(repost from the old forum, enjoy!)
The Silken Tapestry
Prologue
Orgrimmar , capital of the Horde forces, was celebrating its decennial. Since its founding by Warchief Thrall near the end of the third war, this mighty city had been home to many seeking comfort and security from Azeroth’s enemies. As a gesture of faith, gratitude and vassalage, representatives of each major clan and race under the horde banner paid homage to their Warchief; many times it was all just ceremonial. This year, however, was different. While indeed this day commemorated Thrall, son of Durotan, it was hosted by his successor, Garrosh Hellscream, an Orc famous for his heated temperament. For this reason, the representatives had reluctantly agreed to appease his warlust today.
After an entire day of parading in the streets of the mighty city under fireworks and strewn petals, the time had come for the ceremonial gifts. Clan chiefs from all around the world knelt in front of the son of Grom and offered him weapons, soldiers, wild beasts, constructs of war, trinkets, charms and much more to ensure the Horde victory on the warpath. Nevertheless, it was the diplomats of the major member races who stole the scene. As each kneeled down, the witnessing crowd were awed by the abundance of their tributes, each of them unique in its use.
From the elven magisters of Quel'Thalas, home of arcane masters, came an ancient blade descended from Highborn roots, enchanted to slice any magical creature that lay in its path. Hailing from atop the rises of Mulgore, the shamanistic bull-like Taurens offered a blessed dream catcher, able to shield Hellscream’s mind in his sleep from would be nightmare assassins. From the Goblin tinkerers and engineers of the Bilgewater cartel, a small ignition key to a greater gift: a weapon which could bring destruction anywhere in the world from the comfort of their harbor in Azshara. The apothecary of Undercity brought a smaller but deadlier gift. These insidious undead beings presented a small box protecting a tiny vial that could fit in anyone’s palm but contained an untraceable and most effective poison. Yet all these mighty and useful gifts did not appease the warchief’s temper, for he had noticed some representatives were missing from his throne room. His yell convulsed the entire Valley of Strength. “Where are Vol’jin’s shadow hunters?”
Unease swept the room and, even before the ceremony abruptly ended, a dispatch of Orc Kor'kron guards hastily rode to the island home of the fabled blue skinned trolls of the Darkspear tribe. The Echo islands however had other guests: in disbelief the elite soldiers spotted trolls from the very tribes who had sworn destruction upon the Horde. Vol’jin, the elder of the Darkspear, was found in his private quarters standing by a tribal loom. He was accompanied by a small dark skinned troll child holding one end of an unfinished silken tapestry.
“Chieftain of the Darkspear tribe, why are there enemies of the Horde at your doorstep?” questioned the lieutenant of the platoon. “Why have you refused to bring gifts to your Warchief in time of ceremony? Have you forsaken the Horde?” Vol’jin carefully finished weaving a storyline and calmly responded, with a chuckle. “Dem people at my doorstep be refugees from various tribes around the world and be not seeking harm. This be a matter which will be addressed to Hellscream, indeed. But alas, Orgrimmar be very demanding and I must hastily finish my gift first. Or else people be gettin’ the idea I am “forsakin’ the Horde”, hey?”
The Kor’kron guards left the islands with discontent on their faces. Soon after, perhaps to relieve the tension, the little refugee boy spoke to the elder.
“Patron Vol’jin, we be knittin’ this cloth for weeks now, what ya be makin’?” “Dis, my little one, be the greatest gift I can give in this dire time for our dear leader. It be a story told from troll to troll about a young child like you who faced a harsh decision tens of thousands of years ago, before Orcs came here, before Humans built kingdoms, before Night Elves existed and when we Trolls stood as one.” While Vol’jin continued weaving, the infant, struck by curiosity, turned his head to the iconography depicted. Gazing from one image to the next, he was amazed to see the pictures moving under his eyes. Leaning closer to examine them, he heard a woman’s voice unfolding the following tale.
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Before any beings can remember, a single tribe existed, in Zandalar. The Zandalari people prospered and built a magnificent city, Zuldazar. Bountiful resources and the blessing of the Loas, our powerful ancestral spirits, ensured Zuldazar’s prosperity until the population grew past its mighty walls. In the following centuries, many of the people left the city in search of new homes. Generations passed and these new tribes built their own villages, cultures and temples across all regions of the world, from jungle forests to snowy caves. Their bodies and tusks changed shape and color according to the environment they lived in and they discovered other Loas to worship. In time they built their own Kingdoms; in times we found a name that binds us all: Trolls.
