If you want to actually read the story, skip down to where it says "Chapter One."
This story is based on the drawing "Magic School" by MattFranklin on deviantart. I've been doing a lot of research about Trolls, magics and the histories of the Warcraft universe, but I have never actually played WOW so if I make a mistake somewhere point it out in a review. Thanks to the WOWWiki for just about everything in this story. On the topic of canon, to quote my favorite FF author, "If there is no official Blizzard explanation, I am allowed to make things up," ("Unlikely Heroes: The Harpy Queen Skrch" by SickleYield).
So, on that note, I am assuming that the troll master (currently unnamed) is adept in Shamanism, Voodoo and any associated witch doctor magic that doesn't fall under those categories (I myself am confused by how "Healing Wave" can be considered Voodoo magic), but that he and most other trolls are not familiar with Arcane magic. Trolls are listed under possible users of Arcane magic, but because it was refined and spread by the humans and elves of the East, I am left wondering how any of the Kalimdor trolls could have learned it. So to make it simple, in this story they haven't.
About the growth rate of trolls. I'm going to assume that young trolls are fully mature and ready to "marry," or whatever the appropriate troll term for it is, at around 14 or 15 human years old. I'm basing this on human cultures that the troll race is based off of. The thing is, how fast do trolls mature compared to humans? As stated above, anything that isn't confirmed or denied as truth by Bethesda it is free for interpretation, so I'm going to say trolls grow much faster than humans, based on the fact that they are able to regenerate wounds quickly, and a 9 year old troll is about the equivalent of a 15 year old human teenager.
Another thing, in WOW trolls stand erect and the male and female bodies are considerably different. In this story I'm basing troll stature on Warcraft 3 and its expansion, in which almost every troll's posture is a haphazard crouch. I'm also throwing out the idea that male and female trolls are significantly different (AKA, females trolls don't have 'jugs'), so there are no blue supermodels running around in my story (this isn't Avatar, people). This is because I want to remove the bullshit changes that blizzard made to the females of almost every race to increase sales at the expense of lore.
Also, in the drawing mentioned above the trolls have five digits on each hand, four fingers and a thumb (At least the elder does, you can't really tell with Zufli). Apparently this is contradictory to game lore, trolls are supposed to have two fingers and a thumb, but I think this incident can be tacked up to creative license. Although I feel compelled to point it out and fix it in my story, don't go yelling at MattFranklin for one tiny mistake, it's still a great drawing. Great enough to inspire a downtrodden amateur writer, at least.
Lastly, this is rated M because I got carried away and made some of the fight scenes a bit... terrifying. Sorry about that. This is why you don't send a pregnant woman into battle.
DISCLAIMER: Dear Blizzard, please take your legal team and shove it. I'm not making any money off of this story, so go ahead. Sue me. I have calculated it, this story is worth exactly 1 ambition, 1 hobby and 3 childhood dreams. Now that that is out of the way, on with the show...
Zufli: A Life Of Magic
Chapter One: Born Of Magic
Dokir was a skilled warrior of the Darkspear tribe, so it was not a surprise she held an above average position for her gender. She had only been fighting for a year and a half, but had made her mark fighting valiantly on the Home Islands against the murlocs as the green-skins led the way out to sea. A few of the other trolls were uncomfortable with Dokir's status, but they gave credit where credit was due.
Her father fought in the same battle, but, like the leader Sen'jin, he didn't live to see the trolls find a home in Kalimdor. Her father's father had spent his entire life fighting the murlocs, and had been good enough that he survived to be assigned the duty of training new warriors. This was part of the reason why her father decided to have her trained to be a warrior, giving her his best axe made of lightweight metal only found on the Home Isles. It was Dokir's grandfather that had taught her how to fight, and she even received advanced training from her father. She also knew a few basic spells, but mostly she had survived the battle that her father and grandfather had not because she was exceptionally fast and she had been closer to the boats when the green-skinned Warchief ordered the final retreat.
When the ragged fleet reached Kalimdor she had helped scout the unfamiliar lands for the green-skins. After that she settled with her fellow Darkspear trolls on the Echo Isles. Because of her father's intent to train her as a warrior and her hard work at achieving this, she had previously had little patience for the attempts the male trolls made for her attention. Once her small hut was constructed, she felt lonely. Her father, the reason she ever became a warrior, was gone. Her grandfather, the man that had taught her how to fight with the savagery of a lion, was gone. So she decided to find a mate.
