Ragebound Souls - Chapter 3

Redridge Requiem

Greymuck watched the humans mill around by the bridge. For the dozenth time he contemplated how much fun it would be to kill them all. The Gryphon Master would have to be avoided. Other than that Greymuck was pretty sure he could slay every other one of the wretched creatures in a single night. The trick was to get the priests first. Not that it wasn't fun to kill the same human twice or even three times but it made wiping out a town a lot slower. This close to the scum's capital city he doubted he would have time to get them all if any got away to call re-enforcements.

Unfortunately the genocide of Lakeshire could only be a pleasant dream. Greymuck was no bootlicker like Crunuk but he followed those orders he knew were important. The packet for Goretooth obviously was one of those commands that ranked high on the "don't screw around" list. Besides if for some reason Lakeshire was more than he could tackle, he knew he shouldn't stir up a hornet's nest before the druid made it through.

Thinking about the tauren a few leagues behind him dropped Greymuck's spirits again. "Damn de cow.", he growled. Greymuck knew who he was and he was fine with what he had become. Remorseless, merciless; a perfect killer. Yet the druid kept making him feel ashamed somehow. It had to be the bull's overwhelming naive sense of … what. Honor …maybe. Not the orc's bogus honor codes. Those were just tools for obedience and self-gratification. No. The tauren actually cared. He was, of all things, decent. Why they had paired such a child to one like him defied logic. Even accounting for the inanities of the High Command, one did not yoke a sheep and a wolf together. It distracts the wolf.

Greymuck felt his anger building. He should have let Zaebos shred the big ox. If anyone had a reason to torment the men of Azeroth, it was he. No damn tree-hugging, fur-faced, milk-sop was going to make him change. Even as Greymuck seethed, the scarred troll knew he was full of dung. The stupid moose was getting to him. Greymuck turned away from the town. "Damn de cow."

Miles away Tohma had also chosen to rest for a moment. He knew was far more tired than he should be. Despondency was slowing sapping his strength. He had reached the strange transitional region between the dry lands ahead and the warped forests of Duskwood. Here on the cusp of the Redridge Mountains the land was healthy. The grasses were bright and green. A gurgling river sparkled in the setting sunlight. The dispirited tauren drank in the vibrance but still his mind lay wrapped in a cocoon of dull misery. "How could I be tied to such a monster?" he asked himself again. That question had been running over and over through his mind since he had witnessed the troll's brutalization of the human. Tohma understood they were at war with these men and their allies. Battle was one thing. The gruesome torture Greymuck had inflicted was by far something else. Someone more self-absorbed than Tohma might not have gotten past the thought of why they were bound to such a fiend. The tauren on the other hand had seen there was more to Greymuck's story than just his psychopathic rage. So every few minutes a second question tumbling across his mind, one which he knew he could never ask. "What could have made him hate them so?"

Deep within the earth, the great spirit of world felt the young druid's pain. The Earth Mother had drawn him to stop in this place of natural beauty for She knew it would ease his heart, if only a fraction. In time the noble tauren would heal and She wished greatly She could lend speed to that time. To know Greymuck's tale would do much to help Tohma understand. With understanding would come acceptance for his harsh companion. In many ways it was not Her tale to tell but to each broken thing there must come a time to mend. The druid would never be able to do so in time without Her. Slipping into Tohma's meditiations, here is the story She unfolded to Her young disciple.


In the teeming jungles of the Stranglethorn Vale exist the trolls of the Bloodscalp clan. Dwelling among the ruins north of Grom'Gol and west of Lake Nazferiti, they built their homes and lived their lives on the steep terraces of that region. Among them grew the youth who one day would become the hunter Greymuck. Even as a babe, the child then known as Jal'zua was somewhat different from his peers. Like his great-grandfather, Rukyshka, his skin was a dark dusky blue rather than the bright-sky shade of his tribemates. It was said that a number of his other ancestors also had been born with the deeper grey blue flesh. Each of them had become a powerful WitchDoctor. When Jal'zua was a child, the WitchDoctor of the clan was named Nezzliok. He was skilled but did not have the depths of power Rukyshka or any of his legendary forefathers had. He came to see the troll-kit as a threat, one who would someday usurp his place as the spiritual leader of the Bloodscalp trolls. At any opportunity he would ridicule Jal'zua, making him look weak or incompetent. He spread poison tales into the ears of Gan'zulah, the clan chief. His venom turned the other young unblooded trolls against the boy. Even his own parents began to spurn him, eventually evicting him from their hut. Soon Jal'zua was virtually an outsider to his own tribe.