These new tribes, however, despised their differences and often fought each other. This was when the Zandalari tribe stepped in, for we have a duty to ensure peace and unification of the entire troll race as one people. An Order was formed to who watch these conflicts with close attention.
I, Atl’mar, was one of their delegates. I can feel Bwonsamdi, the Loa of death tempting me to sleep for an eternity. He and his bound-mate, Bri’git, have convinced me to accept death but they shall not sever the spirit from the body of this old woman until my tale is told. The story you are about to hear is not about me, it concerns a Troll girl that I watched grow from child to adult and fall into dark temptations. Her name was Xi’pilli of the Shatterspear tribe and her life must be recounted every tribe or race.
Our story concerns the Gurubashi jungle tribe of the south, and the Amani forest tribe of the north. For a time, both were just tribes who never sought any trouble whatsoever. But as their numbers grew, they learned to conquer lands, turned entire tribes into vassals or slaves, built forts and armies until they lived only for the lust of power and their hatred of each other. The era of the Twin Empires was born. Although they never declared war, every troll, under their reign or not, felt the tension between them was leading inexorably to it. Even in Zuldazar itself, opinion was divided: some sided with the vile Gurubashi Emperor and some supported the violent Amani Warlords. Only our King Jakhan, Loas bless him, understood how important diplomacy was during those dark times and refused to side with either of the empires.
I was already an emissary when I met the young Xi’pilli in the great library of Zuldazar. She was a little girl in a robe decorated with flowers and animals: a walking portrait of a jungle Troll princess with beautiful eyes and miniscule tusks. Seeing her confused and scared among all the tablets, I remembered when I was too was a lost girl in a great city. Someone had guided me then and I decided to help her find her guardians now. We waited for them on the lawn of a temple, talking about the capital’s history. Hearing my friendly words, Xi’pilli was immediately calm. She wanted to learn more. So I promised to tutor her if she visited me again. From then on, she visited the capital every 3 months, always eager to hear my teachings.
I educated her in the arts and science of our people. I taught her mathematics: how, trolls having three fingers on each hand, all of our science is based on the number twelve. From the twelve hours for the day and the night to the twelve months in a year, how we measure with units of twelve and how a cube has twelve edges. When night fell, we climbed atop our highest ziggurat. We gazed up in awe at our two moons, the stars, the constellations, the very roof of the universe, unchanged since my own tutor had first brought me there. I showed her the astrology room where Trolls theorize about the future and carefully monitor the movements of planets and stars. Thanks to our wise ones, who simply set up sticks on one side of the world and the other so we could compare the size of their shadows, we were able to calculate the size of our planet. She even joked she wished she could go on the moons and measure them as well. We became fast friends.
Years passed. The little girl was growing into a beautiful woman while I was slowly turning into an elder. I had taught her everything the tablets told, and through her I learned about her people, the Shatterspear tribe. Often between her visits I was welcomed as an equal into her village. Her tribe lived deep in the great jungles, by the sea border of the Gurubashi Empire. They were mostly sailors, fishing and trading first for the sake of the empire they lived under, only then for the tribe. Rafts transported their good upon streams to the harbor of the great city of I’Ialai. Their name came from the time when their founder fought against a legendary white crocolisk, possessed by a mad Loa. He swam back to the shore victorious with a shattered spear. Despite its proud history, the Shatterspear village was now a suburb of Zul’Gurub, the capital of the Gurubashi Trolls, miles away. The Empire’s presence was felt greatly, even by an outsider like me. I cringed hearing how many had risen up against their masters only to be captured and sacrificed on an altar to the blood gods.
I was determined to help these people. I knew I could educate Xi’pilli to be a great leader and guide her people away from the Twin Empires’ reigns. And that’s when I made my greatest mistake. I secretly made her my disciple, allowing her to follow me around in disguise, giving her missions and permitting her to enter the archives, an act forbidden to all non-Zandalari. I even shared some of my Juju powers with her, from the art of shape-shifting to casting hexes onto people’s minds. She learnt well; she could even surpass me if we ever dueled. But she became like a daughter to me and never in my life have I hurt her.
Then came the day that changed my life forever. Weeks before Xi’pilli’s next visit, I was sorting herbs when Fa’wiri entered my room. It had been years since we’d met. Fa’wiri was a Troll I trusted above all others and my mentor, though he was the same age as me. He’d been my greatest friend since I first came to Zuldazar, always looking after me and scolding my every mistake, teaching me everything he knew. I’ve always looked up to him.
He stood there beside the entrance. Just like me, he was showing his age. His hair was turning grey and he used his ritual staff as a walking cane. He didn’t bother to greet me when he told me of Xi’pilli’s fate.
