a name. It was just a tree, right? Nothing special..

His mother felt the opposite. She smiled and gently placed a hand above her heart. She murmured, even though her son in his hyper state did not notice it, “Beautiful giant.. Tank ya.”

“But-- But-- But!” T’ziko exclaimed, “De oddahs were talking about some big fights dat were happenin’. Said deir pa’s been out fightin’ too! Dough some came home hurt, an’ dey got ‘em in de hut recoverin’.” He smiled. “Ah hope faddah’s home soon. I wanna tell him whut ah hunted.”

“He will be, T’ziko.. Jus’ wait, okay?” She turned her gaze away and drew in a deep sigh; hiding the welling tears with the spray of water from the fountain. “Be patient an’ all a’ dat--”

The whirring buzz of gyrocopter-blades could be heard from the nearby wall as the skull nearly immediately burst into sound. Bethekk’s. Shadra’s. Hakkar’s Isle, even. All had simultaneously been attacked by legions of air bound foes. With little warning, T’zari grasped onto her son and wrenched him from the earth; ducking her head and dashing for the hut clutched in the north. The whole square was rife with chaos as mothers rushed their children into the nearby huts for any modicum of safety. All of the elderly did the same, at least as quickly as they even could. Yet through the hut-flaps, he saw one who did not run. She stood out in the open, brave against the tide of war.

Her hair and fur nearly snow white, freckled by warts wrought from age, sat a Winterfang priestess. Shots sounded off from the walls and she nearly crumpled, but she rose again; light dancing from her fingertips. A shield of luminescence protected the huts that T’ziko could see across the the way just as she called a pillar of holy fire upon the short men on the wall. He couldn’t help but grin, misunderstanding the gravity of the situation as he cheered. “YAH! YAH! Burn deir butts, ol’ lady! Kill ‘em dead!”

T’zari bristled and slung an arm around his mouth and then covered his eyes. As the wind whipped the flap open, she saw mere flashes of what occurred outside.

Shot again and again, the Winterfang was unable to stand - And surely unable to fend off the gyrocopters she saw turning their guns upon old Mada Maisha. A slew of missiles launched themselves against the tree’s trunk. Bark and wood flew in every direction as leaves burst from the canopy. The whole of the giant groaned and creaked as fires spread across its surface like the flooding waves of the sea. Branches and embers fell as a shower as their barrage continued. A dwarf nearby fell, finally destroyed by the coming of reinforcements from the trolls of the Shadowtusk and a single elf.

She felt a springing of hope - Those that guarded Zul’Gurub from Hakkari and more could surely aid them. They would rescue her and her son away from the smoke that began to choke their lungs. The fires that began to dance across the roof of the hut; causing others in the room to quiver and cry out in fear.

But it wouldn’t last..

The shattering of glass could be heard, if only barely, over the din of combat. Gas choked the Shadowtusk that had arrived as they struggled to even move. They grasped onto one another, dragging themselves through a portal ripped open by a purple-skinned woman before it winked from existence. Dread won, in that moment, as did desperation. This couldn’t be happening.

T’ziko squirmed until he felt his mother’s arms wrapping tightly about his body, going still. She pleaded with him to hold his breath, and so he did.

Something burned his skin as he could hear those in the hut coughing. Choking. His mother wheezed and shuddered, but it only made her hold tighter. She spoke prayers to the names of loa he had only just begun to know about, and even still.. The wails of pain did not stop. Why did they not stop? Prayers always worked, that’s what his mother said to him. The loa would preserve them..

That’s when he heard that great crack. Louder than anything he’d ever heard before, it nearly deafened him as the roar of fire got closer and closer.. Yet he could see nothing. He simply felt the dampness of tears falling atop his head as his mother held on tight. So tight he could hardly breathe, at that. There was a brief creak before the roof caved in and his mother screamed behind his ear. She collapsed, sending him sprawling forward as he took in a deep breath.

T’ziko promptly began coughing violently. His throat.. It burned. His lungs couldn’t take it.. And opening his eyes caused them to water. He sobbed in pain and fear as fires encroached on his body and the gas pumped into his lungs as he shuddered and wheezed. Others were around him, too, but he couldn’t hear his mother any longer. He felt her arms wrapped around him, but there was no strength in her grip. Darkness ebbed at the edges of his vision as pain overcame his every sense.

Was this it..?

