Grim Views

Loss and Love in the Life of the Horde

Lilliana - Febuary 6, 2006

Lilly sat on the dusty ground in front of the Oggrimar Auction
House as Boggart gave away his possessions and said goodbye to
the people close to him. Her face was sculptured in stone, and it
looked to all those observing, including Boggart, that she was
barely phased by his impending departure. She rose to her feet
when Boggart approached after the last friend had seen him off.
As he stepped close to Lilly, he peered hesitantly at the priest.
Lilly only responded with a vague scowl and a hug, which Boggart
instantly winced in response to. In awkwardness, the two were
approached by Graelincus, who commented on the length of time its
been since he’s seen the troll pair together. This only made
Lilly scowl more, and added to their awkwardness, and pain
between the two horde. Lilly stepped back as Graelincus and
Boggart discussed his upcoming journey. Graelincus invited them
both to the inn for a drink, and both declined with a politely
raised hand. Graelincus bid them good eve, and Lilly and Boggart
were left staring solemnly at one another.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lilly asked Boggart casually
as she stuffed her taloned hands into the pockets of her robes.

Boggart shook his head, and said weakly, “No”.

Lilly’s sharp look that resulted from his refusal cut through
Boggart. He didn’t mean it that way. “I should go, Lilly….”
Boggart stepped up to Lilly and wrapped her in a tight hug and
kissed her cheek. As he did so, a rather drunk Graelincus
stumbled out of the inn and fell onto his back just inches from
the pairs feet. Neither paid him much mind, for Lilly had started
crying. That only made Boggart back away more quickly. He called
to his raptor mount and leapt atop its scaly back.

“Wait!” Lilly begged, and pulled her necklace over her head…the
one with the pendant of a shamans totem engraved with
Tranquility’s name. Lilly took Boggart’s hand and placed the
pendant within it. “Please take this with you.”

“I don’t know if I can….” Boggart began to refuse, but when he
saw the desperate look in Lilliana’s eyes he placed the pendant
into his pocket. He offered a warm smile to Lilly and raised his
hand in farewell.

Lilly did not see Boggart’s warm smile. She was gazing down to
the dusty earth and her feet. She wiped her eyes with the back of
her hand, and said, “Goodbye.”

Boggart turned his raptor’s head and kicked its scaly sides,
urging it out of Oggrimar. He went slowly at first, struggling
with this journey he must make. One that would take him from his
friends forever. He looked over his shoulder and saw Lilly still
standing in front of the Auction House, her arms crossed and
tears on her face, with Grealincus still investing himself in the
bottle as he lay strewn across the dusty ground. In all the years
he had known Lilly, he had never seen her cry. He turned away
from the sight, determination in his eyes for what lay ahead of
him. But as he trotted his raptor to the gates of Oggrimar, he
felt the pulls at his heart for the troll priest he was leaving
behind. Lilly felt the same from where she stood as she watched
Boggart leave. She desired to scream out for him to not leave and
to beg him to stay, although she knew that was impossible. He had
to leave. Even so, she despised herself for not trying harder to
keep him here.

The raptor Boggart was riding stopped and reared its head in
annoyance. Boggart whipped its head around and galloped the beast
back to Lilly, who had almost turned to Graelincus as he was
continually offering her drinks in consolation. Boggart barely
stopped his raptor before he slid off of the creatures back, took
Lilly into his arms and gave her a real kiss fittable of any
troll to offer. He felt Lilly begin to crumble, but he pulled
away before that happened.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” The shaman said with a lost and
childish grin on his face. He touched Lilly’s cheek with a talon,
then put a chain over her neck, there was a ring on it. Lilly
began to back away, thinking it was her pendant he was returning
to her. “No no, “ Boggart said. “This is something I’m giving
you. No it’s not for eating Lilly,” Boggart laughed as she saw
Lilly raise the ring to her eyes. He pulled at the ring that was
at the end of the chain, and paused, regarding Lilly. “I have the
other ring. They are a pair and have always been together…..maybe
someday Lilly…..”

The look that Lilliana gave Boggart was one of pure sadness.
Boggart climbed back atop his raptors strong back and nodded to
her. Lilly took a deep breath and threw her arms around Boggart’s
waist and hugged him one last time, tears streaming down her
face. Boggart rested his hand on her head and shielded his eyes
from her. Lilly let go and dropped back down to the ground.

