So i'm a big Troll fan, i have at least four Troll characters, i love their lore, i love their look, and i seriously believe we would have been better off if Vol'Jin had joined with the Zandalari to retake our planet.
That said! With the acquisition of my garrison's Inn, i started focusing on hiring Troll followers to populate it! Because i'm sorry but two Troll followers simply isn't enough for my tastes!
The downside to this? As awesome as these guys are, they don't really have any lore behind them, at least none that's available to the public, i wouldn't be surprised if their designers came up with something or other. ANYWAYS i'm blathering now so the point is, i'm slowly populating my garrison with nothing but Trolls, and since they don't have official known backstories and lore, i use whatever traits and abilities they have to write some for the,. And now you get to read some of it!
And apparently i don't know how to use spoiler boxes if they exist here, so for the moment i'll limit it to one story per post.
Tak'moa of the Drakkari
Tak'moa sat anxiously at the large bonfire the was the center of the frostwall garrison, his face stared into the roaring flames but his eyes were drifted off to the side, eyeing the two forsaken women who were talking at the base of the hill opposite of the fire. The former Drakkari shifted his legs awkwardly as he watched the two speak, He was unable to pick up on their conversation but didn't really care either way. He merely watched the two of them eagerly from beneath his hood, which thankfully covered his eyes from most angles. Tak'moa was never one to admit it, but ever since the scourge invasion of his home in Zul'Drak he had felt... strangely about the undead, an almost need for their cold lifeless skin, the stench of decay they emitted, the alluring glow of their magically empowered eyes...
Tak'Moa had been a mere child at the time all those years ago. His family was not the richest of Trolls in Zul'Drak, leaving them living in the lowest regions of the Ziggurat, the first and least defended district of the massive city. This location had done him no favours when the scourge attacked, the entire lower district being quickly overrun by the undead. gargoyles blackening the sky, the stench of death filling the air as Nerubians burst forth from the soil and an endless sea of skeletons, abominations, and everything in-between charged the city. Tak'Moa shuttered at the memory, he had been one of the few able to escape into the upper districts where the higher classes were able to defend them for a time. He remembered towering figures in black and glowing blue armour raising the dead where they lay as he escaped, his neighbour, his brothers and sisters, even that sweet girl he had longed for until that point. Tak'Moas' eyes darted over to the two death knights patrolling the area, Benjamin Gibb and Abu'Gar. That was when it had started the believed, when he saw his kind being slain and subsequently risen by the scourge. Something inside of him had... snapped... he became fascinated by the undead, to the point of longing.
Tak'Moa's eyes looked back to the two forsaken women again as he heard one of them cackle heavenly, he wasn't sure which of the two he preferred, Vivianne had fire in her spirit, and her eyes shined as bright as the bonfire that warmed his face. Meanwhile Ulna Thresher had a more soothing aura around her, a priest like himself, the two would work well together. Tak'Moa shook his head as he forced himself to look away, he had become a priest of the Loa after being rescued by the Zandalari to try and purge his mind of these thoughts, his lust for the living dead was unnatural and fuelled by a history of death and loss. Yet every moment he lay eyes on them he couldn't help but want, the whole ordeal drove him mad at times.
It wasn't until years after the fact that Tak'Moa had learned of the betrayer who lead the attack on his home, a Drakkari by the name of Drakuru who had fallen to the allure of the scourge, became a death knight and betrayed his own people willingly. Rumour had it that the commander's father had slain the betrayer with his own hands, was he a Drakkari as well? No, one look at the commander would answer this question, her skin was much too dark for this, though the horns and tail she displayed from her mixed heritage could potentially explain why.
Tak'Moa looked once more to the two forsaken as they spoke, his hands clutching at his knees in the warming glow of the fire. The commander was no longer on his mind, only the two beautiful corpses that stood at the base of the hill. It couldn't be that wrong could it? Their flesh may be dead, but the still spoke, they still thought, they still walked and talked as well as he could, better even in some cases. Tak'moa inhaled the frozen air sharply before forcing his doubts away and standing up, if nothing else he could at least talk to them.
Notes: The primary inspiration behind Tak'moa here was the "death fascination" trait of his. like most of my followers he's now level 100 and epic of course, though his new traits didn't introduce anything interesting. He also has the vague appearance of white skin, so i used that to help justify the idea of him being Drakkari. Combined with the fact that i had just played Zul'drak on my warrior at the time, and he apparently had some sort of history with the undead, everything just clicked together. he's one of my better stories i feel. If you have any suggestions in terms of sentance structure or grammar however please feel free to let me know!