Was this how he died?

“Please, m-mada.. Help..” His eyes opened for only the briefest moment as he saw desperate citizens staggering through the flames before collapsing into burning heaps. Mada Maisha sat atop the shattered remains of the fountain as ashes were flung in every direction - Her bark peeling back as flames consumed it and ate away at the wood beneath.

When his eyes finally closed, seeking escape from the pain, he felt the bestial presence of a man nearby. Great, clawed hands reached down to wrest him from his mother’s grip as he quivered; hoisting him to his chest. The tiny boy couldn’t know who it was - Their growling voice and rumbling was unfamiliar, but their grip was safe. He could soon breath again, even if it still hurt enough to make him scream.. If only he could. He could hardly speak or cry out in pain. Others were with him.. He felt them squirming in the burly fellow’s grip.

Yet, his mother.. And Mada Maisha..

He was so exhausted. Consciousness faded from his mind as he eased off to sleep; praying that he would awaken soon and that his mother would be there. That his father would be there too.

Surely, it was all only a nightmare.

..Right?

shadowtusk-deactivated20210214

Hello Wyrmrest Accord!

The Shadowtusk Clan is an all-troll, lore and role-play heavy guild that has been on the server since 2010 and has gone even further back on Ravenholdt. The sacred city of Zul'Gurub is the place we call our residence, but with tensions reaching a fever pitch there is no telling if we will hold it - Let alone for how long. With the Battle For Azeroth expansion coming out, we’ve got an expansive plot to take us straight through Zandalar and whatever other surprises await. Frequent warpaths and expansions made against enemies in the local region has gotten us on the bad-side of some powerful enemies. By the end of the Legion expansion, the Shadowtusk will have lost Zul'Gurub; sailing across the sea in the hopes that we can find ANYTHING to bring us salvation. That’s where the great empire of Zandalar comes in, but can we even hope to win their favor?

As always, we accept most troll tribes (with notable exceptions such as Dark Trolls or open Hakkari/Naz’mani), but we’d especially love to throw out a line to those of you interested in playing a Zandalari in the upcoming patches. Whether aiming to get back home via our glorious vessel the Mada'jin or simply meeting us while we’re vying for aid on your doorstep, we’d love to have you.

That said, what kind of things might you expect from the guild out in Zandalar and back home once we (hopefully) retake it?

Sacrifices, sports, holiday festivals themed around loa that match some of our real-life holidays, travel events, multi-week story lines, month-long story lines, IC rewards for ambient RP ‘missions’ and still more. We try to keep our calendar full (even if the new patch had it wiped for a moment) as we reasonably can! We’re also hoping to dive into PvE and PvP content for next expansion, especially with war-mode coming out making some amusing RP-PvP moments possible. You can look forward to that much, and that’s not all. When you’re taking a break from epic battles against the foes of trollkind or those who would keep us from our mission of attempting to unite the empires, you can retire to your own hut provided you’ve sufficiently proven yourself worthy of such. If you’re so brave, you can even step into one of the clan’s many sub-classes or specializations listed here: Shadow Hunter, Hexxer, Witch-Doctor, Blood Drinker, Primal, Dinomancer, Plagueshifter, Venomancer, Shadow Walker and Prelate! Each of these provide months of character development and an expertly crafted syllabus to keep you engaged in your area of interest. As the Shadow Hunter leader, I can guarantee it! Please bear in mind you CAN join the clan as a specialization (everything after and including Plagueshifter above), but you cannot join as a subclass. Don’t worry, the wait and training is well-worth it! Got questions? Ask them below, or stop by our guild-site: shadowtuskclan.guildlaunch.com Even if you don’t want to join, there’s a ton of valuable resources up there for you to use! We want to create a comfortable environment for everyone to stay in, but one that accurately represents trolls and their oftentimes zealous or savage natures. Come be a part of that, and help us make troll role-play awesome! GM: Zudaba Officers: Sejjunta, Bahmeih, Bazu, and Jazsin

zu-daba

Ohey I’m in this thing :D

#shadowtusk

shadowtusk-deactivated20210214

Wyrmrest Accord’s Troll Summit

The Shadowtusk Clan is looking to co-host a summit gathering of trolls in November, and are looking for others to assist in planning & running the event - and of course, folks who are interested in coming just as participants!

Right now, we’re just in the planning stages, though!