“Dem Gurubashi priests got your disciple, Atl’mar.” My hands trembled. I was losing control. “What ya mean, mon?” I lashed out. “Why would the Gurubashi mons take an emissary in trainin’?”
He sighed.
“Dem Gurubashi claimed she be a spy, sent by their enemies to disturb dey influence. Dey also be sayin’ she was caught stirin’ up trouble in a village, preachin’ dem people there to rise up against the Gurubashi Empire. I have sent people to resolve dis matter. Dey told me to not say a word to ya but I figured ya deserved to know.”
I tried to rush out. His staff blocked the doorway.
“Where ya think ya goin’?” he asked, giving me that stern look he always does when I err. “I told ya already, we got this under control now. Don’t ya go around causin’ more trouble!”
“Ya don’t understand!” I tried to explain before he interrupted me. “She be young! If dem Gurubashi priest bring her to their city-“
“Dey gonna find out she be Shatterspear tribe?”
I stared at him. He had somehow found out about my secret.
“I was on to ya two” he added. “Ya hid her well all those years but I could read ya. Ya taught her our very own secrets and showed her the temples forbidden to outsiders. I kept silent too, thinkin’ ya will not go too far. However when she got caught, I realized the risks she gonna inflict on us Zandalari. Dey will torture her, Atl’mar. She will beg for mercy and she will tell them everything. Then, the Gurubashi Empire will never respect our treaties, dey will conquer the world.”
I pushed his staff out of my way and glared at him.
“Then ya know why we must stop dem! Please, allow me to accompany dem diplomats; maybe we can convince the Gurubashi that this be a misunderstandin’!”
“Diplomats? I did not say that.” Fa’wiri blocked my way again. What he told me then shocked me like the pain of a thousand needles through the heart. “Dey be assassins. We cannot let the Gurubashi know our secrets. I am sorry, Atl’mar my friend. This must be done-“
He shrieked loudly when I threw some blinding reagents into his eyes. Using my spiritual energies I turned my aspect into that of a ghost wolf and dashed away.
“Wait, come back!” he yelled falling down and rubbing his eyes. “If ya go there, we cannot protect ya!”
To this day as I tell this story, I regret being angry with him. I couldn’t see he was trying to keep me from harm.
I knew it was senseless to approach Gurubashi authorities head on. No, I needed allies and I knew who could help me: Xi’pilli’s people, the Shatterspear tribe. If I could reach them in time then we could all run away from the Zandalari assassin, the Twin Empires, from madness itself! It was near dusk when, approaching the village on a raft, I realized I was too late.
In the distance, I saw smoke on the horizon. Bodies floated along the coast among fishing ships set aflame by Gurubashi headhunters. To hide, I changed shape again. As a frog, I passed the guards undetected and entered the village. The soldiers were busy chaining up the survivors, most likely to turn them into slaves to fight in the arenas or be sacrificed to feed the blood thirsty gods the high-priests of Zul’gurub served. Searching for a trace of the elders, I saw Gurubashi hexxers salting the rice farms. They were going to frame the Shatterspear trolls for not maintaining their tribute of rice. Then Gurubashi law would dictate the tribe must be punished for not upkeeping their plantations. In turn, the Zandalari would have to support the Gurubashi. If I could find the body of the Shatterspear chieftain, my powers would allow his spirit to testify in front of the courts, even in death.
After much trouble, I managed to enter the chieftain’s hut. I was greeted by the remains of a massacre. Rows of corpses lingered beside the walls; all had died with weapons in arms though many of them were children and elders. I turned back into Troll form after finding someone I did not expect to be there first: Xi’pilli herself.
She was sitting on the bamboo throne facing the desecrated fire pit. Her beautiful robe was gone. She was wearing armor and holding a Gurubashi spear. Her menacing looks distracted me from the fact that the very chieftain I was trying to save was lying dead on her lap. At first I thought she had escaped captivity and come here to protect her tribe but then, she did something I would never have imagined. Xi’pilli wet her hand with the blood of her chieftain and spread it on her face like war paint: a sign of superiority in a fight to the death among Jungle Trolls. She was the one behind this attack.
My heart stopped when she told me her new name.
“Xi’pilli be dead now. This be da time for Zin’loa to shine!”
“Zin’loa” roughly meant “the killer of Loas,” a blasphemous name mocking the ancestral spirits. A sinister grin appeared on her face as she continued.
“The nobles of Zul’gurub told Zin’loa everthin’. How ya tried to trick her, lyin’ that the Gurubashi be weak and the Zandalari be the strong ones. Also ya said the world be round. Oh no, da world be not round, it be in pieces!