Zen'kili snarled at the peon as he walked away, having just handed her the commander's latest mission for her. It was fortunate for him that he had come with a job for her, otherwise she may have punched him in the gut where he stood.
Zen'kili calmed her expression and looked down at the paper now in her hand, it seemed her commander wished for her to go retrieve some supplies from their outpost in Gorgrond, a trip that would take most several hours to take. The trip involving having to navigate through mountain, jungle, and war-zone simply to reach the outpost. She fortunately enough, was not like most. She grinned a wicked grin at the thought, enhanced canines clashing with her tusks as she turned on her heel to make for the main gate of the garrison. Zen'kili was fast, the fastest the commander had available. Whatever she was off to retrieve must be important then, something only she could get done within a reasonable amount of time. Zen'kili continued to stroke her ego as she passed the large wooden gates of Frostwall garrison, her already narrow pupils slitting further as her form morphed into that of an Amani lynx, erupting into a run the very moment the transformation was complete.
Many druids could turn into feline shapes such as this, however Zen'kili's was special. Years ago before the great cataclysm had shook Azeroth, Zen'kili lived and worked among her fellow Amani. Her own position of a simple temple maid granting her access to the temple of Halazzi, the Amani lynx loa. For years she had slaved away at keeping the temple clean, bringing the high priest and his disciples food and drink when they requested it, and remaining out of the way when the rituals began. That had all changed however with the return of Zul'Jin, the Amani hero warlord who had vanished years before when she was but a small child. Though lacking an arm and an eye Zul'Jin was already preparing for war, for revenge against the high elves that had held him prisoner until his escape. Inspired by the Drakkari tribes of the north, the Amani turned to their own gods, the bear, the eagle, the dragonhawk and the lynx, syphoning their powers into four chosen warriors to use as weapons against their long time enemies. The rituals had succeeded, but were short lived as both the alliance and the horde swiftly came to put an end to it.
Zen'kili had never met an Orc before that day, yet had heard many stories about how they had once been allies of the Amani, how the two green-skinned races fought hand in hand against the elves and their human allies to retake Amani land. The stories had almost glorified the orcs to a point, their savagery and brutality all but matching that of her kin. And yet the orcs had failed in keeping their promise, loosing the war to the humans and forcing the Amani to sever their ties. Zen'kili had looked up to them for a time of her childhood, but there they were, standing side by side with the elves. Those who had taken Amani lands and hunted them down to the gates of Zul'aman were now holding hands with their former allies. Feeling betrayed by those the had once thought heroes, Zen'kili hid with her sisters in the temple of Halazzi. All the while the orcs, elves, humans, and even fellow trolls butchered her families and neighbours outside. It was only once the sound of combat had subsided that Zen'kili had felt safe, and even then she did not move from her hiding spot for several hours. She remembered how eerily silent the temple had been, where once there had been the pounding of drums, the cackle of fire, and the low chanting of the high priest, now there was nothing.
Fate had chosen her that day however. As as a parched Zen'kili finally emerged from her hiding place to seek out fellow survivors, she reached for the first liquid she could find to ease the dryness her fear had created in her mouth. The high priest had always kept a bottle of wine near the temple alter for use in blessings and Zen'kili had believed she had found it, if moved somewhat. It was not the case however, as with the first gulp she realized she had taken the wrong drink. It was not the sweet fruity taste of wine that greeted her lips, but the cold and bitter taste of Loa mojo, the very essence of Halazzi himself. Zen'kili fell to the floor and choked at the taste, too late to avoid the effects of the essence. Within minutes her fingernails had grown long and sharp, her pupils had thinned into slits, and several of her teeth had grown to an uncomfortable length. The transformation was far from that of the warrior who had channelled Halazzi's spirit, but Zen'kili could tell that such blasphemy, by a female no less, would not sit well should any surviving wichdoctors or warlords remain... unless she could prove herself...
Zen'kili ran, out of the temple and into the streets, bursting out of the gates of Zul'aman itself. In what seemed like minutes alone Zen'kili found herself in the Arathi Highlands, half the continent away from where she began. At some point -she was not sure when- she had seemingly transformed into a Lynx resembling one of Halazzi's children, and it took her some time to figure out how to change herself back.
Years of self-teaching and a shame-filled trip to Moonglade later and Zen'kili had found herself a druid worthy of Amani praise, the fastest one in all of Azeroth. She would return home someday she thought, perhaps take her place as a warlord herself if she could. But for now, she had arrived at the outpost in Gorgrond. In record time.
Notes: Not too sure why i picked Amani for Zen'kili, think it's due to her being a druid and the amani had that lynx god or something, idk. honestly i feel like this is one of my weaker stories ot of the lot TBH. But i haven't figured out how to make it better. As always if you know any ways to better word the sentence structures or grammar please let me know!