As Boggart turned away, the sounds of Oggrimar were whisked away
into darkness. The howls of the dogs that roamed the streets
first became distant echoes and then were no more. The merchants
yelling for fellow horde to purchase their wares were swallowed
up in heavy silence. The sounds of armor rattling, of horde
eating and drinking were lost. The drums of Oggrimar, forever
distant, melded back into the earth. All that Lilly and Boggart
could hear was the sound of Boggart’s raptor’s talons as they
touched the earth and carried him away. The childhood friends
would soon be lost to one another forever, and that is a pain
that would torture any creature, whether it be horde or alliance.

[Boggart]

The gates of Oggrimmar flew past Boggart as his Raptor began to
run kicking up dust with each stride. The sky was beginning to
grow dark as the stars began to glimmer and dance across the sky.
A while past as the scenery seemed to blur by Boggart who was
partially lost in his throughts. He pulled back on the reigns of
the raptor bringing it to a stop. The once hot dry air of the
Barrens turned cold in the chill of night. Boggart sat for a long
moment seeminly staring off into the distance as he leaned
forward resting his head to the back of the raptors neck. Biting
his lip he held back any sound a small tear rolled down Boggarts
cheek as he pressed his face against the raptor. Boggart let out
a long sigh as he tilted his head back towards the sky his steamy
breath turning into a cold mist as it escaped his lips. He
lowered his head again and gently flicked the reigns letting the
raptor continue on in a slow walk.

The glow of ratchet bears itself around a hill as the raptor
continues its slow pace along the shore. The waves slowly lapped
around the feet of the raptor as it pressed into the sand.
Boggart sense of urgency seemed to wear thin the closer he got to
Ratchet. Most of the shops were closed up for the night and
candlight flickered through the dirty windows of the families
shutting themselves in for the cold night. Boggart ducks down as
the raptor walks under some of the old rotting docks. Peering out
from the other side of the dock he paused for a moment on his
raptor. At the end of the dock of Ratchet a large ship was
docked. Lights flickered in the back windows and people rushed
back and forth in preparation on deck. He slowly rode his raptor
to the docks and slid off the back of the raptor as he approached
the two orc guards at the head of the dock. "About bloody time
you showed up your the last one here.. the captain is not
pleased" the guard chorted as he walked up to Boggart and pulled
the reigns for the raptor from his hands. "Its not like you will
be needing this anymore.. goto the gangplank the captain is
there" the guard said as he gave a quick motion to the end of the
docks. Boggart walked along the dock heading towards the ship a
small bit of doubt began to ebb up inside of him. He approached
the Captain who was in full armour a rather large orc even when
compared to the others.

Boggart walked up to the Captain and stood there for a moment in
the glow of the lights as people busied themselves around him.
"Its about fuckin time" The general hissed as he turned to look
at the smaller troll standing infront of him. Looking up at the
captain it was easy to see that he was not pleased. A troll rogue
stood next to him she was scarred and seeminly well versed in
battle. Boggart stood for a moment his fingers in his pocket
tracing the outline of the ring that was once a pair. Boggart
looked up at the others on the deck of the ship some hauling
supplies onboard while others sat waiting for their departure.

"I am sorry.. captain but I cannot go" Boggart said his voice
almost cracking realizing what a fool he was being. His hand
wrapped around the ring in his pocket as he waited for what
seemed like a eternity. "You.. can't go.. on the night.. of our
departure.. YOU CAN'T GO?" the captain screamed at Boggart who
only seemed a little fazed. "I do not care about you.. you filthy
troll if I had time I would get another.. you have already been
paid" the captain says with a glare. Boggart reaches into his
pocket and pulls out the bag of coins that had filled it and
tossed it to the feet of the captain. "I am sorry I cannot go"
Boggart repeats his words as he steps away. "I understand" the
captain says in a almost eerie cool voice. Boggart lets out a
long breath as he lets the held air escape from his lungs. He
nods to the captain and turns to walk away fear slowly disapating
from him. The captain gives a quick nod to the rogue standing
next to him as she slips a thin peice of rope into her hand. A
instant later the rogue steps forward slipping the rope around
Boggarts neck twisting it tight cutting off his air as she spun
the troll around to face the Captain. "I understand.. I
understand that you will be doing this service for free now" he
lets a evil grin slip across his face. The rogue twists the knot
one more time tightening the rope around his throat. Boggarts
fingers clutch at his neck but the rope is far too tight to slip
his fingers under. "You stupid troll" the captain swings his hand
bringing it right across the side of Boggarts head almost
knocking him cold. The rogue holds Boggart upright till his legs
go limp and released him letting him bounce off the deck of the
docks. "Take this idiot below" the captain hisses at the rogue.
The rogue slips her hand around Boggarts leg and drags him aboard
the ship.