“For too long, the trolls be livin’ divided, always fightin’ each otha. Each always be claimin’ dey be right and can live on their own. Well the priests of Zul’gurub brought Xi’pilli to their big temple in I’lalai and showed her the truth. Da world need a master. Weakness is a disease, to live without da strong means ya be no better than an animal. Trolls cannot be living like wild beasts no more, dey must obey the great master: our Emperor. Xi’pilli could only be weak, so she had to be killed that day and be reborn as Zin’loa!”
I swear by all the loas that watch this world, I tried to persuade her away from her insanity. I begged her to see the Gurubashi were manipulating her for her knowledge, using her to slaughter anyone that would try to save her. But she only laughed as she described the Gurubashi’s plan of world domination.
“Da Gurubashi will enslave the weak and make dem invade the Amani Empire. Then, when dem Forest Trolls be out of spears to throw, Gurubashi warriors will crush them like the roaches dey are. Their capital, Zul’Aman will burn to ashes and then we will conquer the other nations one by one! From the frozen tundra of the north to the deserts of the west, no troll can hide from the one true Empire.”
She pointed at me, her eyes piercing. Her face was still dripping blood. “And when the Zandalari have no more allies, we will come to Zuldazar by the thousands. Zin’loa will be lookin’ for ya.”
I fell on my knees, gasping for air. Xi’pilli was indeed gone and a monster had taken her body. Fa’wiri, my dear friend, was right all along. This “Zin’loa” must be stopped at all costs!
I surreptitiously opened my pouch and took out a ritual knife and a ceremonial doll. By the law of our people, we must separate the spirits of our King’s enemies from their bodies by the greatest power we trolls possess, Voodoo.
Voodoo is a gift given to all beings in this world by the Loas themselves. It gives the power to both heal and destroy, to change the world of the living and to communicate with spirits. If I captured Zin’loa’s spirit into this doll, I could stretch it out like hair from a scalp. The spiritual entity would appear with the color green. Then using my knife, I could sever her bindings to this material world. I have done this many times. It was like cutting grass from the ground, quick and painless. There was no reason for me to stop now.
But as her laughter sounded louder, my tools fell to the ground. I could not do this, my body and mind did not allow it. I loved Xi’pilli too greatly even if her presence would endanger the world.
I only wanted out of this nightmare. I ran, tripping many times on the dead bodies, barely holding on to my staff.
“Ya be weak, Atl’mar! Ya didn’t stop Zin’loa because ya be weak! Soon, there will be no more Trolls but Gurubashi! They gonna burn your library and write the real knowledge instead, the Gurubashi wisdom!” “Oh ancestors, help me!”
The horrible sound of her evil laughter long echoed on in my head, blinding my mind. For the next few months I roamed around the world insane, hiding from civilization till the day Zandalari hunters finally discovered me. Inside the great Ziggurat of my dear capital, Zuldazar I found myself on trial for the crimes I’d committed all that time. The very people I had sworn to protect were now deciding my fate. I tried to speak up for myself but I was too exhausted. My voice was overpowered by the jeering crowd of the noble caste, some of whom were my closest friends, calling for my execution. If only I had let Fa’wiri take care of Zin’loa maybe I could have prevented the Gurubashi’s cruel agenda and gone on serving my King. Now he would judge my fate. I prayed to the Loas that resided in the capital for my friend to come and speak for me. My prayers were somewhat answered.
As if a murder had happened under its eyes, the entire crowd went silent, disbelief showing on all faces. Fa’wiri himself entered the halls and confessed in my stead. He used the best of his cunning to explain that all of this was just as he had planned. I was his pawn. He had raised Xi’pilli in the Zandalari ways to change the world. The knowledge she would share would usher in a new era where borders and conflict would be non-existent. But the Gurubashi foiled his plan for good. He was a great liar, he nearly fooled even me.
Why had we barely talked to each other all these years? Fa’wiri was the one who had shown me the stars on top of the ziggurats, just as I did with Xi’pilli. I recalled his voice telling me the tales behind the stars as I peered into his eyes with a smile. Now, as I looked upon his worried old wrinkled face confronting the elders, I wondered what had gone wrong between us. He always used to tell me it didn’t matter if whatever I’d said or done was immoral to some as long as it came from my heart. I remembered, even when I was wrong before he always did his best to understand me, to reason with me, to help me stand up for myself. But Zin’loa was right, I always tried to be something I could not be. I tried to be something strong, something that could change the world for the better. But the truth came to me: I was weak. Fa’wiri was always the greater one; every troll in the capital talked about him with admiration. He would put his duty before his interests even if it meant leaving his friends behind. And now, like a fool, he would not just destroy his legacy, but lose his life as well. Would the council realize this and forgive him?
“Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” they cried.
Alas! People will always judge a person by his twilight days and never by his lifelong merits. Ignorance and stupidity will destroy us all.
Order was restored and the king announced his verdict. Stripped of my caste, possessions and duty and forbidden to leave the island, I was to be a pariah for the remainder of my days. If Fa’wiri hadn’t spoken, I could have been exiled or executed. For him however, though they recognized his service and the deeds he had performed, he was sentenced to the death of his choosing. I dared not look in his eyes. He chose to be sacrificed at dawn on the altar honoring the ancestral spirits of the city.
Locked in small wooden crates, we waited for the first light of morning. By good fortune we were facing each other. Fa’wiri was the first to break the silence and asked what had happened in the Shatterspear village. I recounted everything that had transpired in that bloodied hall. He reassured me saying there was nothing I could have done and everything was working for a reason. I asked him why he didn’t just let me die.
He looked up at the ceiling.
“I be growing old, Atl’mar. I can feel Bwonsamdi pokin’ at me. I be tired of servin’ dumb people. So I felt I should use what time I have left to protect you.”
Soon after, he abruptly broke down in tears.
“Atl’mar! Oh Atl’mar! I’m scared! I don’t want to go!”
He reached for my cage, sliding his arm through the bars. Never had I seen him so vulnerable. All his life he was just an actor pretending to be a hero. With his mask down, he was nothing but a man, scared of dying like anyone else. Fa’wiri was the love of my life and I was about to lose him for good. By my ancestors! I may have been an old woman but I wept aloud that night. When we finally managed to wrap our fingers around each other’s wrists, I heard him say he loved me. A stream of tears flowed down my cheeks. The Loas must have heard our weeping. They graced us and turned the following hours into an eternity. But not even the entire pantheon had the power to prevent his fate.
Dawn came. My memories are disjointed images torn from the dreadful scene that followed.
I see Fa’wiri lying on the altar, his bound feet hung with weights, his weakly old body unprotected save by a loin cloth and a sacrificial mask. The guards don’t let me turn my head away. The entire city is here, poor and noble, priest and warriors, chanting and cheering as at a celebration. Fa’wiri’s body arches back, exposing his chest. The high priest walks up the steps wearing ceremonial robes and the mask of a Loa, his hands clenching a dagger. Silence falls as he starts chanting. My throat burns. Sobs break from me despite my efforts. The arm arches upward, the dagger shimmers in the morning sun and plunges down. I hear Fa’wiri’s dying grunt through my screams. The throng applauds the sight of the gift to the ancestral spirits: his still beating heart. But the ceremony is not over. As the high priest suspends the heart over the altar, two priests lift his body up in the air and his blood covers the stairs as his body bounces and rolls down to the last step. The world spins around me. I gasp for air. Darkness overcomes me.
I became a vagrant, begging for food in exchange for what little of my power I had left. Seasons came and went. Overcome with numbness, I was unaware that the world was slowly changing. More and more armed trolls walked the streets of Zuldazar while the library collected dust now that fewer and fewer visitors entered it. Times were at their darkest and war was on everyone’s lips. And yet, my only thoughts then were for Xi’pilli. I missed her so dearly. I spent hours kneeling at the altars, lighting candles, hoping for one more glimpse of her.
The Loas answered my prayers.
For millennia tribesmen and leaders have gathered together in Zandalar every 6 years. Tradition dictates that once the ceremony starts with the lighting of the pyre of Zuldazar, all troll fighting must cease while all freely speak their minds. But something was different. When the gates opened to welcome the foreign tribes into Zuldazar, instead of priests and delegates, armies of soldiers and sorcerers mounted the long causeway leading into the city.
Nevertheless, the Zandalaris greeted them warmly as trolls of every shape and color paraded toward the great Ziggurat. It was a sight to be seen.
Tall, muscular green forest troll men and women adorned with beautiful paint and feathers displayed the wild tigers and giant spiders they tamed for war. I recognized some of the Amani warlords leading them. Zal’jin the berserker, the high chieftain of Zul’aman, rode a giant armored bear, proudly shaking the skulls of his eaten enemies. Like all the forest troll warlords, Zal’jin hated peaceful discussions. It worried me to see him hide his violent nature. Something was in the wind.