If you’d like to help out - either in the planning stage or volunteering at the event itself - please give us a buzz!

Location: Not yet known

Dates: November 9th-11th

For more information, contact the Server Event Coordinators: Jazsin - FeatherMage#1119 Bahmeih - Rianith#7969

zu-daba

Please come along, it’s going to be an absolute blast! Trolls rule, mon.

#shadowtusk

Gunship Down

Skaldrean screamed in defiance as ‘Fury’ made good on its name - Sweeping through the Shadowtusk even as Watch Captain Jon’s eyes were gouged out and he was left helpless upon the ground. Even as Opp was out of sight and talking to one of his enemies.

One fell - A hulking Zandalari he knew as Koluri. Others still like the primal who soon pinned him to the ground with scythe-like claws and a slavering jaw of teeth remained. Xo’catl. So too did the Shadow Hunter he’d practically gone and disemboweled the other day - A woman named Zo’kiri. Even with his friends, he was not sure he could win this.

Doubt fell over his mind before a sudden explosion sucked away all the sound of the ship. An engine had been blown up, and the cursing of a warlock could be heard nearby. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out..

Kin’kra.

The one who had earned him his name. The madman had utilized a swarm of his imps to blow the engines off of the gunship. As if possessed, the trolls swung into action; saving one another as he remained pinned on the ground.

His own soldiers young and old scrambled for the gyrocopters and planes which sled off of the deck and careened into the jungle floor below; crashing and exploding among the sea of soldiery below. Some men even screamed as they were flung from the deck and to their deaths.. Yet Skaldrean felt nothing. He felt nothing even as the primal was torn away from his chest, and only Kin’kra and their warlord Zul’anie were left upon the deck. Even as the warlock assaulted him with the fel and nearly burnt him down to his heart.

He felt nothing until he heard his father speak again,

“Aulfgard..” Came the somber voice.

“Pa..?” He murmured back.

“Take my hands, boy.. I won’t let ye die like this.” He could see the apparition of Cinderborn himself reaching out on either side of him, looming over his back. As Kinkra leered at him and told him he would see him in hell, he replied calmly before being whisked away to some shadowy place.

“No.. Only you.”

Whisked away in to the shadow - into the Veil as he now knew it - Skaldrean felt as a ghost. In view of reality, but unable to quite touch it. All sounds were muted and distant, all colors grey and shifting as though they were rippling waves. He glided almost as a ghost through the going-ons; watching as the aircraft took a nosedive towards the waters by the oil-rig. It struck the water like a comet - A colossal wave washing over the shore as many of the soldiers jumped off to try and end their suffering early.

He could see the grimaces on their faces, the fear and the sadness. They knew they would die - It was just preferable to what was to come next. They were the smart ones, the ones who knew their chances. His lieutenants, at least where alive, were not so wise.

Figgletwerp, engineer and pilot of the gunship, was beheaded by the axe of Zul’anie - The Warlord and hard-headed Amani’shi.

Watch-Captain Jon was dead before the gunship even struck the water. He was bled out by the trolls; eyes mere bloody holes with all manner of furrows clawed through his body by a bear’s paws. The impact simply made it worse.

Guard-Captain Withersfield, mournful over his friend and desperate in a feeble attempt to save him, met his end at the end of a broken post when the ship hit the water. Impaled hard enough to wrench his head from his neck; leaving it hanging by a few spare fibers of meat while his body was riddled with shrapnel.

When the munitions lit, many were killed instantly - Incinerated or perhaps having their heads blown off or emptied by flying metal or munitions. The others were left without limbs. Legs and arms floated in the middle of the water like a grotesque smorgasbord, with desperate torsos wriggling to retrieve them. Oil leaked out atop the lake and spread out along the water’s surface; set aflame by the fires that raged from the explosion. Many were caught up in those and found their ends by burning to death.

Skaldrean walked - practically atop the water - as he watched the horror. Some simply choked on the oil and sank.. Others got to watch as their skin and muscle peeled and melted off until they could swim no longer; drowning. Still more even had help coming their way, but those on the small row-boats weren’t able to get many when the oil just made their hands slip. They had to retreat despite the begging of their comrades as the fire consumed them. A hiss..

An explosion..

Then nothing. Nobody remained - Nobody could have remained in that blast. The wreckage held not a whisper of life remaining within. Skaldrean closed his eyes as the explosion swept past him - Doing nothing in this strange place. A great sadness fell upon him as he considered his actions; limping to shore and falling onto his knees.