Thanks! ^_^ After this guy i unfortunately only have one more, followed by a bunch i haven't quite gotten around too yet.
Va'zik the Lonely
Va'zik was alone, Ever since he was a child he had been alone. He was used to it now, wandering the wilds of Stranglethorn Vale, searching under every rock and tree for even the smallest morsel of food, digging through every corpse of beast, troll, and the odd traveler for anything he could use to stay alive even one more day. Today was no different, he was no longer in the wilds of Stranglethorn vale granted, and he was indeed surrounded by other Trolls among other things, however he still felt... outside, as if merely a ghost invisible to his surroundings, merely existing but not interacting with the garrison and it's members. In some sense Va'zik believed he preferred things that way, he had never had any form of long-term social interactions beyond the wilds of the jungle, it was just... how he was!
Va'Zik recalled briefly on his time in the jungle, through the years he had been lost there he had managed to grow an affinity for finding useful things in what many others would consider useless, tiny scraps of torn fur would become crucial building materials to larger patchwork clothing, a single worm, not even enough to fill the stomach of the smallest birds could mean a meal for the day.
Possibly the only time Va'zik had even come into contact with another living sentient creature was the time Va'zik had encountered an at-the-time high-elven merchant lost in the wilds, his horses having apparently been attacked by the local wildlife and causing them to bolt through the trees, dragging the Elf and his goods along with them. Fortunately for the elf Va'zik had heard the commotion and came to investigate, hiding in the Trees at first until the elf suddenly became aware of his presence, through magic or Elven senses, Va'Zik was never sure. Still, the Elf proved friendly enough, though neither could understand the others language, the Elf was able to indicate his dilemma with some difficulty through a series of gestures and expressions, Va'zik slowly understanding the problem and assisting the Elf in retracing his cart's tracks and leading the two of them back to the path that ran through the jungle. Ironically, this had been the first time Va'zik himself had seen the path, or at least the first time he could remember, it was possible he had encountered it before and merely thought nothing of it. Still the elf thanked Va'zik and provided him with a small sack of golden coins, a curiosity to the Troll, as he had never encountered such things before. They could not be eaten, they were poor construction materials, and yet... Va'zik found himself enamored with the things, an odd fascination with the shape and colour. Throughout many more years of survival Va'zik found himself digging through the pockets and deeper crevasse for any similar coins to add to his collection, amazed at how he had been overlooking them all this time.
The elf came by many times after that, Va'zik finding himself waiting by the road for him to pass every few days as he brought goods from who-knows-were to somewhere-else and back again. He was always happy to see Va'zik again and slowly taught him the method of trading. Va'zik gave him the gold coins, the elf gave Va'zik some food, some boots, anything Va'zik pointed at provided Va'zik had gathered enough coins, though he now figured he had been given some sort of discount for sevral items. Time would pass and Va'zik would slowly learn bits and pieces of the Elf's language, gaining more gold for buying by selling various goods he had found or crafted from various scraps in the jungle. Things were good for awhile, then for some reason, the Elf stopped appearing.
Va'zik would later learn that around that time a figure that would later be known as the Litch King had invaded his friend’s homeland, killing him among many others on a quest that wound up destroying many of their numbers. Yet at the time, Va'zik had no idea of where the Elf had gone. He waited by the road for days and weeks on end, seeing several other travelers and traders who quickly passed him by, but never seeing the Elf. After a time Va'zik had given up on the elf, resigning himself to returning to his life in the jungle, a few golden coins from their previous encounter his only reminders of his former friend.
Va'zik continued to live wild for several years after the fact, still keeping what was left of the coins he had received from the elf in a pouch he perpetually kept around his neck, using his newfound trade skills with those who were willing to make his life easier, selling what goods he found or crafted, and buying food and supplies he could use for himself. Then on one fateful day Va'zik sat waiting by the roadside, coins in hand hoping to encounter a trader for some easy food as he typically did, his ears perking up as he heard the familiar sound of wheels turning and animal feet striking a road. As Va'zik turned to look, he almost swore he saw his old Elven friend again, and quickly stood to greet him after so long. As the merchant got closer however Va'zik realized it was merely a new elf, one that had been travelling with another Jungle Troll of an unknown tribe. It took some effort, as Va'zik knew little of the Troll language on his own, but the message of what happened to the high elves eventually got through to him after some attempt on his part on asking. He learned the high elves had changed their names to blood elves, remembering the blood spilled by the Litch King and joining an alliance of races known as the horde, wich included a tribe of Jungle Trolls known as the Darkspear.
