Jarn'dor opened his eyes, and realized he was chained to a great stone altar. He struggled against his bonds, mighty chains pinning him down. He felt his body twitch and grow, turning into that of a bear. His bonds snapped easily under his new strength and Jarn'dor once again became a troll. The druid rose into a sitting position and looked around. He was in the center of Zul'Gurub, and its inhabitants quickly ran to the altar.
Trolls swarmed in from all sides, yelling and screaming at him. Jarn'dor stood up, leaping off the altar. He jumped into the crowd, pushing and shoving, trying to scrabble his way out of the sea of bodies. He ran, his feet propelling him forward, his heart racing.
Jarn'dor quickly outran the crowd, leaping onto the great stone buildings. As the crowd vanished behind him, he dropped from the monoliths to the ground, stopping to rest against a wall. As he caught his breath, the wall suddenly turned into a barricade, spears lining the top. Upon those spears were skulls from the victims of the Zandalari Empire.
"Left him to die…" Jarn'dor looked around, unsure of where the voice had come from. He turned around, one skull's jaw moving. "Left him to die… You left him to die…" One skull took up the chant the chant, and then another, and then another, until every skull in Zul'Gurub was roaring the chant, their voices screaming and rasping.
The young druid clamped his hands over his ears, trying to futilely block out the sounds. The skulls ripped themselves free of their tethers, screaming their chant. "Left him to die! YOU LEFT HIM TO DIE!"
Jarn'dor ran blindly, trying to escape his undead pursuers. He leaped over trees, ran through buildings, and still the words and bones followed him, never ceasing their maddening chant.
He looked ahead, the entrance gate barred shut. Tied to the gate was not a lock, but a body; the body of Nek'tan. His limbs were chained across the gate; as was his torso. The skulls chanted, their cry boring into the troll's brain. Jarn'dor looked up at the corpse, and watched as its eyes opened. Nek'tan looked at Jarn'dor, and roared above every other skull:
"You left me to die!"
Jarn'dor awoke with a scream, clutching his blanket in a death grip. Jaz'renthi sat up, looking down at her mate. "Jarn! Jarn! What's wrong?"
The troll put his heads in his hands, taking deep, panicked breaths. He was visibly shaking, his eyes wild and unfocused. The dream had been reoccurring over the last few nights, getting worse and worse with every reincarnation. Nek'tan's body chained to the gate had not changed though, that part remained as chilling as ever.
Jaz'renthi hugged him tight, her flesh warm against his. "Jarn… Was it da dream?" Jarn'dor could only nod, still too overtaken with terror. Jaz'renthi sighed. "Ya need ta get dis looked at… Maybe da Witch Docta's be-"
Jarn'dor suddenly stood, pulling out of her grip. "No… I just need ta tink for a while..." The troll hastily pulled on his clothes; leaving the hut he and Jaz'renthi had slept in for the last few nights, consecrating their love within it. The small hut was on an isle separate from the Echo Isles, but Jarn'dor walked to the main island anyway, the sun still many hours away from rising.
The druid sat down upon the shore of the main isle, crossing his legs. He began to breathe deep, entering a meditative state. He tried to go through the events of the last week, allotting everything that had happened once he had returned from Zul'Gurub. The first memory that came to his mind was the marking…
Jarn'dor was barely conscious, standing near the pool in Sen'Jin Village. He had returned from Stranglethorn Vale just a few hours ago, running to the village when he heard there would be a marking. Slowly, but surely, the Bloodraptor Clan filled up the small village, Zi'bal arriving last.
The druid nearly leaped upon the Chieftain, pulling him aside as the New Bloods began to line up, directed by another troll. Zi'bal scowled at the druid. "Watcha want? I be on a schedule, mon."
Jarn'dor knew he must've looked exhausted, and wild, but he pressed on. "Mon, dis be important. Dis could be changin' everytin'." He quietly whispered a condensed version of what he would later tell the others, and Zi'bal's eyes grew in terror. The Chieftan pushed the druid away, reorganizing his face into a calmer appearance. "We be talkin' about dis lata. Dere be notin' we can do about it. Not when da whole clan is hea."
Jarn'dor scowled, but nodded. "A'right. But I-" Zi'bal was already walking away, preparing to mark the New Bloods. Jarn'dor pushed his way through the crowd, surprised by the amount of Clan members who had attended. He spied Jaz'renthi, quickly slipping through the crowd toward her.