Behind them followed the very light blue skinned ice trolls, denizens of the frozen north. They were giants: they could easily carry a cartful of Zandalaris. Their huge sharp tusks alone gave the shivers to the children watching. On the shield of a mammoth rider, I recognized the device of Gundrak, home to the Drakkari nation and their lesser vassal tribes. The frozen tundra always shielded the ice trolls from external threats. I was curious to know why they had broken their isolation to come armed to the peace ceremony.
Basking in the adoring roar of the crowd, the Steppe trolls appeared. These handsome horse riders happily waved as confetti rained down from the rooftops. Little was known about them even to us Zandalari. They were never involved in the twin empires scheme. Rarely do these nomadic tribes of the central plain approach cities. And now, here they were, in the very capital.
The Gurubashi jungle trolls closed the march. A horde of raptor riders armed with shield and spear guarded their shadowpriest masters. Their banners represented tribes from the islands of the great sea to the four corners of the dark jungles. Amidst them all, carried by his personal slaves on a bamboo throne was the immortal Emperor Ajaw’gazul. This weak looking old man, his long beard reaching to his feet, still bore an air of regency. Rumors spreads that thanks to dark rituals of his high priests, he was nearly two hundred years old. Whatever his age, I could feel the strength of his voodoo power.
Then at last I saw her: a raptor rider mighty and proud. The Shatterspear banner hung from Xi’pilli’s spear. All that was left of her village marched behind her, no longer the fishermen that greeted me and danced joyfully by their bonfire. They had become hardened warriors, beaten and tortured into unquestioning soldiers of the jungle empire. I called her name at the top of my lungs, but my voice was lost in the tumult. The parade ended and the crowd dispersed. I used my voodoo power to slip into the Ziggurat in the shape of a rat. Keeping to crevices, I followed Xi’pilli to the Throne room. I was about to witness history.
In the overflowing throne room, every balcony, seat and rug was occupied. On the high throne sat King Jakhan in war attire. Staring at the fire in the pit before him, he held his scepter and his feather fan, emblems of his authority. Beside him stood an old hunter and a sorceress. I scurried up a pillar and had a good view when the Speaker of the council pounded her staff to start the ceremony.
“Tradition requires, as long as dis pyre be burnin’, no Trolls will fight each otha! Now be a time for tribes to be talkin’ and addressin’ their demands to the Troll people as a whole. Anyone who wishes to speak must first feed the fire!”
The Speaker called out to one of the guests flanking the king.
“Hydromancer Shi’ratha of Zul’farak, place your timber in the pit and speak!” The sorceress walked down to the pyre holding a stake cut from a mighty desert palm. Her dark golden skin, bright blue eyes and black tusks marked her as a member of the mighty Sandfury tribe, people of the desert. Her elegant dress and diamond bracelets caught everyone’s eyes.
After feeding the flames, she faced the crowd.
“Trolls of da world! I be Shi’ratha of Zul’farak, jewel amidst the sands of Tanaris! I come here in the place of my father, chief of the Sandfury tribe, to brin’ ya dire news.” She opened her pouch and dug out some purple sand. Chanting, she threw it on the fire where magical flames took on the shape of a monstrous humanoid creature screeching in rage.
“Behold the Aqir!” Shi’ratha cried. “Long have we Sandfury trolls warned ya of the trouble they would brin’! And now dey broken every treaty we made with them and march like a swarm of locusts into Troll territory. As we speak, only my father and the Sandfury trolls be holdin’ them back. We must stop dem before dey devour us!” Fear swarmed over the bravest. Trolls were not alone in this world. The fiery specter had brought this home to them. There was a third empire, Azj'Aqir, peopled by other sentient beings. While we trolls built cities and tribes, these creatures built hives and nests in the wilderness. In the shadowy past, very few tribes communicated with the Aqir who always responded with hostility. Long ago, they had threatened the Gurubashi Empire who in response sent out an army of trolls, distant ancestors of the Sandfury tribe of today.
The Speaker, still shocked by the fiery image, addressed the sorceress. “But why didn’t da Sandfury trolls awaken Gahz'rilla, the mighty demi-god livin’ in your sacred pool?”
“Because Gahz'rilla still be wounded from the battle she led against the previous Aqir invasion one thousand years ago. It will take another thousand years for her to be fit to fight.”
“Then what is it ya be askin’ of the trolls in this room? More hunters?”
“No! We cannot just keep dem at bay, we need to invade them. I declare for genocide!”
Everyone stood up. Even I was in disbelief! This was a bold favor to ask, it could very well take every troll in the world to accomplish this! It took all the authority of the speaker to regain silence.
“Enough! No decision will be made until all parties speak their parts! Asha’jin, chief of the Shadowtooth tribe! Ya can now feed the fire and speak!”