Va'zik had to think for a moment after hearing this, eventually coming to the decision that his friend would have wanted him to join their respective kin in the horde. Va'zik hitched a ride with the traders as they traveled to a place known as Grom'gol, and from there across the sea to a vast dry land known as Kalimdor. It was all very knew to Va'zik, who felt profoundly uncomfortable the entire way due to his new surroundings. But before he knew it he was surrounded by Darkspear trolls, being raised and taught in their ways, their language, their history, in exchange he offered his services of salvaging and collecting coin, becoming a mercenary of sorts as he slowly became a full fledged member of the horde.
Now here he sat, alone in a corner of the commander's garrison out in the wintry lands of another world, far removed from the tropical climate he had known for his entire life. The garrison housed many trolls, and even a few elves for him to interact with, though since arriving Va'zik found himself pining for the old days, wishing he had never met that elf, and never grown this want for social interaction. With a sigh Va'zik huddled up closer to his fire as he watched a blood elf greet him in passing. Somehow, despite being surrounded by people, he felt more alone now then he ever did back home.
Notes: This guy is awesome since he has both treasure hunter and scavenger, the elf thing was a little tricky to implement and i'm not entirely happy with it, but i felt like it needed a mention.
Last edited by Jevzi on 2015/08/15 11:37 pm; edited 1 time in total
Pele'zol smiled beneath her mask as her hand gently caressed the blooming Talador Orchid, a smooth and gentle hand gently brushing away some pests before letting the flower stand under it's own power once more. She could already tell the herb would grow well under her care, as it did the previous day, and as it would the next. Pele'zol had always had an affinity for growing plants such as these, though she had to admit they were much different then those she had grown accustomed too near her home on the echo isles... Pele'zol stopped abruptly at the thought of her home, and looked around to ensure nobody was watching as she let the flowers be, slowly climbing her way down the small rocky cliff to the nearby cave-lake they had been gathering their water from. Once she was sure that she would not be bothered Pele'zol carefully removed the mask that covered her face. Large burn marks that decorated her face from chin to brow now revealed, the result of a horrendous day her kind had once suffered, and one she had accidentally reminded herself of just moments ago.
It had been some years prior, and Pele'zol had been a young apprentice at the time. It was a clear day, and the Darkspear Trolls had continued to build themselves a new home on the island chain just off the coast of the newly colonized Durotar, the islands reminding them of the isle they had called home for so many generations which had been lost roughly just a year ago. The sky was bright, and the birds were chirping, new families were forming after the chaos of the third war, and nobody could expect what had happened next. All Pele'zol could remember was the sight of human sails on the horizon, how they had gotten so close she couldn't remember, as the next thing she knew was the sound of canonfire, and freshly built homes erupting into flame and debris. Pele'zol couldn't help but clutch at her heart as the memories began pouring in, her free hand reaching into the lake to cup some water and pour it over her burns, feeling as if they were on fire all over again.
Somehow Alliance forces had landed, Gnomish gyrocopters dropping bombs while human and dwarf alike slew any who opposed them. Pele'zol remembered seeking out her master, the mage who had been training her in the ways of the arcane, and finding her fighting for her life alongside the warriors of the darkspear while those too young or old to help fled to the mainland. Pele'zol conjured what flames she could to assist in the fight, personally causing the black powder in the barrels of several Dwarven rifles to explode in their hands, and ending the lives of at least two footmen on her own. It was only when she had turned her attention to her master that everything went wrong, the Mage had erected an arcane barrier around herself and several wounded Trolls, the rattling of Gyrocopter guns hammering away at it, trying to slaughter the obviously wounded Trolls within.
Pele'zol curled up into a fetal position and clutched at her head as her eyes squeezed shut, there was no escaping the memory now, she had to live through it as she had done before, it was all she could do to remind herself that it was done, that the battle had been won and over years ago. And yet as she watched her master struggle to protect herself, Pele'zol could feel only rage in her heart, her hands waving through the air as she conjured the largest fireball she could muster, flinging it towards the gyrocopter above them, her concern and rage blinding her to the consequences of her actions.
The Gyrocopter fell, it's spinning blades caught alight and leaving it a large gas-filled chunk of metal in the sky. Pele'zol noticed far too late as the vehicle plummeted downwards that it fell directly for her master and the wounded Trolls beneath, her eyes locking with those of her master as both of them stood wide-eyed in shock. Several of the trolls pounded away at the arcane barrier between themselves and freedom, their former shield having become a prison as the mage supporting it stood frozen, an inferno of fire and metal plummeting towards them. Pele'zol ran towards her, shouting for her master to drop the shield and run, to flee for her life! The mage dropped her arcane shield in the end, but by then it was too late and she had only sealed the fate of those that lie beneath her. Pele'zol remembered vividly as the burning gyrocopter landed on her former master, the collision causing the fuel tanks to explode in an eruption of heat and flame, leaving heavy burns on Pele'zol's face and most of her upper body as she ran towards it, and those who were trapped beneath it little more then charred corpses by the time the inferno had subsided.