Dokir was also the opposite of homely, at least from a troll's point of view, so combined with her lineage and prowess in combat she was a catch. She wound up finding a skilled Headhunter, the best in the small village. He was tall, though of course his preferred posture was the haphazard crouch of trolls everywhere because it was better for sneaking through a jungle forest, and this detracted from his hight a great deal. His muscles were lean and sleek, not the bulky and bulging muscles that looked abnormal on a race made be lanky. The two of them progressed quickly and after a few months Dokir found that she was pregnant.
She went to a hermit Witch Doctor who lived nearby and had the pregnancy blessed. The aged troll was a fellow Darkspear from the Home Isles, a rarity as few trolls over forty had survived the exodus, but since arriving he had distanced himself from the other tribe members. Some suspected this was because, after their absorption into the Hoard, the trolls had abandoned or at least attempted to tame the former, barbaric practices. The old Witch Doctor, it was thought, was trying to hold on to the old ways. However, although separated as he was from the tribe, he still felt obligated to perform the traditional ceremonies for those who asked. One did not just stop being a Witch Doctor.
Her term was largely uneventful. She only went on short hunting trips for easy prey, and once she started showing she stopped going completely, relying of her mate for food. Being the best Headhunter in the village, she did not have to be worried about going hungry. The solitude while he was out was bearable because he was fast, and therefore could be home quickly. The inactivity was annoying, but after having spent the better part of her life training it was nice to be able to lounge in her hut all day. Sleeping in late, something she did not even comprehend before, was also a luxury she was able to appreciate, unless the occasional bout of mourning sickness woke her.
When she was six months along, about a month before a normal troll pregnancy's due date, disaster struck. Unexpectedly, while her mate was out hunting, humans invaded the Echo Isles.
They came on large ships and overwhelmed the hasty attempt at a counter-attack. Dokir heard the distant explosions and emerged from her hut with a spear in hand. Her hut was situated on the outskirts of the archipelago on the side facing Kalimdor, which meant that the humans were attacking from the other side of the islands and she hoped that meant she was safe for the moment. Just as she was thinking this a small group of humans came into view on the other side of the small island her hut was on. They didn't see her because at the first sign of their approach she had backed into the trees, and she watched as they started to attack the hut that sat across from hers. They were the only two huts on the rather small island, and any trolls that might try to help were fifty feet and a raft ride away, so as the three trolls in the neighboring hut ran out and started defending against the invaders Dokir threw her spear at one of the spell casters. She was close enough, only about fifteen feet away, that she did not have to put much force behind it, which let her charge out just after throwing.
As the male spellcaster's staff fell to the ground the other spellcaster in the group, a female that floated above the ground rather than walking, reflexively turned and threw a ball of energy. Dokir, not expecting such a reaction after a surprise attack, was unprepared and tried to dodge to the side. Normally she would have sucessfully gotten out of the way, but her pregnancy made her slow and the spell was faster than any non-magical projectile. The swirling energy grazed her shoulder and she immediately felt weak. She took a step forward and found that she still had her balance, but when she tried to move it was incredibly slow. Looking up, she saw the floating lady throw something else, it had a different color than the last magical ball, and this one hit her just above the bulge of her womb. She had experienced magical attacks before, occasionally a murloc would get smart enough to cast spells, so she knew that this last hit was a real attack. It wasn't meant to do anything special, just hurt her. The magic would leave a light burn, but the real damage would penetrate deep and not leave any marks. She didn't understand the details, but it would hurt her for about an hour or so and then go away, leaving no trace, inside or out. So that left her with the hope that her child was okay, as long as she survived. Hoping to deter a third spell from the floating lady, she drew a knife underhanded in her direction. It hit the lady blade first in the shoulder, and caused the next spell to go flying harmlessly into the air. Dokir was finally close enough to melee and brought her axe down on the lady's uninjured shoulder. Before she could so much as scream Dokir pulled another knife (she carried more than one) and stabbed her in the eye.
Since the spellcasters were ranged and at the back of the group, the footmen, four still remaining, did not notice Dokir. Of the trolls, one was dead and one was fighting with only a single arm and a short knife, but the third had managed to enter the Berserk state and was doing a large amount of damage to the humans. He charged recklessly into the enemy and brought one down, shrugging off the deep cuts the other humans inflicted, then pounced on a second and brought him to the ground. The one armed troll followed, hitting a footman over the head with the hilt of his knife before jumping back. The disoriented man swung blindly and the troll tried to duck, but the sword caught on his protruding tusk, imbedding itself into the bone. Dokir jumped and cleaved the man's helmet in with her axe, but as she looked at the wounded troll, lying on the ground from the weight of the sword, she saw him loose consciousness from blood loss. The last footman standing skewered the troll berserker, stopping his frantic mauling as he lie on top of the human he had brought down. Then the swordsman looked around, checking to see if there were any more, and saw Dokir just as she pounced. She was still under the affects of the slow spell, so the human had time to raise his rather small shield and her axe sunk through it into his arm, instead of his neck. He pulled away, wrenching the axe from Dokir's hands, and then swung. She jerked back, pulling her last two knives as she did, and started backing up so that it would take a little longer for the man to get to her.