[Zuru]

The troll watched the young priest from a low crouch atop the
Orgrimmar bank. Already he hated himself for leaving her that
way, without answer or reasoning for his actions. But what else
was he to do? Within the tumult in his mind roared a storm of
confusion and rage. As he watched her step away into the cold,
vacant streets of the city, he questioned why he suddenly felt
such loss. A fetching young lady, to be sure; youthful in
appearance and demeanor, full of spirit, with hair the color of
an innocent’s blood and sparkling sapphire eyes promising untold
riches. And yet the company of a decent woman could be found at
any port of call, and at a fraction of the cost given the pain he
felt now. Turning away with a grunt, the troll left his roost,
leaping to a nearby rooftop before breaking into a sprint towards
the skytower. He would channel the chaos he felt roiling through
his soul into other, more pressing matters. And perhaps, if
Zuruzuru was lucky, wreak a bit of much-needed mayhem in the
process.

The temperate breeze of the Barrens sky did little to calm the
rogue. Gazing vacantly into the stars of the skies above the lush
plains, he recalled the words of a letter he had received two
days ago.

‘Z,” read the words of his mentor,’ I see the passage of time and
the distance between us has done nothing to dull your
considerable talent. I can only hope that your desire to settle
the score with me has fueled your efforts to improve your skills.
Should today have been the fateful day of our reconciliation, I
would have advised you to attend to matters of kin and clan,
should you have any that have not already fallen to your
appetites. And yet the time for our meeting has not arrived, and
you may still prove the better blade.’

‘You will be proud to hear that I have made considerable progress
in my own designs. Amusing isn’t it, that my journey carries me
back to where we first met, to the cursed jungles of
Stranglethorn. I feel it may be our destiny to clash in the heat
and steam of the ferns that line such verdant soil.’

‘To prove that my heart still bears some love for you, boy, I
leave you with a bit of information gleaned from the many eyes I
have posted across the lands, although truth to be told the
gossip has little meaning to me. As a point of interest, the
lovely young troll you’ve been hanging about with exchanged a
rather emotional farewell with another of your ilk several days
ago. Of this I know nothing more, save that you should ask her
about it. And remember, my student…people vanish all the time.
Signed- Your steadfast comrade, Gabricci Gonzola.’

Zuru’s blood grew hot as that last line echoed in his mind.
“…people vanish all the time.” Boggart…a name that carried
neither meaning nor rivalry to Zuru before this night now slowly
poisoned his thoughts, bending them to murderous intent. With a
casual mention whispered into the right ear, his enemy would be
just another corpse nourishing the grasslands of Mulgore. Zuru
laughed, spitting curses into the wind. Enemy? For all he knew,
this Boggart was Lilliana’s sibling, giving his parting words
before braving the swords and spears of the Alliance armies. It
was the alternative, however, that sent a demon’s flame through
Zuru’s blood.

The scrape of the wyvern’s claws on loose gravel shook Zuru from
his reflection. Dismounting the scorpion-tailed beast, the rogue
was met by a grizzled mountain of orc, master of the Crossroads
wind riders, Devrak. Smiling a broken-toothed grin, the orc
slapped Zuru forcefully on the back, a blow so strong the troll
could not help stumbling forward.

“Easy there, mate,” quipped the troll, “some of us aren’t fed as
well as those on Thrall’s payroll.”

“Perhaps you should consider some honest work then, my friend!”
The old orc bellowed a throaty laugh. “Find a shovel and I’ll
have steady employment for you as a dung sweep. Pays 3 coppers a
day and two meals.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep to nicking yer coins, if ya don’t
mind.” Zuru extended his hand and gave Devrak a small pouch he
had taken off the wyvern keeper’s belt. The orc’s face darkened
in mock-anger before he shook his head and smiled at his old
comrade.

“Would ya mind fetchin’ me raptor at the stables, Dev?” asked the
rogue. “I’m in camp for a drink, but will be ridin’ to Ratchet
shortly. Time is money, as the adage goes.”

“I’m not your squire, pup,” replied Devrak. Taking the flail he
kept at his side, the orc lashed a subordinate that was tending
to some well-weathered wyverns. “Vaak! Go down to the stables and
bring forth the green beast this sod calls a mount! Double time
it, boy!” A final whipping sent the boy squealing off on his
errand. “Quite a tame beast Zjolnir sold you. Pay extra for it,
did ya?”

“Called in a favor or two,” Zuru answered, his hand rubbing his
shoulder. “I’m wild enough for the pair of us.”