Rescue came then, in the form of the mok'natol Rexxar and his companions Rokahn and Chen Stormstout, but they came too late to save Pele'zol's master, and Pele'zol herself could barely move for several weeks after the fact, the image of her master's horrified face burned into her mind every time she closed her eyes, the memories of the event haunting her dreams and leaving her sleepless for months on end.
Pele'zol inhaled sharply as the visions subsided, her heartbeat still pounded in her chest and her body still trembled, but the memories were gone now, and she could continue with her work. Again the Troll splashed some of the lake's water onto her face, covering the burns with her mask again as she stood slowly, taking shaky and cautious steps back up to the garden she had been charged with tending. After the alliance had been chased away, and Pele'zol had fully recovered, she found herself allured to the act of tending to plants, they needed to be kept away from fire, and they could never scream nor suffer when in danger. Pele'zol had put down her staff for many years after that day, preferring to tend to the gardens of the horde as far away from the islands as she could manage. It took the rise of the scourge and the return of Dalaran for her to re-learn the art of magic under necessity, and only under the tutorship of the kirin-tor. Despite her natural proficiency in the art however, Pele'zol refused to cast a single fire spell, preferring instead the more support based roles of aiding others in combat and escape.
Now here she was in the frozen northwest of an alien world, her commander thankfully allowing her to remain in the garrison and away from the combat, to tend to the strange alien plants that intrigued her so much. While the scars of her past were permanently etched into her face and her mind, Pele'zol could only pray the same would not said for her future.
Notes: So Pele'zol here is the first confirmed darkspear I've made thus far, think the next one will be too. The main inspirations were her mask, her magic, and the herbalism (wich admittedly is the trait i was searching for to begin with.) She always wears that voodoo mask over her face, and despite being a fire mage, she actually can't cast any fire-based spells, the only offensive spell she can actually cast Blizzard. So the scar thing and the panic attacks eventually took shape, with the herbalism being her escape from it all. I'm hoping i got the panic attacks across properly, i get them myself for different reasons, so i had a little bit to relate too, though it's not from a traumatic memory so i can't be sure.
Anyways future posts will likely just be images of non-lored followers, feel free to add thoughts and suggestions to them!
So here's the next follower on the list, in lvl 100 form as opposed to the 90 she came as since i needed more to work with then just the extra training i got her for. it took awhile, but right now i'm thinking something around the lines of the Japanese kitsune kind of person, an always smiling drunk party animal, with perhaps some gold-digging tenancies. shame about the Brew aficionado trait there, but if i can use it for story then it might have some purpuse. perhaps she fell in love with Pandaria and it's beer after getting there.
what do you guys think? Once the story is written this post will likely be deleted and replaced.
Okay apparently i can't figure out how to delete the last post with this image in it, but oh well. The story is finally done, not 100% happy with it, but i think it works out fairly well. let me know if you see any commas, typos, or plot holes that could be removed.
Nuku'te of Pandaria
There was an eruption of laughter from the frostwall tavern that night, Nuku'te and her favoured teddy-bear friends having once more gathered together after another successful strike against the iron horde. It seemed that Nuku'te had only just returned from her task minutes ago and yet already her face ran a light shade of purple from the sheer amount of alcohol she had managed to down in such a short amount of time. It seemed this would happen almost every week at this point, ever since her recruitment into the garrison Nuku'te had managed to draw in a small Pandaren crowd, at first it was mainly just traders coming in to restock the tavern with their ale as she drank it all and she had coincidentally managed to meet them while they were there a few times. Now it seemed the traders purposely awaited her return from any task she was assigned to at the time just to meet her, their friendships growing fast over their mutual love of the drink and her attachment to the large fluffy creatures. Over time the Traders would bring their friends, who would tell their friends, and now it seemed that every time Nuku'te arrived through the great Frostwall gate there was a tavern filled with new friends awaiting her, eager to swap stories and drinks all around.
