Some artistic licence was taken with the lore, as it's been years since I've played Warcraft. Don't like, don't read.

The Amani Trolls were….peculiar. They were unlike any creature I'd ever seen in Eversong, all stiff muscle and pale green skin. They were so different from the arcana creations my own people created, or the unnatural, twisted undead that crept along the Dead Scar. They reminded me more of lynxes, lean coils of muscle, but without the lingering, intoxicating stench of corruption. In point of fact, I wondered why the trolls seemed so untouched by any sort of phenomena. Most everything else in this area had been corrupted, experimented on, inverted, or otherwise changed by magic. But not the trolls. They practised their primitive magicks, yes, but their spells and rituals were so pure compared to the taint of everything else in the Woods. What was it about them that allowed them exemption from our overzealous experimentation?

Maybe it was their isolated position, far away from the roads and buildings. I probably would never of known of their little stronghold if I hadn't been specifically looking for it. They may have been able to live out their existence in peace, if not for their insistent raiding. Or maybe we just hadn't been able to capture any for testing. I'd avoided fighting them, but my few skirmishes had been bloody and harrowing. It would take hours of scrubbing to get the red gunk out of my pale robes, I lamented.

I was no rogue, but my small stature meant I'd managed to sneak around for what I needed. Like most beings bigger than myself, they didn't really notice me or register me as a threat, which often bought me enough time to bury my mace in a tattooed skull. Whatever else the trolls were, they were bigger than me, so if any of them got a hit on me, or managed to get a good grip….I shuddered at the thought.

So you can understand my shock and fright, when I heard the throaty tones of a trollish voice calling to me.

'Come closer mon.'

I damn near jumped out of my skin, and whipped my head around for the source. Close to the hill there was a crude bamboo cage between two ruined, mossy pillars, and inside of it was….

But that made no sense. Why would the Amani lock up one of their own?

It was a male troll, in fairly good shape. Barring, of course, the cuts and bruises that littered his rough skin. He was the same general shape as many of the other trolls I had fought, but his muscles were leaner, more like a sprinter than a bodybuilder. He also had different colouration. His skin was baby blue, and his spiked, dirt-caked hair was a vibrant purple, in argument to the Amani's lime green colouration. Was that why he had been beaten and imprisoned? Was there racism among trolls?

I was still staring at him, recoiled backwards cautiously. He must have noticed my fright, because he struggled into a sitting position, and said,

'Don't be 'fraid. Ven'jashi not gonna hurt you.'

His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and speaking in my own tongue to boot. The rest of the Amani had voices like grave scraping on a chalkboard, and bellowed what I assumed were warcries in their guttural language. But this blue one had a soothing cadence, almost like he was coaxing a frenzied mana wyrm. There was also a subtly pained edge to his words.

I crept forwards slowly, expecting some sort of trap or double cross. But I made my way over to the stiff bars without incident. He really was badly hurt, blood steadily oozing from his wounds and pooling on the ground. There seemed to be a black crust around a particularly vicious gash-it wasn't so much deep as it was long, and it looked infected.

My eyes flickered to a large and intimidating Amani troll nearby before I spoke.

'Do you need healing?' I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse. 'What are you doing here?'

His violet hair swayed slightly as he shook his head, and amber eyes winced.

'Listen quickly, pretty elf lady. Us Darkspears be mortal enemies of the Amani just like you. Their boss Zul'Marosh is evil troll. He give me the bad poison and leave me in this cage to die.' My eyes widened.

'Is there anything I can do to help? I'm a healer, I can-'

He cut me off before I could finish.

'I not scared of dyin', mon. I seen death in the eye an' I laugh at her.' His raspy words were urgent. 'I cannot die in peace yet, mon. Not 'til Zul'Marosh be dead too. You find him 'cross the lake in Zeb'Watha. I hold this poison off 'til you bring me his big ugly head, mon. Only then I die peacefully.'

I nodded vigorously.

'O-of course. I was going to fight him anyway, so I-guess I can bring back his head.' I stammered, thrown off balance by his intensity. He was just so different to the men of my kind, unafraid of his own hardship or demise. Sadly, many blood elves were still unable or unwilling to shake off the hubris of our past.

I didn't notice the three fingered hand silently slip through the bars and intertwine with mine. I gasped, flinched, and looked town. Three thick, blue digits contrasted against five slender, pale ones. His claws, or nails, hard to tell the difference, dimpled against my skin ever so slightly. He squeezed my hand firmly before letting go.

'Be brave, pretty elf lady.' He murmured reassuringly, before he slumped backwards and his eyes flickered shut. I knelt there for a few moments longer to ensure his chest was, in fact, still slowly swelling up and down. Then, I stood and set off.

I stumbled along, keeping close to the hills so I wouldn't be attacked. My hands glowed slightly as I healed my wounds, feeling warmth seep along the torn and mangled flesh, and knit it back together. I felt it beneath my skin, soothing burns and abrasions, fading bruises, setting bones. The feeling was euphoric. It wasn't like indulging in an addiction, no matter what anyone tells you. It was like surfacing after being submerged in dark water, and taking those first few glorious gasps of oxygen and light. Mana isn't an addiction. It's a need.

I was still sore from battling the Amani chieftain. I hadn't fought so hard in a long, long time, not since I was a child, fighting for my life against the scourge with my mother screaming in the background. Nowadays it was rare that I found myself in a situation where bloodshed was a necessity, and I was out of practice. I hobbled along with laboured breaths, but eventually he two mossy pillars with the cage came into view as my hobbling decreased to a barely noticeable limp. I sped my pace, hoping against hope that the blue troll wasn't dead.

I fell to my knees in front of his cage, and whispered,

'Hey. Hey! It's me! I'm back.' Bleary amber eyes flickered open. They had a glassy look, and my heart sank a little. Light help me, he really was dying.

'You bring me Zul'Marosh's head, brave elf lady?' His voice was low, sleep addled, and weak. I nodded silently, before placing my pack down and fishing out a disgustingly moist bag. I placed it on the grass and unraveled it, revealing the grisly trophy. I swatted a buzzing fly away, as the troll breathed a sigh of relief.

'Ya, mon. Zul'Marosh had this comin'. He burn down Ven'jashi's village. I kill many Amani before they put me in this cage. I hide something in the sand, my gift for you now.' His voice was approving as I sifted through the spot he gestured to. A wand, akin to a miniature version of trollish totem poles, lay there. It almost hummed with ancient magic, and my fingers traced the intricate carvings reverently.

'Thank you.' I whispered. I had never seen such a thing, so crude, yet so beautiful. His smile reminded me of a sunset over the sunwell. But then his face twisted, and he curled in on himself in sheer agony. Spasms wracked his frame, and his breaths came in short, wet gasps.

'No, please!' I begged. I had never felt such a connection to anyone, not since my parents died, and especially not in such a short stretch of time. This troll, this man, who'd had such faith in me from the start, who took a hefty burden on himself for his village, who-who called me brave. 'Stay with me!"

His hand raised with great effort, like a boulder was strapped to his wrist. It touched my face, tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear, and wiping a droplet of moisture from my cheek. It then stroked my cheek tenderly. Such intimacy in such a simple gesture….

His hand fell.

'Ah... ah, the poison….it spread now, mon. Time to rest….' His eyes flickered shut. His breathing stopped.

So did my heart.