Dawn had come before Zuru had reached the port town of Ratchet.
Smaller than Booty Bay, and less cosmopolitan, the town
nonetheless offered Zuru all the discomforts of his old home. He
hated the place, and hated that on more than one occasion he had
been forced to seek refuge here after a job gone bad. He was in
debt to several members of the goblin cartels here; he would have
to tread lightly here, as goblins seldom wipe the slate fully
clean.

Tying his raptor to a post outside of the Broken Keel Inn, Zuru
stepped inside. Several road-weary patrons filled the common
room, hailing from both Horde and Alliance, resting their bones
uncomfortably in the presence of a loose neutrality maintained by
the power of the goblin merchant princes. The troll scanned the
dimly-lit hall, his well-trained eyes surveying which denizens
may pose him a threat and which table would lend him a strategic
advantage should combat be required. His gaze fell upon a small
serving goblin, Wazzle as he recalled, who upon seeing the rogue
jumped with a start. He turned to flee, but Zuru was upon him in
a flash, tipping his serving tray and stooping to catch it in a
pretense to draw close to the goblin. The small green humanoid’s
lip quivered with fear as he slowly back away from the troll.

“Oh, by all the coins in the vault,” muttered Wazzle. “First him,
and now you.”

Zuru surmised the “him” in this picture could only have been
Gabricci, as Ratchet was the only passenger port between here and
Booty Bay, which sat nestled upon the coast of the jungles of
Stranglethorn. Gabricci despised travel by flight, and few others
that Zuru could think of would conjure as much fear in a soul as
his former mentor. The troll grabbed Wazzle by his tunic and
dragged him up to the bar, where an old, bitter-looking goblin
stood scrubbing dirty mugs.

“I think yer boy here could use a break, Wiley. Downstairs if ya
don’t mind.”

“I do!” replied the innkeeper. “That fool nephew of mine spends
more time downstairs then up, and by sleeping by the fireplace
even more so!” A flash of silver met the innkeeper’s eye. “Take a
meal, ya no-good son of my sister. If’n ya weren’t my flesh,
you’d be eating gutter rats in the Undercity with-“Wiley
continued to mumble as Zuru led Wazzle by his ear into the
kitchen of the inn. Lifting the trapdoor to the wine cellar, he
tossed the goblin downstairs.

“Don’t kill me! I have a wife…well, she hasn’t said yes just
quite yet, but I’m sure she will and-“

“Shut up, boy. I ain’t gonna kill ya,” said the troll. “Open it
up and let’s go in. I’ll buy you a pipe and you can tell me why
Gabricci came callin’.”

“You mean you aren’t gonna kill me? Not even a little bit?” The
goblin nervously arose and began rapping on the stones that made
up the walls of the dusty cellar. Turning gears began to echo and
moan against the dank walls, and a passage revealed itself to the
pair. A brief trip down a crudely-tunneled, torch-lit corridor
led to a smoke-filled den. The cloying scent of dreamfoil filled
the air; Zuru and his erstwhile captive saw several opiate-addled
patrons of the secret warren through the haze of thick smoke,
some swaying gently in dream on rope-slung hammocks, other merely
sprawled on the cold dirt floor, lost in the reverie’s escape.
Zuru purchased a long reed pipe for his reluctant companion, and
rested next to a haggard looking troll, a shaman judging by the
paint he wore on his face. The rogue intended to use the
drug-induced ranting of the pathetic creature to obfuscate the
nature of their conversation from unwelcome ears.

“So, tell me of Master Gonzola’s visit, me dear friend Wazzle,”
said Zuru.

“Heh, so you really didn’t know he had come,” said the goblin as
he packed a fistful of cured dreamfoil into the bowl of the pipe.
“Helluva thing that-“. The goblin was cut short by a swift cuff
to the head. “Ouch…alright then, fine. I see you don’t like
mixing business with pleasure and hey, I can respect that,
business is every goblin’s game, y’know. I hate to disappoint
you, Zuru, but all truth told I don’t know why he came to town.
Rode in late with a gang of shady characters on his coattails
(although I suppose you’d expect that), and booked passage on a
ship to Booty Bay departing a few hours later. Hardly spoke to
anyone except his crew of thugs, and left an extraordinarily
awful tip.” The goblin took a deep drag of smoke. “Thanks for
this, by the way. Beats the hell out of sneaking a pouch of the
stuff from under Wiley’s watch…hey, how about you forget about
that old pirate for a few and take on some work. My ears have
perked at the sound of a few choice errands of late, and I am
sure I could set something up for you. One in particular might be
suited for someone of your…uh…tactful nature. In return for the
smoke, is all. No other debt owed. Let’s face it, Zuru; you are
looking a little lean.”