The only exception was Kio'Aiya. She and Jal'zua had been born the same day. Her father was the leader of the clan's headhunters. Early on when Nezzliok first began his plot against the youth, Hari'vaku forbad his daughter to associate with the outcast, but Kio'Aiya had a way about her. Time and again she showed that Jal'zua was not what the WitchDoctor portrayed him as. He was strong and able. He was smarter than any of the unblooded. Hari'vaku finally saw she spoke truly. While he would not cross his tribe's mystic leader directly, he let his hunters know that Jal'zua was not to be treated unfairly. As the headhunters were the most powerful warriors in the tribe, the lesser bands were leery of tormenting the boy too thoroughly. So while Jal'zua was never welcome in any of their homes, at least he was not in danger of being slain by his clanmates.

Before Jal'zua had reached the age of adulthood he left the ruins of Zul'Kunda and stealthfully made his way up the river. For three weeks he avoided the crocolisks and the sharptoothed frenzies of the Vale, the coyotes of Westfall and the wolves of Duskwood until he reached the Elwynn Forest. There he stalked the gnolls that lurked in the southern fridge of the human lands. He watched the shaggy brutes fight with the pale humanoids and learned their strengths and weaknesses. Three days later he stood over his first kill. First he bound his wounds. One of these would be the first of many scars he would one day wear. The gnoll having been much stronger than the troll-kit had landed a punishing blow to Jal'zua upper arm just as the youth drove his knife into the creature's heart. He cut the head of gnoll from its body and wrapped it tightly in an oilskin. Once he was sure no blood traces would leak to attract the southern predators, he returned to the rivers and his people.

He was now a blooded member of the clan and so could join one of the bands and choose a wife. Nezzliok was outraged. No troll made that journey at such a young age and never in the tribe's history had a kit done so alone. Unusually a band of scouts would lead a troop of youths into Westfall or Duskwood to make the kill of a humanoid or undead that would make them an adult. By separating Jal'zua from his parents, who would have forbidden such a foolhardy act, Nezzliok had actually increased the kit's stature rather than diminish it.

So great was Nezzliok ire that he decided once and for all to rid himself of the threat Jal'zua posed. The next day the WitchDoctor summoned the young troll to him. Standing on the edge of the highest terrace he asked to see the blade that earned the boy his trollhood. For so long Jal'zua had hungered for acceptance from the WitchDoctor that he pushed aside the suspicions he felt and drew the dagger for the mystic to see. No sooner had the hunting blade left its scabbard than Nezzliok cried out. "How dare joo challenge me, joo impudent whelp!" The trolls all turned to see Jal'zua banishing a bare blade against the WitchDoctor. Many of them felt that, given the youth's heritage, such a challenge was due someday but all were appalled that a mere child dared to confront Nezzliok at such a foolishly young age. Nezzliok unleashed a torrent of black flames that hurled the boy off the wall. The WitchDoctor leapt down after him, fully expecting to find a charred corpse. To his horror not only was the boy still alive, his mage fire had barely scorched the wretched youth. That blast would have killed a full grown adult. Already the outcast had an instinctive level control over the voodoo magic. Nezzliok attacked relentlessly. He battered the young troll all across the ruin yet he was unable to crush the whelp's heart.

In the end Gan'zulah called WitchDoctor off. Jal'zua was bleeding and in great pain but still the boy managed to stand before the chief. Gan'zulah finally accepted that there was more to the youth that he had ever given credit to. Regardlessly there were only two recourses open to him. Either Jal'zua would have to be put to death or banished. Any other day the choice would have been easy but after seeing Nezzliok unleash his greatest might and still fail to slay the troll Gan'zulah declared Jal'zua exiled. The young troll said nothing. He merely bowed his head and turned to gather the few belongings he had stashed in the hollow he had lived in for the past few years.

As he turned to leave he found himself face to face with Hari'vaku. "Would joo have asked for her?" the headhunter asked.