He sobbed, that ember-flecked beard pressing into his upper chest as he held his face in his hands and shuddered; trembling. Was any of this worth it? Why was he still here? Why did Cinderborn ask for this..?

When his eyes opened again, he saw him - The apparition of his father before him. The dwarven spirit reached out and stroked a coarse palm against the face of the old Goldfinger, soothing him. “Now, now lad.. Ye did nae think I’d send ye here without a reason, did ye? Think of all they did tae the Domicile.. Tae yer other blood brothers. Ye can’t just forgive that, can ye? So ye can’t give up. Ye need tae help me gain vengeance.. I know you can do that, aye?”

“But I’ve lost everythin--” The dark iron started.

“Ye haven’t, no,” Cinderborn interrupted. “Ye still have yerself, don’che? You want these mongrels tae go an’ kill yer family some more, like they did mine? They didn’t pause before wipin’ out all of my blood children.. An’ then wipin’ thae floor with all of you either. I won’t have it. Don’t be a coward, Skaldrean.”

“Get up.”

Several hours later..

Finally, Skaldrean had arrived back at camp. He limped in almost haphazardly as the nearby soldiery murmured and gawked. Others were too drunk off of the spirits from the camp to really care much, especially those who supped on the old stock of Opp who hadn’t returned yet. Healers rushed to his aid, but he shoved them aside and continued walking to the center fire.

“Oi, lads.. I’m wantin’ tae sayin’ something t’ye.” He closed his eyes as various humans, gnomes and dwarves eyed him up and down. “This ain’t a good night, aye.. I understand that. Many a’ you’ve seen horrors ye haven’t ever witnessed afore now. But let me tell ye a little secret.. You, all a’ you, came from places that these savages attacked. Ye think the horror ends here, in Stranglethorn? No. If you leave, they’ll find ye.. An’ they’ll ruin yer life, as they did mine. As they did a hundred families of the Dark Iron Clan!” He kicked a stone and walked around, waving his gun about as his cherry-red eyes scanned the crowd.

“We’ve got siege weapons.. We’ve got a strategic position tae take this fookin’ city down an’ make it ours. We can burn their vile shrines they’ve sacrificed our people ta an’ butcher them so that once an’ fer all these trolls ain’t our problem. Yeah.. We lost Figgletwerp..”

There really wasn’t a reaction on that.

“An’ yeah, we lost Jon!” There was a couple of murmurs of sadness at that one. Yet it was nothing most of the remaining Night’s Watch didn’t expect in the line of duty. This was just another week on the job.

“We lost Withersfield..” The crowd went silent.

“An’ we ain’t had Opp return yet..” Some of those sipping on pandaren brew looked at one another and murmured back and forth.

“But we ain’t lost th’rest a’ us, now have we? Innit our duty tae avenge ‘em? Tae win this war so it ain’t a lost cause?” He looked to the crowd as a whole.

“Innit our duty tae safeguard our homes?” He looked towards the guards from Lakeshire, what little remained of them.

“Innit our duty tae destroy the monsters of the world, wherever they reside, whoever they may be?” He stared at the Night’s Watch.

“We are Alliance, lads.. Stormwind burned an’ we still fought like ‘ell! Whether it’s Horde or trolls, fallin’ down an’ lettin’ these savages trample over us isn’t the Alliance I know. It isn’t the Alliance our fallen knew! They gave their lives knowin’ they did it fer the right reasons. The rest a’ you oughta do the same.” He glared at any seeming to walk away or balk at the speech as the crowd erupted into cheers. ‘For the Alliance’, they cried, or ‘Death to the trolls’. It didn’t matter, really, so long as they listened to him. Morale wouldn’t recover so easily.. Yet he had a way to fix that problem.

“An’ if any a’ ye see yer allies makin’ it worse on us.. Walkin’ away, gettin’ more folk killed like those who didn’t bother tae come out tonight? You can come tell me.. I’ll introduce ‘em tae Fury.” He barked out a laugh and held up his hand-cannon as many in the crowd laughed along with him. Those that didn’t were drowned out.

Skaldrean smiled.. They could finish this. He just needed to give the rest a little bit of time to work on their own. He would move back to the front-lines when the time was right.

He was sure the siege would be just fine with his golem handy.

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