She was not liking the situation. The man was in full armor and had a sword, which could reach much farther than her knives. She could throw one of them, but it would just bounce off the armor. Her only advantage was to let his heavy armor slow him down, and that was counteracted by the spell she was under. Not only that, but she could not let herself get hurt because that would risk the child she was carrying. The man quickly righted himself after his miss so that he would not leave an opening for her to lunge. Then he slowly came forward, knowing he had the advantage. She backed up more, trying to keep distance between them, but she knew eventually she would feel water at her feet. The island was not very big.
Suddenly the swordsman jumped forward and stabbed at her stomach. Knowing she could not let the child be harmed, she sidestepped to the left. Because she was so slow, this alone did not get her far enough away from the sharp metal, so with her right hand she deflected the approaching blade. She felt a sharp pain as the edge slid past the flesh of her hand and arm, but it was better than her stomach. With her left hand she struck at the man's side, sticking him with the knife. She lost grip of her blade as it stuck in the armor, but she knew she needed to get away or he would bring the sword around and kill her. She backed away, raising her right hand to defend herself as she did, only to realize that there was no knife with which to defend. Of her three fingers, her thumb had been cut off when she pushed the sword away and there was a long gash that ran up her arm. Now completely unarmed she started backing away as fast as she could, but the swordsman saw his advantage and struck quickly.
Because of his hasty attack he did not have time to line up a killing stab, so instead of dying on the spot Dokir was just badly cut. The blade sliced partway through her left arm and across her chest, missing her neck by inches, and chipping her collar bone as it went by. Pressing his advantage, he swung the weapon back across her legs, leaving a deep gash on each.
Now in excruciating pain, she fell back, the landing not at all softened by the spell that was still slowing her. Over the bulge of her stomach, the precious cargo that she had to protect, she saw the man stop and pull the knife from his side, then wrench the axe from his shield. He quickly wrapped a bandage tightly around his abdomen and upper arm, keeping an eye on the incapacitated troll before him, and was about to drink a glowing pink potion when suddenly a healing ward materialized right next to Dokir. She felt her wounds beginning to close up, but the loss of blood was already making her feel lightheaded and woozy. The soldier looked around, picking his sword back up as he did, but then he was hit by a spell and turned into a frog. Dokir heard the bottle he had been holding hit the ground. She turned her head and could dimly make out the shape of a troll on a raft coming closer through the fog that was starting to cloud her eyes.
There was a period of black, then she felt a wrinkled hand pull her chin down and pour a strange, fizzy liquid into her mouth. She suddenly could see again and saw the empty bottle of the potion that the warrior had been about to drink. Standing above her she saw the old Witch Doctor that had blessed her child. The precious child, the one that she had to protect.
She didn't hurt anymore, and she could see fine, but she felt her strength slipping away, like water defying the hand that was trying to hold it. From somewhere close by she heard the voice of the hermit saying something, but it only came in brief intervals. "... didn't ya run...not have fought. De potion won't... too much blood... Maybe can save de child..."
She found little meaning in the words, but at the last part her head cleared and she said, "Save de child! Ya have ta... protect de child."
"Dokir... gonna' die! Why... risked de child..."
"No! No, save de child. Promise to... protect de child..."
._._._._._._._._.
The old Witch Doctor looked down on the poor troll's broken body. Her wounds were sealed, the healing ward, healing wave he had cast while she was blacked out, the potion and her natural troll regeneration had seen to that, but she had lost far too much blood. She was very probably going to die. Her body was already attempting to reject the unborn baby, seeing it as a drain on vital resources as her thinning blood brought less and less oxygen to her brain. He knew that if he didn't intervene her body might kill the baby in it's hasty attempt to return to homeostasis. He nimbly picked Dokir up, keeping her body level so as not to harm the child, and brought her over behind a patch of dense woods, out of sight of the fighting that was still going on on the other islands.
A few minutes later Dokir's daughter was born. An hour after that Dokir passed away, after having felt the warmth of her child in her arms.