"Yah Hari'vaku, I would have. But not now. She deserves better dan dis."

"Are joo calling my daughter weak, joo little runt!" the red-haired troll bellowed. "Joo thik any child o' mine could not survive. Even paired to a wretched mongrel as jooself?"

Jal'zua, for the first time in his life, was truly dumbstruck. He knew Aiya was the strongest willed troll he had ever known but was her father really willing to thrust his child into the harsh life of a cast-out. He looked to his only friend as saw in her eyes that she too loved him as much as he always had loved her. Still he had little hope he could stay alive without the protection of his clan. He would rather die than see Aiya come to any harm.

Before he could speak, Hari'vaku whispered to him. "Do not cross karma, boy. Joo two were meant to be." So the young troll masked his features. He turned back to Hari'vaku and spat out, "Fine if she can keep up she can be me wife."

Hari'vaku flattened Jal'zua with one blow but it was only for show. The youth knew had the headhunter wanted to, he could have maimed him with that punch. "Kio. Joo goona go wit dis trash, joo best not let meh see joo face ever again. Go joo two. Joo not welcome in Zul'Kunda no more."

Kio'Aiya's only regret was not being able to hug her father for give her her life with Jal'zua. The two headed north. Jal'zua taught her to avoid the basilisks and crocs. Higher and higher into the mountains they climbed. Time and again the two were turned back from a slope they could not surmount. Living off parrot meat and snake eggs, they kept searching until finally they found a pass. On the high cliffs, woven into the very top of the jungle canopy, Jal'zua and Kio'Aiya built a home.

For the first time in his life the troll belonged somewhere. Aiya was his equal in all things. They learned to hunt together. They wove the rugs that made up the bed they shared and hung on the walls to keep out the chilly mountain air. The hut, anchored in the trees as much as the rocks, was built by them side by side.

This is not to say that neither had strengths the other did not possess. Merely that they meshed their skills so fully that together they were more than a match for the predators that stalked the Westfall plains on the other side of the their mountain. Someday they would be able to tackle the greater beasts that dwelled in the jungle below them, but that day was far off.

Kio'Aiya was a truly gifted in the ways of healing. This was good since at first Jal'zua rarely made a kill without getting himself fairly battered in the process. Her hands sealed his countless wounds and invariably her healings ended in passion. She saw no reason to stop touching her lover once his pains had eased.

Jal'zua on the other hand had a gift for reading his prey. His instincts were uncanny. He could sense when animals or men were close by. He could stalk even the sharp nosed coyotes without alerting them to his presence. In time he fashioned a bow for himself and found he could lure his prey into traps. His favorite trick was to find a near inaccessible perch and draw his opponents to himself with a steady stream of arrows. By the time they were too close for the young troll to use his bow anymore, they were so badly wounded the youth had little trouble finishing them off.

Before long the two outcasts be came three. Mer'Ja was born with her mother's beauty and her father's dusky skinned legacy of power. She was the joy that finally healed the wounds Jal'zua had suffered from his people's rejection. He swore he would never treat her the way his kin had treated him. She would be loved and she would know always that she was wanted.

The brother that joined them shortly after was just as loved though the little monster did everything possible to test that bound. Queekek was sweet and caring child without an iota of common sense. He climbed out into the jungle canopy when he was just two years old. Jal'zua found him dropping leaves and watching the spiral down hundreds of feet to the earth below. The kit was perched on branches so thin his father could not even come within ten yards of babe. His favorite toy finally enticed the toddler back; though not before his mother suffer several near heart attacks. No crib could hold him. No barricade could prevent him from the fire pit or his parent's weapons. No leash could keep him close. The only reason the little fiend lived (beside his parent's inconceivable patience) was that kismet must have truly loved the kit as well. Queekek had the luck of the gods.

And so the four trolls were complete, hidden with each other at the top of the world. Were in not for a single act of kindness, Greymuck would never have existed and Jal'zua would still be the father who loved his family more than all the stars in the night sky.

When Queekek was six years old his father would often take the kit with him when he patrolled the cliff passes that lead down into Westfall. For more than a decade now no-one had figure out the tricks to reaching his sanctuary but once a week the father and son would look for signs that any humans or gnolls had tried. The western most edge of the peaks looked down on a small farm. It was barely more than a garden and small house tucked onto a ledge overlooking the ocean. They had no livestock but they seemed to live well enough. The male worked with metal while the female tended to the garden. Quite often though, the man would travel with his wares leaving the woman alone.