And to think that none of this would have happened had the frost mage not taken that fateful trip to Pandaria back in the day. At the time Nuku'te had been an unemployed gold-digger, quick to attach herself to the richest arm she could find in order to milk it for every copper piece she could get and subsequently spend on her favoured beverages. There was no denying her abilities as an ice mage were superb, and that she could easily make a living as a hired hand or even as a serious contender for a position in the famed Kirin Tor. Yet at every opportunity Nuku'te merely turned away, speaking of how it was too much work or how she had better things to do with her life. That was until she'd heard of the newly discovered Pandaria, a strange new land surrounded by mists and inhabited by locals who apparently made a lucrative living doing little more then making beer, drinking beer, eating food, and otherwise relaxing. Suffice to say Nuku'te had to sign herself up for the next ship over.
What followed was a strange mix of events that even Nuku'te herself had trouble explaining at times. She had evidently arrived some time after an outbreak of the Sha, an apparently once beautiful jade Forrest now scarred by blackness and haunted by shadowy beasts. There were many locals unsure of the foreigners such as herself as a result, though as Neku'te found her way through to the valley of the four winds she found herself becoming enamoured with the local cultures and traditions, soon finding herself spending her own gold on more then a few drinks in every pub she could find. Happily telling stories of the rest of Azeroth to any eager Pandaren who would lend an ear.
In time Neku'te began to act as a sort of impromptu ambassador to the Pandaren as she took up an almost permanent residence in the valley of four winds. There were many Pandarians worried about the at-the-time warcheif Garrosh, and as news of his atrocities spread Nuku'te could hardly blame them. Still there were more then a few situations where the Troll was able to keep the peace between the gentle furballs and some of the more enthusiastic members of the horde. The frost mage was quick to adopt the traditional saying “Family. Friends. Food. These are what matter most” into her life, though she'd always try to sneak in a line about Beer needing to be on that list in one form or another.
The lowest point of Nuku'te's stay on Pandaria came during the days of the Darkspear rebellion. She had only heard rumours of Garrosh's attacks against her people back on Kalimdor. While she was thankfully spared from the bloodshed that ensued, there were still a couple of times when some of the former warcheif's more overzealous Orcs would attempt to forcefully take her back to Orgimmar or worse in the name of Hellscream. Thankfully Nuku'te's new companions were very protective of their friends. Nuku'te watched as an entire village and more of Pandaren stood between her and the orcs, refusing them the violence they so desired by peaceful means while equally willing to show force if necessary. While a few blows were delivered to both sides in anger the whole ordeal thankfully never turned to a brawl, and Nuku'te was able to safely sit out the remainder of Hellscream's position as warcheif in relative peace within her new home. Her former life on Kalimdor and the Echo Isles all but forgotten, instead living the dream of eating, drinking, and never once being looked down upon for it. Admittedly there was little gold to go around for Nuku'te to spend, yet it seemed as if there was no need for it. The Mage would spend her time putting her skills to use, being it providing water for the crops or assisting the local schools in teaching the pups how to read and write. In exchange the local pubs would always grant her a warm welcome and a drink on the house whenever she wished. For the first time in the whole of her life Nuku'te felt as if she had finally found her place in the world, genuinely happy and satisfied with her position in life.
Nuku'te would remain in the valley of four winds for what felt like forever until word finally arrived of the assault on the world by the Iron Horde, a strange new foe that was old all the same. An army from a new past that sought the destruction of all of Azeroth. Many men and women from the village packed up their supplies and armed themselves to aid in the war effort that day, and while Nuku'te would have loved to remain in the village as she had done so before, she could not allow herself to stand idly by while her new family went to war. At least not without her by their side.
And so here she was, sitting in the best Tavern in Frostfire with her friends old and new. All together in service to a commander of an unusual heritage. The war had taken the lives of many of her friends, there was no doubting that would happen. But many more stood still alive thanks to the support of herself and those around her. As a peon walked in to hand Nuku'te her instructions for her next mission, she couldn't help but hope that with a bit of luck, and a lot of hard work, this War could be over. And she and what remained of her family could return to the valley once more to sample one of their newer brews fresh off the still.
One month later and only now do i write the second half of this next one. As always if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes let me know! i'm basically posting this immediately after finishing it and once-overing it for obvious typos, so i might have missed something.
Tigowa of Venture Co.
Tigowa stood there, gazing out at the sea and the new shipyard his commander had recently built. He would have loved to venture out aboard one of her many ships, explore new seas and find new treasures, perhaps even a landmass or two that had been destroyed in the creation of Outland. Alas such was not his task, perhaps someday Tigowa would ride out on the destroyers or the transports to go hunting for oil like in the old days but for now he had other matters to attend too.