She smiled, quietly taking his hand in hers. "Welcome home… What's wrong?" Jarn'dor watched Zi'bal begin to mark the new clan members. "Da visions were true…" Jaz'renthi blinked in shock. "Dat…Oh no…"
Zi'bal finished marking the new trolls, the clan cheering. "Welcome to da Clan, Bloodrapta Warriahs," began the great troll, "Tanks ta ya, we be bolsterin' our numbas!" The crowd cheered. But Zi'bal looked at the pool, becoming quite sullen. "We be goin' ta need dem…" The Troll's cheers died out, all of them suddenly becoming very confused by their chieftain's sudden change in disposition.
"Screw what Zi'bal wants." muttered Jarn'dor, "Dey deserve to know," He pushed through the crowd, trying to get out front to Zi'bal. Jaz'renthi reached for him, but not before he had made it through the sea of bodies. He walked to the far side of the pool, where everyone could see him.
The Bloodraptor's instantly locked onto Jarn'dor, and he began to speak. "Brudda's and Sista's," he began, "I bring bad news from da Vale… From our home." The trolls instantly began to murmer, falling silent after what seemed like an eternity. "We all know dat our kind be facin' dark times in da future… Our past nearly as dark. Da Gurubashi, givin' dere lives for evil… Da Amani, bein betrayed by da Loa, by da gods. And da Nordern' Trolls? Dey all be dyin'; taken by da Undead Scourge."
The trolls grumbled again, discussing amongst themselves. Jarn'dor continued once they became silent. "In Stranglethorn Vale, da Zandalari be stirrin' da pot; dey seek ta make one Empia' again. But dey be usin' powa… Powa dat involves da Blood God, Atal'Hakkar." Every troll in the crowd seemed to visibly flinch from the name, Jarn'dor pressed on. "Da only powaful tribe dat ain't be allyin' with da Zandalari be Vol'jin and his Darkspea trolls… Da question now be, what we be doin. If we allyin' wit Vol'jin and his Horde, or we join da Zandalar, and Atal'Hakkar. Eida way, our future gonna be worse den our past… For war be broodin' wit'in our own race."
The crowd immediately began to talk, and Zi'bal stood, walking away. Jaz'renthi had a hand over her mouth. One troll moved forward, a shaman from the looks of him.
"Could dis be driven' by de elements, Jarn'dor?" asked the Shaman, worry creasing his brows.
The druid shook his head. "No mon, dis be our races final desperate gambit ta survive…"
Jarn'dor shook his head, ridding himself from the memory. He looked up to the stars, wondering what had driven him to chase after Zi'bal…
Jarn'dor approached the shore, leaving the other trolls to discuss this new plight amongst themselves. Zi'bal stared out to sea, wrapped in his thoughts. He twitched his ears at the other troll's approach. "Jarn'dor… Tings be getting' bad." The druid nodded in response.
"Ya mon… But what we be doin'? We be allyin' with da Horde, or wit da Zandalar?" Zi'bal sighed sadly. "Da jungles be our home…"
Jarn'dor stepped up beside him. "Da Horde have given us a home, mon."
Zi'bal turned to him, fury on his face. "Dey canna be trusted! Especially dat new Warchief. Dat fool will be da death of dem."
The druid scowled. "Zi'bal, dey be da closest ting we have ta a home."
The chieftain nodded. "Ya…On da oda hand, da Zandalari be workin' wit dark voodoo…Dat could destroy dem." Jarn'dor nodded, looking out to the stars. The druid wished he could divine them as Jaz'renthi so easily could. But his powers were bound to the earth.
He took a deep breath. "Zi'bal, look at it dis way. If da Zandalari begin a war, den da Alliance and da Horde will be fightin' against dem. Togeda'. Dem trolls and dere allies won't be able ta beat dem."
Zi'bal nodded, closing his eyes in thought. Jarn'dor sighed, crossing his arms. "Mon… No matta what ya decision be, ya people be behind ya; everyone one o' us."
The chieftan looked at his companion, and touched the skull dangling around his neck. He pointed the gnarled bone at the sky, and bolt of dark lighting flew from its eye sockets, the unnatural force forming a raptor skull in the sky; the Clan's symbol.
Zi'bal looked at Jarn'dor. "We ally wit da Horde for now," spoke the Chieftain, "Until dis be over, den we be goin our separate ways. For good, mon." Zi'bal walked away, grumbling.
Jarn'dor looked at the sky, watching as the skull vanished …
Jarn'dor opened his eyes, done with his meditation. The sun began to rise above the horizon, bathing the beach and the jungle with its light. He took a deep breath, welcoming the day. He turned as Jaz'renthi walked behind him, looping her arms around his chest.