While there was no way to climb up from this point, Jal'zua often spied down on his only neighbors. Mostly for curiosity but in a strange way he had a soft spot for this other pair of loners. Besides he did owe them a small debt. Most of the plants grown in Aiya's little vegetables patch came from seeds swiped from these humans, a few at a time over the years.

That one day the troll knew something was wrong long before he reached the edge. He ran to the precipice to see a pair of gnolls battering at the door of the farmhouse. There was no way to could get a shot at them from his vantage point. He yelled a Queekek to run home and tell his mother before leaping to a ledge below. Two more bounds and he was down. He stayed out of sight of the human and began to shoot. One of the brutes charged him but a gun shot through the window grazed its skull stunning it. In tandem Jal'zua and the woman reduced the gnoll to a bleeding corpse. The second creature had almost sundered the front door. It reached in through the break, trying to fish the bar off its staples. Its efforts yielded only a blast from the woman's gun right to its nose. Jal'zua laughed and began to fill its shaggy back with arrows. So enraged was the creature that by the time it realized the troll was doing far more damage to it that the woman had, it was just about dead.

Jal'zua quickly realized he had best vanish. He dove behind the farm's water tower, nearly skidding right off the edge of the cliff and into the ocean below. A final shot rang out and the gnoll dropped. The woman, who was called Daf'ni by her man, stepped out of the house.

"Hello?" she called. Jal'zua had no idea what it meant. He just hoped he could remain hidden. For a long time the female prowled around but as luck wound have it she never ventured more that a few yards from her home. She looked at his arrows and found the spot where he had jumped down from the cliff. When her eyes turned upward, Jal'zua's heart sank. Eventually she returned inside and the troll sprinted for hills that would hide his departure.

He threw himself over the first rise grateful to be out of sight when he heard the sharp retort. A blast of pain and force slammed into his shoulder knocking him from his feet. He turned and saw the human woman he had just saved looking at him venomously as she reloaded her weapon. Jal'zua did not hesitate. He ran as fast as he could, sweat from the pain pouring off him along with the blood from his wound. He sprinted past an old mine entrance and skirted the edge of the human bandit town. He wanted to cover as much ground as he could before turning towards home. He was tempted to try and make the treacherous climb behind the gnoll encampments but one he worried that the brutes might pick up his blood trail. Also he doubted he could make it with just one arm. So he kept going until after he had passed the tower with its horrid undead patrols. There in the grassy strip by the river he finally began to ascend. Weak from blood loss he made it to the huge tree that marked the boundary between the jungle and the plains and realized he could go no further.

He awoke to find Aiya's warm touch leeching the pain from him. "Don't cho move Love. Joo be in baaad shape." His wife poured strength into his body while she told him of their search for him. "When Quee told me joo had gone jumped off dee cliff I almost dinna believe him. Stoopid joo be, Me Love. So I left him wit his sista an came a lookin' for joo. Got plenty worried when joo was not at any of the passes. Joo would be out here all night if not for Ja. She told me right where to find joo. Her juju be gettin' stronger everyday. When you not such a mess we gonna have to talk about findin' her a teacher."

"Not Nezzliok," He muttered still a bit shaky.

"Oh course not Nezzliok, dolt. But dat means we need to find us a tribe dat will take in a family of Bloodscalp exiles. Dat enough will be a chore. Now let's get joo home." Kio'Aiya helped Jal'zua up the first rough stretch and then merely held his hand in comfort the rest of the way to thier cottage in the clouds.

Over the next several days, the two of them discussed the various tribes their people had become since the Quel'thalas Slaughter. They dismissed the Skullsplitters immediately. For too long had the that tribe been bitter enemies of the BloodScalps. If by some fluke they did not kill the troll family outright, it would mean someday Jal'zua would be called to fight Hari'vaku. He would never put his wife in a possition where she would have to watch her husband and father try to slay each other.

