Judavi Sin'Kaa
Judavi Sin'Kaa, June 25, 2006
The young troll simply sighed contentedly as the small surf
crawlers before him – which he had, for the past few hours, been
watching morph and gurgle in form and color before his very eyes
– slowly resided to their scuttling normal selves. He squinted as
tears rushed back to his red eyes, having been held wide in
amazement and wonder at the small creatures for several minutes
at a time.
Bom'bay, who had found great amusement in the troll's
reality-altered experience, simply chuckled and shook his head as
he made his way through Sen'Jin village. However, upon noticing
his friend was nearly done 'enjoying' his little trip, he
meandered to his side and squatted.
“Are you done yet, Chalk?” he cackled out in his native Troll,
moments before bursting into a rather loud fit of laughter and
clapping 'Chalk' on the shoulder.
“Shut it with the name, you bastard, or I'll have your head... I
saw you slip that 'voodoo' crap into the Drink,” he replied,
running a hand absentmindedly through his shockingly white hair –
the undoubted source of the nickname.
The product of a Gurubashi (Jungle) mother and Gundraki (Ice)
father, he retained the bluish skin that both the Frostmane and
Darkspear possessed, and inherited the latter's hair coloration.
Jadavi, the troll's true name, never came to know either of his
parents. They entrusted his care into the village leader, Master
Gadrin's hands, as they were both too young to foster the child
and were too enthusiastically involved in the evolving battles of
Dun Morogh. The village people simply shrugged at the new infant
and went on with their lives, assimilating the child in full and
treating him as one of their own.
The two stared at each other, each making a slightly more
pronounced and exaggerated expression of disgust and anger until
Jadavi cracked a sliver of a smile. Laughing openly, he leaped
from his spot in the sand towards the Witch Doctor-in-training.
Bom'bay hardly had to flinch, as the dizziness from the
beverage's fallout made the effort laughable at best, and Jadavi
crashed to the sand with a small “oof.” Honnah, Jadavi's hunting
companion and best friend (who also happened to be his pet wolf,)
merely looked up from his folded paws and gave a small grunt of
annoyance from being awoken after such a long day.
It was, after all, the early morning hours following his “Coming
of Age Celebration,” - essentially an excuse for everyone to
drink the fermented liquids that Gadrin had prepared. However,
the old master considered it to be much more than a simple party,
and saw to it that he and the young Troll talked about the paths
ahead.
After their brief wrestling match, Bom'bay gave Jadavi his
congratulations and wished him a good night as he strolled to his
own hut. Sleep wouldn't come to the honored Troll easily that
night, as his thoughts swirled back to the talk he had shared
with Master Gadrin. They had walked along the shores of the
Darkspear Strand, retelling the embarrassing tales that every
growing son or daughter must endure as their parents reminisce
their childhood. Jadavi had always considered the old Troll his
father, and it was from him that he had learned so much about
himself. He had encouraged the pursuit of the Hunter's path,
rather than the Shaman's ways that were commonplace in Sen'jin;
he had noticed his camaraderie with all things feral, as well as
his promising capacity for the bow.
Jadavi's thoughts hovered on one moment they shared in
particular: the discussion of loyalty. As a child, he had always
felt at least slightly alienated amongst his childhood friends,
as not only did they have the skill to perform great acts of
magic, but all were Darkspear by birth. The sentiments were, in
fact, completely unfounded and untrue, but it would have made
little difference if he knew the others' ways of thinking.
Instead, he dedicated most of his time alongside the Master, and
had learned an emphasis on the race's history. A chapter in their
past that he insisted Jadavi understood and revered above all
else was the great alliance between the Darkspear and the Horde;
A great sense of respect and a fierce loyalty to Thrall and
Vol'jin were stressed above all else.
“Jadavi,” he told him, “You must find an alliance of your own,
soon. The outside world is large, and it is very easy for a young
warrior to lose their purpose amidst the busy cities and
unfriendly lands. Let me remind you, child, your purpose is of
service to the Horde, Thrall, and the great Vol'jin. They want
you to struggle for unity against the alliance, and to accept
others who are doing the same. They want you to fight every
encroachment of their so-called 'just' crusades. You must do both
of these, and with the help of your own alliance – or 'guild,' as
they're called – you shall find friendship and trust. These are
the two greatest weapons you have against our enemies.” Allowing
Jadavi to revel in silence at his words of wisdom, the old Troll
squeezed his shoulder and smiled, before slowly shuffling back
towards the village.
The gates of Orgrimmar were both frightening and humbling to the
Troll as he made his way into the bustling capital with wide
eyes. He had never seen so many people before, each with their
own agendas and schedules, some having friendly conversations
while some openly fought in the streets, amongst which were
creatures that had reminded him strangely of cows, riding the
largest animals Jadavi had ever seen. Lithe figures adorned in
mostly black caught his eye, and he clutched his axe with the
fear of humanity. He soon relaxed, realizing that they may be
some strange beast, as the inhabitants of the city paid them
little bother. Elegant armors and blades which he could have only
dreamt about were adorning massive warriors, who were often
surrounded by others in admiration and wonder – to inspect their
armor closer, he could only assume.
Jadavi waded into the Valley of Strength and was memorized by the
size and populous of the giant floor. However, he soon remembered
that his mission was to seek out a 'guild,' and he continued to
press through the crowds of people towards one exceptionally
large Cow-Monster who many seemed to be admiring. He sat atop a
different creature than most of his peers; a small wolf, which
Jadavi immediately noticed to be painfully straining beneath the
weight of the rider, who appeared to be equal size and weight.