The troll smirked at the little one’s remark. However, his words
did carry a measure of truth. His pursuit of his trainer had
yielded no information that Zuru could not have puzzled out on
his own, and the prospect of distraction from the past day’s
event held promise.

“Get me a safe, clean room and a contact by morning. If I’m not
employed by then, yer chances of marriage will take a
considerable decline.”

Zuru’s contact joined him in the common room shortly after the
troll had finished breakfast. As usual, the pork was overcooked
and the eggs under, but Zuru was hardly the type to complain
about a free meal. A mountainous tauren dressed in dark,
gold-trimmed leathers sat down, the wooden chair creaking for
mercy under his massive frame. A silver ring on his finger bore
the sigil of the Steamwheedle Cartel, one of the more powerful
goblin families. It was rare to see one of the nobler of the
Horde races working for the merchant clans. Zuru speculated that
his contact may be an outcast from his people.

“Buy you a drink, friend? The water here is great, providin’ you
can taste it through the mud they call ‘coffee.’”

“I have broken my fast already, troll. Forgive me if we do not
exchange names; my masters already have knowledge of yours and do
not see fit for you to know mine. I am correct in assuming you
are here to accept an offer from my benefactors, yes?”

“If we’re in the business of assuming, let’s also jump to the
conclusion yer “benefactors” are paying my going rate,” Zuru
sarcastically replied.

“Were you not already aware of my masters’ ability to compensate
you, we would not be seated at this table. However, should you
not wish to converse in earnest, I am sure more deserving
candidates will be arriving shortly.”

“No, no, my friend, you misunderstand ol’ Zuru. Haven’t seen ya
around before, maybe yer new, but this is just a little dance we
do, the client and the killer. Some might call it foreplay to a
spot a’ mayhem. Seein’ as how yer the serious type, perhaps it be
best ta skip the formalities and find out where our well-paid and
phenomenally handsome villain enters the stage.”

The tauren snorted disdainfully at the troll and began to speak.
“Three weeks ago, a band of Alliance fifteen strong rode mounted
and mailed into Zul’Gurub, escorting a member of the Explorer’s
League, a dwarven archaeologist named Arman Stonesthrow.”

“Alliance war parties storming the jungle ain’t exactly new
news,” interjected Zuru.

The tauren’s countenance took a grim turn. “Do not mistake me,
rogue. You are being hired on because of your abilities to carry
out the task at hand. You are not being hired for your sharp
tongue or witty insight. Should you wish to be paid in answers, I
would suggest you find religion. Should you wish to be paid in
gold, you will fall silent whilst I continue.”

Zuru leaned silently back in his chair, his cunning mind drawing
connections between the work he was being offered and Gabricci’s
recent letter and visit to Ratchet. Zuru knew not what his old
mentor’s final aim was or if the goblin had a hand in the
Cartel’s offer of employment; what he did know was that Gabricci
was bent on acquiring powerful magicks towards some ultimate
goal. Perhaps this dwarf could shed some light on what secrets
hid within the shattered remains of the old Gurubashi Empire, and
that in turn may unmask Gabricci’s machinations. “Sometimes,”
thought the rogue,”the only way to disarm a trap is to spring
it.” Satisfied that he had chosen the right course of action,
Zuru turned his attention back to the Steamwheedle’s envoy.

“Those in power of the region do not see the League’s interest in
the area as a healthy one. The Cartels have allowed the foolish
of Horde and Alliance alike to test their fortunes against the
trolls who seek to rebuild Hakkar’s empire, as it serves them to
cull their numbers a bit from time to time. We will not, however,
brook an expedition into the ruined empire to seize the artifacts
of power or establish a foothold in the area. A message must be
sent to the dwarves, that their men of knowledge are not welcome
here. You will be the bearer of our message, Zuruzuru. Make it
a…colorful one.”

Zuru’s heart began to beat hard and fast as something primal
stirred in the shadowed regions of his mind. He had found work,
and in it he would find release.

A few silver coins placed in the hands of the Dragonmaw orcs had
purchased the rogue safe passage in Dun Morogh, the ancient home
of the dwarves. He had watched his target for eight days before
determining when he would strike. Arman Stonesthrow was a quiet
hermit, a man who seldom enjoyed company save that of his family,
and like many who grow long in years, a creature of habit. Zuru
staked out his hideaway in the snowy hills that circled the small
valley in which the dwarf had built his home, camouflaged beneath
a blanket of white yeti fur. He had watched him play with his
young daughter amidst the copse of white elms outside the stone
home, and he had watched him kiss his wife goodbye before he went
for an evening’s game of chess and a smoke at the brewery in
Kharanos. He knew the aged dwarf’s movements so well that it had
proven child’s play to break into the home and incapacitate his
wife and daughter while Arman took an afternoon stroll to buy
fish from a stand in Brewnall Village. And now, all the troll
waited for was his final prize.