She pointed at the other foreign guest. It was indeed Asha’jin the dragonslayer, the old purple skinned hunter from the lands of the great trees. The Dark trolls were viewed as outcasts by the twin empires who often barred them from major troll cities. However, Asha’ji’s legendary exploits had gained him the right to throw petrified branches into the great flame.
“Trolls, hear me! I beg of ya all, do not perform genocide upon the Aqir! Dey be thinkin’ people like us, we can still be friends. Ya all know da story of my father who the Aqir succored when he was lost and wounded. Drakkari! Have ya forgotten already how the Aqir champions won many times in your arenas? Amani! Have ya not traded with these people? Did their gifts not please ya? And Gurubashi! Did ya-“
“Enough!” Emperor Ajaw’gazul interrupted. “We all know ya Shadowtooth hate us Gurubashi. That be why you don’t want to help the Sandfury tribe, our closest allies!” Asha’jin rejected the accusation.
“How dare ya be sayin’ I want to see da Sandfury killed? Azj'Aqir borders my tribe. I too want dem stopped but not erased from da world! If ya got anything to say den throw your own lumber in da fire!”
“Oh let the undyin’ trash speak up!” That insult to the emperor came from High warlord Zal’jin of the Amani tribe. “He has no more power here than any of us. Of course, he can sacrifice his slaves but den he must walk back to Zul’gurub by himself!”
All the forest trolls laughed while the Gurubashi army grew anxious.
“Tell me, Zal’jin” the Gurubashi emperor retorted with a grin. “It be true that da Amani tame all these beasts because they cannot make their own women happy?”
Now the Jungle troll crowd laughed while the Amani army gnashed their teeth. Zal’jin’s eyes turned red with anger. He was summoning his inner berserker strength and lifted a giant mallet.
“Ya dare talk bad to da Amani? Come down your throne and face me like a warrior so I can eat ya remains!”
“With pleasure, mon!”
The speaker’s voice pleading for order was drowned out as the two great empires armed themselves and jeered at each other. The lesser tribes scrambled to hide behind pillars as the violent roar of the Amani warlords dinned in their ears and the Gurubashi priests got their voodoo dolls ready.
Suddenly, the flames turned green and grew to enormous size. King Jakhan stood up from his throne, his eyes glowing green.
“Silence!” His voice echoed in the room and into the minds of all present in the hall. As if an unstoppable force commanded them, every troll bowed down to the floor to honor their host. Satisfied, Jakhan articulated the Aqir threat himself as the green flames shimmered in the room.
“Long ago, a great evil unleashed da Aqir to eat da world. It is said that the Loas created us Trolls to stop dem. Now look at us! We still be children fighting for toys while that evil still exist! My ancestral spirits warned me in a dream one night that da Trolls will kill each otha when the world will burn. Well I say, hear my judgment! Whether or not dey be evil still, it be time to show dem monsters we can no longer be divided. We be the strong ones! Brothers and sisters, it be time for us to fight!”
As hunters and sorcerers, priests and warriors held their spears and staves in the air praising the king and the troll race, I spotted Xi’pilli running away in distress. Following her to the rooftop of the ziggurat, I changeg my shape back and tried to comfort her.
I thought I saw a glimpse of joy when she saw me but her words were “Leave, old woman!” I confronted her. “I know ya feel dis hysteria is outrageous!”
Exasperated, Xi’pilli shook her head.
I sighed and pointed at a spider web beside her. “Do ya see the hungry spider on this web? Why don’t the spider leave its nest? Because that be its home! It can leave it behind for food but then it will get lost and die.”
She laughed at me.
“Well then the spider be dumb! It should leave the web and stop being weak!” “Is it really weak?” I asked.
I poked at the web, breaking it a little. The spider ran around trying to find out what was wrong. Once it realized it wasn’t in danger, it repaired its web and patiently waited back at the center.
“Ya see?” I added. “Every livin’ thin’ in dis world, Aqir, trolls or spider will protect its home and rebuild like dis. The Aqir built their nest, we Trolls disturbed them so they fought back. Then the Trolls fight back when their city is attacked. It will never end. This isn’t your war, Xi’pilli. Go back home and rebuild your village.”
She cried out in anger.
“And den what? Da Gurubashi will kill us! That be why Xi’pilli became Zin’loa! So she can serve her master forever and be safe!”
I closed my eyes and silently shook my head.
Xi’pilli’s voice shook with passion. “No one must betray their master!”
“Ya don’t betray tyrants,” I replied, “ya just stop obeyin’ them.”