What they knew of the others, the Revantusk, Vilebranch, Frostmane, and Witherbark was not much in most cases. When the elves of Quel'thalas and the Arathi humans had defeated the Zul'Aman army they did not stop with simply driving off the trolls. They butcherd and burned each and every warrior, shattering a nation that spanned the land and scattering its people to become small fueding tribes. Any of these clans could give them refuge but could just as easily torture and slay them for battle mojo. And the list did not end there either. Across the great ocean more tribes were said to dwell as well, such as the Shatterspears and the Darkspears. Thankfully they did not need to consider them. Niether Jal'zua nor Kio'Aiya could imagine a safe way for them to cross the seas.

Jal'zua knew that he would soon have to try and reach the closest of these tribes but not yet. He was not ready to share his wife and children with the world below. These three people were the only things in his whole life that mattered. Not only would reaching any of these other tribes be dangerous, who knew how those distant kin would receive his family.

Slowly Jal'zua and Kio'Aiya began to close up their life on the mountain top. They began to gather stores and discard the accumulation of worn out or outgrown possessions. Jal'zua made all of them new boots while Aiya sewed cloaks and knapsacks. They both figured that before the next full moon they would be ready to leave.

Fate gave them only two more nights. No human or gnoll could have followed Jal'zua's trail but to the dwarven hunter that returned with farmer's husband, it was a simple enough task. He pointed out the hidden route that lead to the troll's peak to a band of the Westfall Militia. The attack came without warning. Jal'zua who was returning from gathering fruit from the jungle only managed to catch the barest glimpse of a black garbed human behind him before a blow knocked him senseless. Before he could recover he had taken a number of deep wounds from the dagger-wielding assassin. It wasn't until he caught sight of his home ablaze that the scale of the battle tipped into his favor. Never before had he felt the berserker rage for which his people were known. It flooded his body with unmatched strength and lent him a savagery the human was ill equipped to deal with. Jal'zua battered the human to the ground before literally ripping his throat out.

As he ran towards his family, he saw a robed man point a metal-shod staff at him. Suddenly he was engulfed in the bitterest of cold. He could not run. He could barely move. Still he dragged himself forward as the ice cut into his flesh.

Helpless to reach his family he watched them be cut down one after another. Queekek died first. His young son leapt out the window brandishing his mothers knife. A heavily mailed warrior cut the kit in half before the child had even reached the ground. Kio'Aiya tried to reach her beautiful boy but another dark clad human materialized behind her and began repeatedly ramming his dagger into her back. Mer'ja was managing to repel the magics of a red robed wizard and his small demonic familiar until another armored man caved her skull in with a two-handed mace. Queekek was obviously dead but both Aiya and Ja could be saved. The humans did not even give them a chance. The knife-wielder deliberately slit his wife's throat. The mailed human continue to crush Mer'Ja body until there was no hope for her.

Meanwhile the mage continued to rip Jal'zua apart with his spells. By the time the cold waned enough for him to run once more, he barely had the strength left to swing his weapon. As it was he did not even get a chance to strike at his foe. He was struck from behind by another spell caster, this time by the robed human's stave rather than her spells. The first mage followed suit, abandoning his enchantments to pummel the troll with his staff. As darkness swamped Jal'zua, the troll experienced a bitter joy. Even though it was in death, at least he would be with his family again soon.

He awoke in chains. He had been bound and thrown into the back of a wagon. His aching body jarred with each bump the cart made. By the time they stopped, Jal'zua could barely breath through the pain. He was pulled from the wagon and dumped into the mud at the feet of a band of Westfall soldiers. Even if he could have concentrated enough to listen, the babble of the humans would have meant nothing to the grieving troll.

"What should we do with this mess, Captain? It was turned in by some of the militia. Seems the vermin were trying to set up a base in the mountains south of Moonbrook."

"I don't know when the next work camp transport is due by so put him to work in the northern fields for now. If another one of the Harvesters goes rogue it can pounce on this wretch instead of one of the farmhands."

"What are we going to call it? It's just pile of blood and muck at this point."

"Hmm. Not a bad idea. Not the blood part obliviously. Makes the troublemaker's bold if you give 'em a name with blood or something like that in it. Muck though I like. Muck. Look at his skin and hair. Call him Greymuck."

"Yes Sir"

"And do it some where else. I'm tired of looking at the cur."