The druid closed his eyes, remembering when he had nearly lost her on this shore…
The couple sat down on the shore, laughing and giggling. Jarn'dor set down a sack, pulling out some exotic food. Jaz'renthi reached for a Skin of Mulgore Firewater, trying the strange alcohol. As she swigged back the skin, she coughed and gagged, earning her a snicker from Jarn'dor.
"What be so funny," she questioned her friend, unable to stop herself from blushing. Jarn'dor could only smile, managing to imitate the face she had made. He slammed his eyes shut and puckered his lips, scrunching up his face. Jaz'renthi dumped the skin of booze on him in response.
Jarn'dor growled playfully, picking her up in his arms. "Tell me, how ya feel about getting' wet in ya clothes?" Jaz'renthi quirked an eyebrow, and before she could respond, the other troll picked her up, and jumped into the sea, taking them both under the water.
They quickly emerged laughing and splashing each other. Jarn'dor dove below the water, surfacing behind her and splashing her hair. Jaz'renthi snickered and did the same tactic, except when she surfaced, she looped her arms around his body, placing both of her hands on his chest.
With a grin, Jarn'dor hauled her over his shoulder, flipping her so they were chest to chest. He pulled them both under, locking lips passionately with Jaz'renthi. They stayed together for what seemed like an eternity, before she attempted to whisper something into Jarn'dor's ear, the words lost in the water.
Their heads broke the surface, taking deep breaths. Jarn'dor looked at Jaz'renthi curiously. "Watcha say?" She merely shook her head in response, refusing to tell him.
Jarn'dor grinned impishly, tickling her sensitive ribs. She managed to hold back her laughter for a time, but she soon burst into laughter thrashing in the water.
"Stop it mon," she cried, "I ain gonna tell ya!" Jarn'dor chuckled, continuing his underhanded assault.
"Come on," he said, "Ya know ya want ta tell me… Come on." Jaz'renthi squealed, nodding, too out of breath to speak. Jarn'dor stopped, holding Jaz'renthi so she wouldn't sink.
"Jarn, I love ya…" And with those words, Jarn'dor froze. He had never had anyone say that to him before, not even his parents. Sure, he had been with women before Jaz'renthi, but he had never gotten that serious. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to respond.
His mate blushed, pushing away from Jarn'dor. She dove under the water, clearly embarrassed. Jarn'dor looked around.
"Jaz? Jaz'renthi?" 'Oh no,' he thought, 'I lost her…' He looked around, panicked, and spied her below the water. He let out a sigh of relief, until he saw why she hadn't resurfaced.
Jaz'renthi had her foot pinned in between two jagged rocks, trapped beneath the water. Blood was trickling from her ankle, and it was clear she was passing out, her panicked flailing quickly weakening.
Jarn'dor took in a deep breath, and dove under the water. As soon as he got to Jaz'renthi, he opened her mouth, locking lips and pushing every ounce of air in his lungs into hers, giving her as much air as he had left.
She slowly became alert, as the other troll started to grab the rocks pinning her ankle, forcing them apart. As one rock flew from the sandy bottom, Jarn'dor used the last of his strength to heal her, the cuts quickly closing up. They turned to scars, and then faint white lines, until even those were gone. He soon became lightheaded, quickly blacking out from the lack of air. Jaz'renthi grabbed him, and managed to haul him to the surface.
The two trolls came up spluttering for air, and clinging to each other. Jaz'renthi buried her face in her man's chest, sobbing. Jarn'dor stroked her back, murmuring words of comfort.
"Jarn," she sobbed, "I be so sorry… If I hadn't had dove…" Jarn shook his head, simply stroking her back. After she had calmed down, he kicked towards shore, pulling them both up out of the water.
"Ya be so lucky I love ya," he joked, smiling. Jaz'renthi looked into his eyes.
"Ya mean it?" she inquired, "I thought when I asked ya… Ya might leave…" She buried her face in Jarn'dor's chest again, afraid to look at his face.
"I'd neva leave ya…" he swore, "Neva." Jaz'renthi turned her head up to smile at him, wiping her tears away. She snuggled up to her mate, closing her eyes.
After a while, Jarn'dor spoke. "Ya know, dere is one good ting dat come out of dis." Jaz'renthi looked at him, unimpressed. "Dere's sometin' good out of me almost dyin'?"
Jarn'dor nodded, and with a smile, said: "Ya can tell all ya friends ya took mah breath away…"
Jaz'renthi sat down beside him on the beach, snuggling up to him. "What ya be tinkin' about, Jarn?"