Jadavi wondered how it was that a Cow could ride a wolf, but
decided to stow that question for another day.
“Excuse me, sir,” Jadavi hollered in his native Troll, poking the
rider. “Does your guild hope to someday destroy the alliance in
hopes to return the lands to a peace that only fables could
express?”
The Cow simply looked at him with a blank expression, quiet for
what seemed like minutes. Finally, after much deliberation and
careful planning of his next words, the Cow shrilly screamed the
word, “Lawl!” and rode off before Jadavi had a chance to inquire
what the strange word meant, or if his guild did, in fact, slay
the alliance like he had hoped. He then cursed as he realized
that those in Orgrimmar spoke Orcish, and he must respect their
language barrier.
He turned around and took a step – straight into a young human.
Jadavi yelled loud enough to attract the attention of everyone
standing nearby as he fell to the earth and grasped at his axe.
“Hoomie! Wha'tchu doin' here?!” he growled, weapon at the ready.
The figure only replied with a cackle, which Jadavi felt chill to
the very marrow of his bones. “My friend, stow your weapon. I am
not your enemy, nor am I any longer a human. No, my clumsy Troll,
I am forsaken...but please, that's besides the point.” He
chuckled again, eying Jadavi's attire and weaponry. “I see that
you're straight from the village, young one. In search of fame,
riches, and the heads of a few enemies, no doubt? Hah! Welcome to
Orgrimmar; Here you will find everything the heart desires:
Brothels, meat, brothels, flesh, brothels, weapons, brothels,
training, brothels, brothels...” He trailed off into a happy
daydream.
Jadavi, who had been petrified with terror upon witnessing the
Forsaken's rotting flesh and hollow black eye sockets, simply
gulped and nodded. After a fierce struggle within, he eventually
found his voice. “You...you, Deadie... You know of a-any Guild?”
He flinched as the Forsaken cackled once more. “Oh, I know of
many, yes. It all depends on what it is you're looking for. There
are countless guilds, each with their own purpose, goals,
motivations. Some seek peace through diplomacy,” he spat upon the
ground. “...some pay no heed to the battles that are being fought
between Alliance and Horde, and instead focus on domestic
conflicts. Some seek to slay the Alliance utterly and completely,
an-”
“Dat one! I be here for de blood of Alliance, an' to make
Daddy-Thrall proud!” Forgetting his prior fears of the Undead,
Jadavi swelled his chest with a personal pride.
“Ah, yes. A noble cause indeed, young Hunter. You will find no
greater group to slay alongside than The Grim. Perhaps our oldest
and... most revered – by the strong willed, at least – guild.
They have accomplished countless victories against those who seek
to destroy us, as well as quell many uprisings found in our own
lands. Their numbers are growing every day, so you must hurry if
you are to join their ranks! Fill out their application, attached
to a letter requesting your acceptance. Hurry, now!”
Jadavi frowned, shaking his head. “Ah, mon, but I don't be know
how to write in de Orcie. You good at it, you write for Jadavi?”
The Undead twisted a smile amidst his rotten mug and nodded.
“Yes, I will do this for you, young Troll.” He led the Darkspear,
mouth agape with the wonders of city life, through the Valley and
into the Cleft of Shadow. “Ahh, much better!” he said, sitting at
a cold stone bench and withdrawing a simple piece of parchment.
“You tell me what to write, and I will transcribe it here... go
ahead!” He dipped a quill into a small ink bottle, and signed
'The Grim' at the heading, in elegant, flowing letters.
“Ehm...alright. So...I t'ink dat I be good for de Grim, coz dey
be huntin' alliance. I hate alliance, coz Daddy-Thrall an'
Vol'jin be sayin' to, an' dey wantin' to be hurtin' de Hordies. I
be good wi'de bow an' axe, 'dough be trainin' for de polearm.
Also, I be workin' on Orcie-Speak for de cities, an...”
The forsaken simply nodded, completely disregarding the Troll's
ramblings. Instead, he simply summed up the goals and personality
he had gathered from their brief time together, and had sealed
the letter before Jadavi was finished talking. “Here you go. Slip
it under the guild hall – not cliché, simple, nice. You'll be
fine, Troll.”
Jadavi quirked a brow, wondering how the Undead could possibly be
finished writing before he was finished, but concluded that all
Forsaken could read minds. “Okay, mon...but wait, who be dis dat
I be speakin' to?”
The Forsaken simply shook his head from side to side before
throwing a hood over his figure, and slowly creeping off into the
Cleft. Jadavi was left to stare at the neatly tied parchment
before shrugging and making his way through Orgrimmar, towards
the Guild Halls.
[The Letter]
The Grim
I am a young, hopeful Troll who excels in the knowledge of
tracking, hunting, and slaying all manners of beasts. Though I am
still in my youth, I have recently come of age from the Sen'Jin
village and now hope to aid the Horde to the best of my
abilities; specifically, I seek to lend my arrows to the hearts
of all who stand before the Great Victory. As I write this, I am
still training myself and honing my abilities in hopes to become
worthy enough to be counted amongst the proud Horde.
In the honor of Thrall, our Warchief, I choose to fight alongside
the most skilled warriors in Azeroth, and I have recently
discovered that The Grim, in fact, possesses said fighters. No
matter the costs, I will join you on the battlefields in hope to
achieve unity and peace for those strong-willed enough to seek
it.
May the blood of those who stand in our way fall freely, and may
our victory come as swift as an arrow.
Your servant,
Jadavi Sin'Kaa Darkspear Tribe