For the next few days Jal'zua barely woke. The humans unbound him and tossed him into a stout shed. Sometime later a healer came by. As soon as Jal'zua felt his wife's gift he sat bolt up-right. Instead of his beautiful lover he saw only a pale skinned cleric laying his hands on him. It took three guards to subdue Jal'zua, preventing him from killing the priest. Needless to say no other clerical magic was offer to the captive. Eventually his trollish regeneration healed his physical wounds. They set him to work in the fields moving stones and turning the earth. Each day Jal'zua would throw himself into these mindless chores hoping to pass-out each night rather than dream of his family's death over and over again. Queekek thrashing with his innards sprawled across the red stained ground, the sound of Mer'Ja's bones snapping over and over, blood gushing from Aiya's mouth. He knew he had gone mad and the only way to end it was to work himself to death. The Jal'zua ceased to be and in his place he became a machine, named with the only word in the human tongue he understood, Greymuck.

His guards still remained wary around the troll but the grudgingly admitted that Greymuck was the best worker they had ever seen. Slowly he began to get rotated to other farms. He cleared the fields for the Saldean's in the spring, built fences for the Furlbrows as the days grew hotter. The battle for the farmlands was endless and chaotic. He'd be repairing a barn wall one week only have it belong to the bandits the next. As winter arrived, Sentinel Hill gained control of the Alexston Farmstead. Greymuck was sent quickly south to clear out the winter stores for transport. The Alliance had never managed to hold this plot of land for long. Greymuck loaded barrel after barrel until he could barley move. Too tired to think and more importantly too exhausted for memories, Greymuck wolfed down his sparse meal and collapsed into sleep.

Deep in the night, he awoke to a presence he knew better than his own face. Closing his eyes again he could feel Mer'Ja glide about him. She did not speak exactly but he could hear her questions about where he had been.

"So sorry baby," he whispered. "I tried to reach you." He felt his daughters touch. She did not blame him but she needed him. Nezzliok call was getting stronger everyday. She had almost lost Queekek to him for a third time yesterday. Greymuck realized his family was not truly gone. He had known but, in the face of his pain, he had not accepted what death means to his people. When a troll dies its spirit distills into a power. Some become aspects of nature like birds or the dawn, others embody concepts such as music or curses. WitchDoctors call and channel the spirits of past trolls to weave their magics. If Nezzliok ever found his family the evil old fiend would torture them mercilessly. For a moment Greymuck fell away and Jal'zua lived once more.

So used to the trolls docility his guards did not even bind the slave any more. Jal'zua turned to follow Mer'Ja's call but something in the troll snapped. Silently he grabbed a shovel and a pick from tools hanging on the wall. He lay the pick down at his feet and stepped over the first of the sleeping guards. With a one blow he drove the shovel through the human's neck. The fountain of blood woke the other man but before he could react Greymuck had swept up the pick and swung. The spike drove straight through the guardsman's forehead. So much hatred powered the strike, the point of the pick was driven several inches into the wooden floor below.

Greymuck ran south and east trying to hold a course that would allow him to reach either one of the passes or the jungle beyond. The closer he came the more he could sense Mer'Ja. He could feel her twine herself into his being but not fully. She still held onto her mother and brother too. Greymuck had the gift and strength to hold his family's spirits but not the skill to call them. He would have to get closer if he was going to save his loved ones. By noon the next day, the troll was staggering. He had not kept care of himself well at all. He was stronger from the frantic work he had performed but his endurance was gone. By dusk he had to stop. A few hours rest revived him enough to push on once more. By late morning he had another worry. He had seen horses coursing across the countryside. Not a single messenger or mounted adventurer passing through either. Over a dozen of the swift beasts we're being used to comb the land. In the jungles this would not have been a problem but here on the open fields Greymuck would be spotted any time now. His only hope was to get out of sight in a land without cover. The troll quickly scanned the terrain. It would do no good to hide himself where the giant buzzards or coyotes would give him away. Not a hundred yards away a dip in the earth showed no signs of any predators lurked nearby. He quickly threw himself into the sink and began to dig his way under the loose soil. Within ten minutes he was covered from head to toe in dirt and grasses. A horse may kill him by stomping on him but its rider would never see him.