The old dwarf known as Arman Stonesthrow whistled cheerfully as
he bolted the heavy wooden door to his home. He called to his
wife and daughter as he set down the package of wrapped fish upon
the butcher’s block in his kitchen. With little concern, he
checked the bedroom he and his wife shared, finding it little
disturbed from the manner he had left it in earlier in the day.
Calling their names again, a bit more frantically this time, the
dwarf thought he heard a sound coming from the kitchen. Stepping
quickly through the living room of the quaint home and back into
the kitchen, he saw the bound and gagged figure of his daughter
stretched across the butcher’s block where he had set down his
fish just moments before. She shook her head rapidly at her
father as he approached her, and suddenly her tear-stained face
went white with terror. Pain exploded in the old adventurer’s
head as the mad troll’s sap struck, soon swallowed by the cold
embrace of oblivion.

Zuru doused a bucket of ice cold water over the archaeologist’s
head, bringing him screaming into consciousness. The wife had
been awake for several minutes now, carrying on about something
in a tongue Zuru did not understand. Both dwarves were stripped
of all clothes save their loincloths, and were bound with strong
silken cord. Zuru had guessed that a house this small would need
a basement in which to store supplies for the harsh winters of
Dun Morogh, and his intuition had proven correct. The stone-hewn
room had more than enough space for both himself and his
hostages, with very little chance for discovery. He allowed time
for the dwarf to come to his senses, time for him to fully take
in his surroundings and analyze the position he was in. The dwarf
was a man of learning; Zuru had taken this into account while
crafting this scenario over the past several days. The dwarf had
but one possible conclusion to reach; he lay completely at the
mercy of an unknown enemy.

Soon the dwarf joined his wife in their incomprehensible cries.
He could pick out a word or two amongst their shouting; “Corwyn”
seemed to be a word that referred to their offspring. Tiring of
the noise, Zuru drew his dagger and approached the female. The
male began to bellow and rock in his chair before finally tipping
it to the cold floor. Zuru turned and smiled kindly at the dwarf
before prying open his wife’s mouth and slicing out her tongue.
The woman began to choke on the river of blood that poured from
the wound, her body convulsing from shock. Slowly, deliberately,
Zuru turned from the woman and picked up a vial of red fluid from
the supplies he had neatly laid out upon the floor. Pouring a few
drops the healing potion in her mouth stopped the bleeding, but
did not repair the damage, leaving her mute and in pain.

“You devil,” cried the old dwarf in the troll tongue.” I speak
your cursed language! By all the Light, she just wanted to know
if he daughter was safe.” The dwarf began to weep heavy tears
into his silver beard. “You bastard….”

Zuru lifted the dwarf’s chair back into an upright position and
thrust his face into Arman’s. “Ah, mate, so I see ya speak a
civil tongue. That’s good, because I’m gonna tell ya what’s gonna
happen to ya. I’m gonna cut on the both of yas for awhile, to let
out a little aggression that’s been buildin’ inside a’ me. When
that’s done, I’m gonna tend to yer wounds, as I am quite the
skilled chemist, and then I am going to serve you dinner.
Finally, I am going to kill yer wife right in front of you, right
before you beg me to let you die.”

The old dwarf sobbed, his voice even more saddening then the
pathetic whimpers coming from his mutilated wife. “Why, you
beast? Why? What evil could I have done to bring this to my
home?!”

Zuru laughed, a wry smirk crossing his face as he began to cut
strips of wiry muscle from the archaeologist’s thighs. “Why? If
yer lookin’ for answers, I’d suggest you find religion.”

Zuru’s torment of the couple lasted well into the night. As he
had claimed, Zuru’s skill as an alchemist had allowed him to
sustain the pair in relative health despite their wounds, and the
Cartel had been more than happy to provide an abundant supply of
herbs when told of their purpose. The troll had spent most of the
evening working on the wife, as her soundless cries of pain were
nothing compared to the beautiful, twisted face of agony that
adorned Arman’s as the troll desecrated the body of his life’s
love. She had just lost her index finger to the edge of Zuru’s
blade when the rogue remembered he had promised them dinner.