In a strangled voice she pleaded “Stop this! Please! Ya startin’ to sound like that Fa’wiri!”
Astonished, I demanded what she meant. And what she told me is the very reason I’m telling this story.
“Fa’wiri been calling Xi’pilli from the ancestral lands. He be troublin’ Zin’loa’s sleep with Images of Xi’pilli’s past. He be relentless and force Zin’loa to see her future.” Humbly I realized that Fa’wiri’s sacrifice had not been for me alone: he was trying to banish Zin’loa and bring the old Xi’pilli back. That was just like him.
The visions of the future terrified Xi’pilli. In excruciating detail, she had seen the coming war with Azj’Aqir extend past our lifetime and into the next one, until the Aqir beseeched an end to it. Xi’pilli even forsaw her own death in a cave in the sands, her body never to be found. After the defeat of the Aqir, new people with strange powers would challenge the trolls. The Shatterspear tribe was always on the front lines under many different masters, an endless cycle over thousands of years. Faces of dead trolls stared at her and she wakened screaming. This very day, in this ziggurat, she had seen the first part of the vision take place. Pulling on my rags, Xi’pilli begged to know what she must do to end this torment.
I held her tightly doing my best to console her. Night fell and we watched the first stars appear.
“Xi’pilli has missed that,” she said. “She wishes Zin’loa never appeared.” When she said these words, I finally found the courage to tell her what I should have long ago.
“Xi’pilli, I am sorry. If I haven’t taken ya up as my disciple, ya could of lived like a normal girl but I took that away from ya.”
She looked up at me with her beautiful eyes.
“No, don’t say that! If ya hadn’t done that, Xi’pilli would never have seen the world like ya do. Then Xi’pilli would never be the same. And that’s why she be happy ya did that, always.”
It is impossible to describe how I felt at that moment when she stopped calling herself Zin’loa. She had forgiven me! I cried like I never had before. I laid my head on her shoulder. “I thank ya, my girl, I thank ya…” I fell asleep in her arms. I never saw her again.
And now my story about Xi’pilli ends. If she faces oblivion dying in the sands or is revered as the rebuilder of her village, I will never know. I feel the Loa of death impatiently shaking my shoulder while his bound-mate is busy lighting up candles to signal my departure. I am ready and I can now say my last words.
To all who hear this, be you young or old, noble or pauper, always remember this: If you find yourself in a situation you cannot comprehend, if you feel like you are hurting your closest friend or if you must face a decision that can change your life forever, abandon your pride and listen to your heart.
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Epilogue
Garrosh Hellscream peered carefully at each picture on the silken tapestry given to him by Vol’jin. It took him a long time to go from the beginning of the tale to the very end, walking around the walls of his throne room where the tapestry hung.
“This story is highly inaccurate.” pointed out an archeological expert sent by Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher, head of the Elven reliquary. While the expert started to list all the inconsistencies in the story, such as the lack of Elven presence and how certain Troll tribes didn’t exist in that era, Garrosh walked back to the images that piqued his interest: a young Xi’pilli and Atl’mar sitting on the roof watching the stars, their confrontation in the Shatterspear village, the trial, Fa’wiri holding Atl’mar’s hand, the parade, the declaration of war and Xi’pilli’s vision.
“It is still an amazing story,” the son of Grom said to the expert. “This story reminds me of Orcish lok'vadnod, traditional songs of glory like the one about my father’s battle against Mannoroth.”
“There is still the matter of these renegade tribes harboring on the Echo isles” proclaimed a Kor’kron guard. “Vol’jin had the audacity to give them refuge in his village. To add to the insult, he demands you call back the Shatterspear tribe you’ve sent to fight the Elves.”
Garrosh looked intently at the iconography representing Atl’mar’s last words. He closed his eyes and put his hand on his chest.
“Call them back,” he ordered. “Send word that they and the refugees may enter the Darkspear villages under Vol’jin’s protection.”
Alone in his chambers, Garrosh stared at a picture of King Jakhan forcing the armies to bow down before him.
“The King of Trolls… today his descendant, King Rastakhan, is also trying to unite the Troll tribe for war. The Horde will stand against him if he ever seeks to destroy us.” He sat back on his throne and waited for news from the front.
Weeks later, the Shatterspear survivors returned from Darkshore to the Echo Islands, tired but joyful to have a home at last. They were welcomed by Vol’jin and his Darkspear tribe like the brothers they were. After a feast in their honor, bonfires were lit, drums were sounded and everyone danced under the moonlight.
And it is said that when the little Troll child who helped make this story happen saw his father for the first time since he was sent away, he gave the greatest smile a child could give.