When night fell he moved on. He had managed to nap in his covering of earth and so felt far stronger than he had the day before. As he ran through the darkness he could just begin to feel the spirits of his wife and son calling to him. The closer he came to the mountains the stronger their voices became. So intent was he on their presence that he did not hear the sound of hooves striking the ground behind him until they were almost upon him. Greymuck sprinted for the cliffs ahead, swerving at the last possible instance. The charger sped past him almost unhorsing its rider when it hit the steep slope. The human swore and jumped from the creatures back. Even unmounted Greymuck knew he stood little change against this veteran warrior. He was so close. His feet still recalled the routes across these foothills and so the troll was able to stay just ahead of his pursuer. He clawed his way upward until he reached the tree where Aiya had found him almost a year before. Before he could take hold of the outcropping of stone that lead home, the human grasped his ankle. Greymuck was torn off the face of the rise and crashed to the ground. A war-hammer smashed into his shoulder. He blacked out after the second blow but even as it struck the troll was smiling. The human was too late. Even in the darkness of insensibility he felt his family safely entwined within his soul.

Greymuck regained consciousness stapled to the wall of the stone tower of Sentinel Hill. As soon as he opened his eyes he was pelted with stones and refuse. He quickly shut them again to prevent his sight from being damaged. This did nothing to protect the rest of his body. The rotting vegetables weren't so bad. For one who had spent most of his life within the jungle, decaying vegitation was nothing new. The hurled rocks, on the other hand, were agonizing, especially since he could do nothing to anticipate or avoid them. He sneaked a quick peek at his tormentors. The human spanned all ages and genders. Men and women, boys and girls all screamed curses at him while battering him with missiles. When the boys started dashing in to lash at him with sticks, the guardsmen began to push the crowds back. A rope was flung from the top of the tower. Even though he was no real danger to the crowd and guards at that point, the soldiers took no chances. The noose was passed over his head and drawn tight before the manacles where unlocked. By the time Greymuck could have lashed out, he was already being dragged up the wall. The troll smiled even as he suffocated. This hurt much less than Nezzliok fire and after being bound to his family, death held no fear for him.

The townsfolk watched the murder ascend the wall in great disappointment. It did not cry out or flail about. Instead its body scrapped up the wall in stoic repose. At the very end they were rewarded with a few kicks as the body's involuntary reflexes took over but by that point there was very little life left in the monster. Unsatisfied a small number hurled stones but by this point the body was so high few struck and none received a response from the dangling cannibal. Dejected the crowd dispersed. Many would return to watch the body be burned in the morning but they all felt cheated this night.

Deep in the night, the watch lost sight of the corpse to the darkness not that any of them truly cared to stare at the thing all night. When dawn began to lighten the sky they could not believe their eyes. Swinging in the morning breeze hung a frayed and completely empty rope.

Greymuck was never sure if he truly died that night. Just as he never knew in the following years when Kio'Aiya's spirit healed him from a mortal wound. He opened his eyes and felt as though he had taken a deep breath and held it too long. He was dizzy but aware. He grasped the rope above him and lifted himself. The knot was too tight for him to loosen more than a fraction but it was enough for him to wheeze in some fresh air.

One of the reasons no troll would ever bind a humanoids arms in front of their body was that they forget not everyone has tusks. The same holds true in reverse for humans. They fail to see that orcs and trolls are never without a blade as long as they can reach the target with their mouths. Greymuck sheered through the rope above him in one stroke. He quickly found toeholds and loosened the noose enough to breathe easily. He'd discard it fully later. Scampering around and off the wall was a simple matter. Had it not been so overcast he would have worried about being spotted in the moonlight but luckily the night was pitch black. He knew they would look for him to the east and south. North just lay more human lands. His only choice was west and the sea. He made it to the dunes just as the clouds began to break up. Moonlight spilled across the sand, sparkling off scales of the murlocs patrolling the beach. Greymuck skulked up and down the sands keeping as far from them as he could but he could not find any gaps in their ranks. Fighting the fish-folk in the water would be utter stupidity. His only chance was to find a single creature and hope to kill it silently. Grasping a heavy stone he crept forward. Just as he was about to pounce, another murloc came bolting out of the water with a large crab hard on his heels. The fleeing fish-man crashed into his companion, followed by the crab who began to slash at them both with its long pincers. Greymuck shook his head briefly and slunk past unnoticed. As he slipped into the water, he mused how that was exactly the sort of bizarre coincidences his boy had been famous for. Chuckling his thanks to Queekek, he began to swim south.