“Ah…I tell you, dwarf,” Zuru said, pretending to wipe sweat from
his brow. “Nothing like a day’s work to give one an appetite.” He
turned away from Arman to face his wife, stooping down to meet
her at eye level. The woman’s head bobbed heavily upon her
shoulders, and she had long ago given in to fever and delirium.

“You, me pretty…you’d like something to eat now, wouldn’t ya?”

“She can’t understand you, you fool,” spat Arman defiantly. Zuru
quickly spun on the old dwarf, striking him across the face.

“You’ll not speak unless I address ya, understood?” The dwarf
spat, sending a broken tooth to the floor, but said nothing.
“Good,” Zuru continued, speaking again to the dwarf’s wife. “Now,
all you have to do is tell me you’re hungry. It’s been a long
night for us all, has it not? We could use some eatin.’” Zuru
once again turned to Arman. “Tell her to answer me. Now’s not the
time to be upsettin’ me, is it?”

The dwarf spoke words to his wife in a language the rogue did not
understand, but in a pleading intonation the troll understood
well enough. And yet still she merely swayed listlessly in her
chair, shattered and broken by Zuru’s horrific ministrations.

“I cannot reach her,” whispered the dwarf, defeated. “You have
all but taken her from this plane…”

“Hmmph. Well, perhaps I can bring her back.” Zuru seized Arman’s
wife by the chin and turned her head forcefully to face his. “Nod
if you want to eat. If you do not-“

The troll’s hand grabbed the woman’s right hand, spreading out
her remaining fingers before neatly severing her ring finger at
the knuckle with one strong chop. A second of recognition and
hate flashed in her eyes as they met Zuru’s.

“Good,” said the troll, his blade already biting into the skin
above her smallest finger. “Now, do you wish to eat?”

A look of abject terror filled the dwarven woman’s eyes as she
nodded her head frenetically. Zuru rose with a small hop,
clapping his hands together joyously. He stepped towards the
stairs and had ascended the first few steps before he turned and
bowed deeply to his captives. “I shall return post-haste, milord
and milady.” The door to the basement slammed shut leaving the
couple with only the sounds of Arman’s weeping and the echo of
Zuru’s cackling laughter.

When the troll returned, he carried two bowls laden with a thick,
steaming stew. With delicate care, he spoon-fed both of the
dwarves. The wife ate the meaty broth without complaint, taking
each portion offered her as a child would from her mother. Arman
took his meal as well, casting disgusted looks at the troll who
served him all the while. When supper was finished, the troll
stood between the couple and smiled proudly.

“Now then, I have to say you both behaved splendidly, ya did. And
fer that, I feel I should give you a small reward. Howabout I go
upstairs then and fetch yer wee slip of a daughter? Corwyn, is
it?”

The old dwarf merely eyed Zuru coldly, while his wife’s face
animated with a strange mixture of joy and apprehension. “Please,
troll…if this is a game you’re playing, end it. If not…yes, bring
her to us, I beg of you.”

“By all means, then,” Zuru said, climbing the rickety stairs to
the house proper. Moments later, the door to the basement opened,
and Zuru returned with an object wrapped in blood-soaked skins in
his arms. Unfurling the package, the butchered carcass of Corwyn
Stonesthrow fell to the floor between the two dwarves. Zuru threw
back his head and laughed madly.

“What? Did you not enjoy your dinner?”

Arman vomited, a mixture of bile, blood and partially-digested
stew coloring his proud silver beard a sickly color. His wife
went insane with grief, struggling with a madman’s fervor against
her bounds, knocking herself to the ground. Zuru kicked the chair
onto its back and stepped on the woman’s chest, pressing down
with his heavy leather boots until he heard the cracking of bone.
Zuru leaned down and untied the cords which bound Arman’s wife.
The troll pushed away the chair and straddled the woman’s legs,
impairing her ability to flee. She beat the troll weakly about
the face and chest as he struggled with her, his left hand
lashing out and pinning hers to the ground.

“What?! Do you not appreciate the gift I’ve brought ya? The fine
meal I served ya? Ya ungrateful bitch!” In a flash, the rogue’s
dagger was in his right hand, and with a swift downward stroke
the blade found itself deep in the dwaven woman’s belly. In one
motion he slashed a long gouge into the woman’s abdomen and
tossed the glowing blade aside. The troll dug his right hand into
her gut, and the sick sound of tearing flesh filled the basement.
Arman howled in horror and rage at the troll as the rogue
disemboweled his wife, taking a long string of bloody entrails
and wrapping it tightly around her throat. Zuru reached into a
pouch at his side and withdrew a bottle of silver liquid. He
poured fluid onto the fleshy cord that entangled the woman’s
throat; he then released his grip on her and moved behind terror
stricken old dwarf, who had torn his eyes away from his dying
wife.