The druid sighed. "Many tings… Even about ya brotha, Zi'bal…" Jaz'renthi looked up at him. "Ya still dwellin' on what ya did? Turnin' down dat promotion?"
Jarn'dor shook his head, thinking back on it…
Jarn'dor watched as Zi'bal marked the New Bloods, all of which Jarn'dor had recruited for the Clan. Some were old friends, others were trolls just coming out of adolescence, but all were eager to serve the clan. One by one, they received the markings of a Bloodraptor Warrior, each of their faces filling with pride.
They were dismissed once all of them had been marked, returning to their training. Zi'bal pulled something out of his pack, pressing it into Jarn'dor's hands. "Ya be bringin' da Clan powa, Jarn'dor… Ya have a choice ta make." The druid looked into his hands, and saw a blood red bandana.
"Ya have two pat's," continued Zi'bal, "Da Talon Seeka, or da Shadow Hunta. Da Talon Seeka seeks ta use words over weapons to bring peace. Da Shadow Hunta uses weapons before words, and become great leaders in our Clan." Zi'bal mounted his War-Raptor, the great beast screeching.
"Tonight," he spoke, "you will be marked in front of da clan… Choose what path ya continue ya life on…" With a yelp, the raptor bore its master away, leaving Jarn'dor alone with his thoughts.
Once the sun had set, the tribe gathered on the beaches of Sen'Jin Village, torches burning brightly in the night. Zi'bal stood in the center of the torches, rolling his shoulders. The Bloodraptor Clan stood around the Chieftain, watching with baited breath, all except one.
In the Chieftain's arms was his Blood Mistress, Tezeek. Her blood red hair was tied back in a single pony tail, keeping her face free from stray locks of hair. Her face seemed cruel, a permanent scowl etched upon it. Short tusks stuck out from her mouth, slightly longer than most troll women preferred to keep theirs.
Zi'bal spoke, and everyone became silent. "Jarn'dor Gurubashi, step forward." The druid stepped out of the crowd, the bandanna tied around his wrist. Zi'bal smiled at his comrade. "Tell me, friend. What path have ya chosen?"
Jarn'dor untied the bandanna, holding it in his hand. "Da ting is, I canna choose." Tezeek's face filled with anger.
"Canna choose?" she shrieked, "Wutcha mean ya canna choose!" Jarn'dor looked at the Blood Mistress, his words coming from his heart.
"Blood Mistress, I canna choose, because dat goes against what I am. I be a druid, before da clan, and before my family. We druids are meant to bring balance to da world. Where fire burns, da druids heal da ravaged land. Where enemies batter down our homes, we druids fight back and rebuild dem. We be meant for war, and peace. I do everytin' and notin' in da roles of da Talon Seeka, and da Shadow Hunta."
The Clan began to whisper and murmur, shocked that anyone would have the gall to turn away a promotion. "Zi'bal," continued the druid, "I canna chose, because I must always do both. And when I am needed to do one ting, I may not be able to do it, for it may unbalance da situation. I am sorry, mon. But I can't accept this."
Zi'bal stared at Jarn'dor, clearly hurt and disappointed. The crowd stood, shocked most of trolls murmuring. Tezeek broke away from her lovers arm, ripping the bandanna out of Jarn'dor's hands.
"Den ya don't be deservin' dis," she seethed, a look of disgust adorning her face. She walked back to the Bloodraptor Chieftan, tucking the bandanna away in his pocket.
The clan looked at the chieftan, unsure of what to do. Jarn'dor merely turned and walked back into the crowd, Jaz'renthi looking as shocked as the rest of them. Zi'bal finally regained his composure, but the look of hurt never left his face for the rest of the night…
Jarn'dor looked out to the ocean, his mind drifting on all of the memories. Jaz'renthi squeezed his hand.
"Ya need ta go get help wit ya dreams," she began, "Ya be lookin' worse all da time… And ya screams get worse as well…" Jarn'dor nodded. He sighed sadly, looking down at the sandy beach.
"I see him every night now," he said, "Nek'tan… I didn't even remember him until I was on da zeppelin home… I need to know if he made it out alive…"
Jaz'renthi scowled. "You are not goin' back," she spoke, "It's a death wish ta walk inta dat city." Her mate nodded, deep in thought. He started to smile, an idea forming in his mind.
"I won' be goin back to Zul'Gurub," he began, "But I tink I'll be goin' ta somewhere else just as dangerous."