It wasn't long before exhaustion over took him. He began sink into the water. He tried time and again to keep his head above the waves but ever few minutes he would find himself choking on the sea water. He knew he needed to swim for shore but he was no longer sure which way it was until he saw a light in the distance. He was much further out than he had expected to be. As long as he was careful he should be able to avoid being spotted by humans ahead. The settlement must be up on a cliff because the closer he got to it the farther from the surface of the water the light seemed to climb.

Finally the troll's fingers dung into the earth. He pulled himself from the sea only to find that he was on a small island dominated by a stone lighthouse. He dragged himself out of sight and lay trembling on the shore. Between his escape and journey to his family, the hanging, nearly dieing and the flight through the ocean, he would have thought he could not even stand. Just then a voice spoke from behind his head. "Well what have we here?" it said in a hollow but perfectly understandable tone. Greymuck whirled to his feet almost toppling back into the water. On shaky legs he turned to confront his discoverer. Greymuck was ready to die but was not so sure what to do with death itself. Standing before him was a ghost, a spectral human. "Sit down boy before you fall down. I intend you no harm. I have witnessed too much death in my time. Yours will bring me no joy. My only wish now is for peace."

"How is it joo speak my tongue?"

"I don't actually speak at all. The words of the dead are heard by the soul not the ears. Now before you join me in this state why don't you get that crate over there. It washed ashore the other day. Should have something you could eat in it."

Greymuck pried the top off the wooden box and found it did contain sustenance, bread and cheese. The specter led him to a barrel that had fresh water in it as well.

"So troll. What are you doing in these parts?"

"I be leavin' dem, dat's what."

"Just because I bear your people no malice does not mean I will not loose my patience with your impudence. What cause have I to deserve your ire?."

"Joo have no idea what YOUR kind did to me. Don't care dat joo be dead. Joo still be human."

"I am undead not dead. You would do well to make the distinction. For if you so hate men then you will need the allies that rule in Lordaeron."

"An dees other ghosts? Why would dey help a troll?"

"They have sworn alliance with the Horde and among that host are trolls as well as orcs and tauren. You would do well to seek them out if you truly wish for justice."

"Pah! I care not for justice. I want vengeance."

"How do they differ except one is based in hatred, the other in truth?"

"That is why I want revenge! I will not stop wit dose who killed me family. No even trade, life for life. Dey took everyting from me. I will see dem wiped from this world screaming in torment de whole way. When de last of their kind lies bleedin' at me feet, den I will be happy."

"I once walked the path you now travel. You will find no solace upon it. Turn back now, young troll, and maybe you will not end you days in regret as I do."

"Joo gave me food and drink. Joo offer me safe rest. So joo right. I owe you courtesy. But joo can keep joo advice. Dere once was a boy who might have considered what joo said. He knew nothing. He be dead. Only Greymuck lives now and I will bath in human blood until dere be no more." With that he found an old crate large enough to hide within, curled himself into a ball and slept.

It took many more days to reach the port city of Booty Bay. Once he reached the jungles he lashed together what logs he could drag to the shore. He guided his crude raft southward through the waves. The only danger this far out to sea were the great sharks but by luck none spotted his simple craft. In the dark hours of the night the troll stole aboard one of the ships. As his homeland vanished into the sea Greymuck renewed his vow of vengeance. One day he would be back. One day they would know the pain they had inflicted on his loved ones.

Twenty years had passed since that day and Greymuck's hatred had never cooled. It had matured and flourished. He learned to channel his malice, never letting it lead him into a suicidal frenzy. His death would not bring about the human extinction he so craved. He joined the Horde and gained allies. He became their assassin and saboteur. From them he took their training, honing himself into an ever deadlier weapon. In their desert lands he bound Zaebos to himself finding in the beast a savagery akin to his own. Every day he whispered the spirits who lived inside him..."Someday."


The Earth Mother withdrew from the stunned druid. Finally the healing could begin. She felt the tauren's pain change from an internal ache to the greater hurt of one who knows another's anguish. She was pleased. For the first time in over twenty years She had found one who to might sooth that bright raging soul.