Zuru tugged the old man by his hair, his free hand prying open
the elderly man’s weeping eyes. The low, rumbling sound of moving
stone could be heard over his despairing sobs.

“Stoneshield potion,” explained the troll. “Expensive, to be
sure, but worth it. Hardens the skin against a foe’s blows. But
as you can see, I’ve come up with other uses.”

Arman’s wife writhed in agony as she clutched in vain at the
sinewy noose wrapped round her neck. The potion had caused her
bowels to harden and constrict, crushing her airway like some
grotesque python. After what seemed to be an eternity, her
struggles ceased. The woman lay dead on the stone floor,
asphyxiated by her own intestines.

Zuru released his grip on the old dwarf, and Arman’s head fell
limply to his chest, hung low in defeat. The troll smiled
secretly to himself; he had broken the old dwarf; he was now clay
to be molded however Zuru saw fit. Circling round the chair, Zuru
crouched before the archaeologist.

Arman raised his sunken eyes to the troll. “What is it you want?
You have taken everything from me…name it, troll.” The dwarf
laughed the sad laugh of the vanquished. “Though I fear you may
find whatever it is I have for you to be sorely lacking.”

“Tell me,” said Zuru, “about your recent ventures into
Zul’Gurub.”

The dwarf wept, rocking his head back as if to gaze at the
heavens that had abandoned him. “For this, troll, you have
destroyed me? For this you have taken my legacy?” Arman cried out
in grief.

Zuru rose and slapped the dwarf roughly across the face. “No,
dwarf. Not at all. But since I have your attention, I thought you
could do me the favor of slaking my curiosity.”

The old dwarf stared harshly at Zuru and began to speak. “The
Alliance has no desire to see a second Gurubashi Empire arise in
the jungles, troll. As I am sure you have heard from your own
foul people, renegade Atal’ai sorcerers have called forth a god
once thought dead to lead them forth in war. I am well-versed in
the folklore of all races that call this world home, and the
Explorer’s League saw it fit to assign me to the Alliance
reconnaissance party to collect lore regarding the Blood God. We
uncovered some secrets concerning the nature of Hakkar’s
immortality, and what binds the mad god to the ruins...” The
dwarf collapsed, shattered in spirit. “My notes are upstairs,
rogue, in bound parchment on a table. Please…kill me. I’ve no
reason to go on.”

Zuru began to unbind the old dwarf, who collapsed to the floor
once free of his restraints. “Get up,” said the troll, “and run.”

Arman laughed insanely. “Kill me you bastard! Let me be with my
family!” He rose weakly to attack Zuru, but a casual push threw
the weak old dwarf back to the floor.

“You’d do best to take the gift I’m givin’ ya, old fool. Not many
meet me and survive. Look at it like this; each day you live, you
have a chance to get revenge on the troll that took yer life
away. It’s cold hope I’m givin’, ya dwarf, but it’s better than
the cold earth I’d be sendin’ ya to. Take it, and run.”

Arman spat at the troll, turned, and fled stumbling up the
stairs. The rogue leisurely packed up his supplies and exited the
basement, collecting the dwarven researcher’s notes before
leaving the Stonesthrow abode. The dwarf had reached the grove of
trees in which he once frolicked with his daughter, a zigzagging
trail of blood marking the path of his retreat. Coolly, Zuru took
his bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and took aim. His
missile struck true, piercing through the archaeologist’s throat
and sending him crashing to the ground. Zuru closed in on his
fallen quarry, rolled the dwarf onto his back and stood over him,
smiling cruelly.

“I’ve decided I want me gift back,” mocked the troll. The dwarf’s
eyes looked into Zuru’s as the light began to leave them; his
mouth silently questioned “why,” though only crimson blood
escaped his parted lips. “Why, little man?” Zuru said to the
dying dwarf. “Because I think I am in love.”

Zuru flipped the corpse onto its back and wrenched out his arrow.
One quick cut to the brain stem and another down the back allowed
the troll access to the dwarf’s spine, which he tore free from
the body. He had heard tell dwarven spines held some value to the
orcs of the Frostwolf clan, and Zuru had some desire to curry
favor with their faction. Dipping his hands inside the body, Zuru
crudely drew the sigil of the Steamwheedle Cartel in the snow of
the valley. He then traced a taloned finger along the arcane rune
of his hearthstone, and in a green flash, disappeared.