Tigowa gave a wave to the deckhands below as he walked off back into the garrison, he'd just received orders to investigate a new kind of jungle sap that could potentially act as an oil supplement alongside a young Goblin and a massive Orgron. Tigowa was always a little unnerved by him, while he seemed a pleasant enough fellow Tigowa was very unused to anything aside from another Troll or an Ogre being taller then he was. Goblins on the other hand Tigowa had worked with plenty of times before. long ago before even the cataclysm Tigowa was once employed by the infamous Venture Co, a band of primarily Goblins and what mercenaries and hired hands they could find hellbent on making a profit no matter what damage caused to the world around them.
Tigowa himself spent most of his time stationed on an Oil right just off the coast of southern Kalimdor, the entire operation under the goals of collecting the oil from various pockets beneath the sea floor and shipping it off to whoever paid the most. be it Rachet, Kezan, Undermine, or even non-goblin parties like the Gnomes or the Dwarves. So long as they paid well, they'd get what they asked for. Now one might think that having a Fire-make on a rig filled with Flammable oil would typically be a bad idea, but the Venture Company knew what they were doing well enough. While Tigowa did handle the pipings and packaging as much as any other member of the rig, one of his primary jobs was fending off the various attackers that would try to put a stop to their little operation. Tigowa would be the first to admit that Goblins weren't exactly built for combat to begin with, more designed for thinking and tinkering then much else. But alongside any Gnolls, Ogres, or what have you they hired, Tigowa was more then happy to do the dirty work and deal with any murlocs or D.E.H.T.A. Ships that would come running in trying to save that pesky coral reef that they happened to be drilling into at the time.
The Wildlife and the crazy Druids were often considered as little more then pests, small distractions to take away attention from work for awhile be it for good or ill. Some found it annoying when they started causing trouble, others found it a welcome break. Tigowa didn't really care either way so long as he got paid his dues. Now the forces of the Horde and Alliance on the other hand? Those were where the real troubles would start kicking in. More then once Tigowa found himself battling against fully armed and battle-ready alliance warships or Horde Destroyers, whether merely passing through and trying to do the world a favour by clearing the world of yet more Venture co or hellbent on whatever mission sent them that way to stop the oil from flowing, it made no difference to anyone aboard the Rig nor the Ships. Countless battles were fought and won by Tigowa and the other hired hands of the Rig, some where fighting for their life, while others were merely fighting for their Jobs. Tigowa vividly remembered dousing Venture Co cannonballs in oil and setting them alight himself before blasting them off towards the opposing ships, watching with a wicked grin on his face as the intruders sunk down into the sea to rot away and serve as little more then playgrounds for the new wildlifes and corals of the Ocean, clearly even D.E.H.T.A. Could see the benefit in that right?
Unfortunately for Tigowa and the Rig things began to turn sour as the various forces began to converge on them at once. It really was a brilliant scheme he'd admit, it seemed a small group of alliance and Horde druids alike reached out top hire any mismatched adventurer they could get their hands on to strike a raid on the Rig from every angle, going so far as to send sonar bombs to the bottom of the sea to rile up any sea life into a frenzy and lash out at what they could only assume was the source. With the likes of Alliance, horde, murloc and beast alike tearing into the iron skin of the Rig, Venture Co found themselves cornered and countered at every move, their forces spread too thin, small pockets of resistance trapped between waves of adventurers and murlocs alike. One by one the pockets fell, to either surrender or death. Tigowa was obviously in the former category, he had held up in one of the smaller buildings with a pair of Gnolls, an Ogre, five Goblins, and two more of his kind. They fought and maintained their defences for as long as they could manage, but between the endless assault on all sides and their own fatigue, they found themselves forced to surrender. Tigowa and his fellow Trolls were sentenced to a brief period in prison, unknowing of whatever fate was bestowed upon their companions. It was there that the four of them were separated once again as they were moved from cell to cell, they god off lucky being merely hired hands by the infamous company, and would get the chance to redeem themselves to the Horde before too long.
For Tigowa this chance came at the start of the cataclysm, when the Elements raged in fury that even his arcane command could sense. It was all hands on deck once more as many prisoners who agreed to aid the recovery and defence of Orgramar in exchange for a reduced sentence were temporarily freed from their imprisonment. Tigowa had agreed to these terms, and once more used his powers to defend his people from raging elements and the forces of Deathwing himself. From there Tigowa would earn his keep among the Darkspear Trolls, fighting alongside the rebellion from within the walls of Orgramar as Garosh imprisoned and murdered his Kin. Some relative peace and an invasion of an iron horde later, and here he was, once more a hired hand fighting to protect the world in wich he lived on a world in which he did not. It was true Tigowa had little investment in the cause itself, and would sooner become a sailor or return to the oil rig himself them join the war effort without adequate pay, but it wasn't too bad here in Frostwall. If nothing else, the herbalist was cute enough.
There was a fizzle of magic, and with a loud POW! sparkling flames of every colour roared through the air. Kil'weh could see the wowed faces of his onlookers as he performed his tricks, a final wave of his staff collecting the clouds of coloured flame and soot through the air and collecting it into a single point, finally being forced into the blade of the Tauren's sword by the powerful push of the Troll's glowing-green fist. There was a small round of applause from the garrison as the Tauren inspected his weapon, the paladin's blade glowing the same yellow light as his armour while small traces of flame danced across the steel. Kil'weh silently leaned against one of the support beams of the enchanter's study as the tauren examined his weapon, confident in his own talents enough to know the Paladin would find no fault in the enchantment. As if on cue the Tauren looked up to the Troll and burst into a short fit of bellowing laughter, handing over a per-discussed bag of coins with a small tip for the show. Small chunks of onlookers cheered a second time as the paladin showed off his finished weapon, raising the blade towards the sky to capture Dranor's light in it's own.
Kil'weh grinned to himself and turned to catalogue his enchantment. It was good to put on a show again every so often, the former Skullsplitter had once travelled all across Azeroth and even portions of Outland with little more then his wits and his cart as companions. And yet while the Warlock always portrayed himself as a peddler of enchantments and magical trinkets, there was always that one thing that he was much more interested in. Every peddler had one, the one thing they secretly desired above all else. For many it was gold, for others it was travel, or stories, for Kil'weh? Why it was nothing less then a raw, powerful deal. Throughout his days of travel, Kil'weh had maintained certain... connections, to powerful forces capable of granting great power and wealth to whomever they deemed fit. Kil'weh could tell when someone was looking for such a deal, the mere smell of them oozed desperation and willingness to go to any length to get what they desired. All it took were a few flashy spells, some smooth words, and the assurance that absolutely nothing would go wrong to make them putty in his hands.
For years Kil'wek travelled across Azeroth, conning and tricking and providing for anyone who found themselves in need of his services. There were always a few instances of young warlocks such as himself asking for domination of powerful demons, though Kil'weh hadn't heard from any of them in a very long time. For the most part his flock consisted of desperate men and woman driven to the point of madness with whatever mundane task or drama they found themselves in, one woman sought an easy way to seduce the man of her dreams, and quickly found herself indebted to a powerful succubus. Then there was the man who demanded riches beyond his wildest dreams, and while it's true he was provided an unlimited supply of gold to spend as he wished, his short life at the beck and call of the spirit who provided it would ultimately cause his downfall. To be fair Kil'weh did nothing less then provide his customers with exactly what they desired, it was only through his friends on the other side that they found themselves paying the ultimate price.
And yet throughout all this Kil'weh was here enchanting weapons and armour for heroes of the horde, sometimes merely something to make them look flashy, sometimes adding powerful enchantments to make them all that much more powerful. Kil'weh had no reason to be here really, he'd much rather be travelling the plains and deserts of Azeroth, greeting strangers on familiar ground before moving on to the next scheme. And yet here he was. The pay was good he would admit, though his deals had dropped significantly, reduced to little more then the occasional back-alley scheme which had to be hidden from the guards. Perhaps there was some benefit to this strange new world however, in the few instances Kil'weh had managed to leave the walls for missions away, he had found many a desperate Arakkoa outcast or laughing skull, this was a world ripe with strife and suffering, and while he hardly dealt with the likes of the burning legion directly, the presence of Demonic energy and rampant spirits across the planet made his connections with his friends both new and old only that much stronger.
Kil'weh knew he wouldn't remain in this garrison for very long, only long enough to suit his desires as he explored the world around him, he was fortunate his commander didn't need his services very often, leaving him plenty of time to plan for his next trip to a new corner of Dranor. Already his friends sensed the approaching corruption of the burning legion, whispering to him of their desires for new points of entry, new armies to corrupt or dive towards their cause. And while Kil'weh refused to aid the legion as a whole... it was always nice to have more friends on the other side...
Notes: Admittedly, not too proud of this one. I got stuck for a couple of weeks where after the first three paragraphs i knew it wasn't done yet, but it felt like it was, and i was having trouble coming up with anything new. The character as a whole really reminded me of doctor facilier from Disney's "The Princess and the Frog", so i tried to loosely base him off of that. In hindsight i probably could have given him a sentient shadow, buut... oh well. including it would probably involve too much re-writing, so i'm not going to do that. All in all not my greatest, which is a shame because i was looking forward to writing him since he reminded me so much about an awesome Disney villain.
You cannot post new topics in this forum You cannot reply to topics in this forum You cannot edit your posts in this forum You cannot delete your posts in this forum You cannot vote in polls in this forum