Jarn'dor sat by a small fire, the Barren's night cool and dark. He looked up and noticed the New Moon, and how all the stars were also gone, covering the plains in total darkness. The druid gently poked at the dancing flames, turning over an unburned log.
A figure moved through the dark night, his steps heavy against the plains grass. The druid grabbed his staff, pointing it at where he last heard the footsteps. The figure moved closer and closer, until two pale, emerald eyes blinked at the troll from the edge of the fire's light.
"Who be dere," inquired Jarn'dor, his voice filled with the determination of a lone traveler. The figure entered the fire's light, covered from head to toe in the black robes of a Death Knight. He pulled down his hood, to reveal the face of a Blood Elf.
"A friend," replied Vyndakian Sunshatter, a smile on his face. Jarn'dor chuckled, setting down his staff and embracing his comrade.
Vyndakian was nearly as tall as an average troll, his long ears making him appear even taller. The Death Knight's midnight black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not a lock of hair hiding his face.
The Death Knight looked like every woman's dream man, a gorgeous face, well muscled body, and a winning smile. Jarn'dor couldn't help but be a little jealous, but he enjoyed the company of his friend, patting him on the back.
"Mon," said the joyous troll, "How ya be doin?" The Death Knight shrugged, indicating his neutrality. Jarn'dor sat down next to the fire, Vyndakian plopping down as well. He pulled out his Runeblade, polishing it.
"So," began the Elf, "Did you get my letter?" The druid nodded. He had received the letter, detailing what had occurred with Zi'bal's vision. Sadly, the parchment had described it in horrific detail, the Chieftain twitching as words came out of his mouth.
Jarn'dor smiled, because the letter had also contained other information, mainly about Vyndakian's life. The Death Knight had never before written so detailed, he usually kept it to the bare minimum. But the Elf had told Jarn'dor how he had taken a liking to a little goblin girl named Ezza, and how he had asked the elf Kisha'rowyn out on a "date."
The druid couldn't possibly fathom why other races kept it so temporary. He supposed it was in case the relationship didn't work out, so they could pretend they never had feelings for each other.
The Death Knight gazed up at the sky, and suddenly, the grim figure spoke.
"Jarn'dor… How did you grow up?" The druid could only chuckle, shuffling a little closer to the fire, rubbing his hands in its warming light.
"Well mon," began the troll, "It started a long time ago… It started, in Strangat'orn Vale…"
My family, mon, were a very honest family. We never broke the law, and never betrayed our Loa, our gods. Forever, were my family protecting the rights and freedoms of the weak and suffering.
I suppose the greatest turning point in my life, was when I was just coming of age, the bones of my first kill draped around my neck. I was proud, and my parents were proud. No matter what happened, we would forever triumph against… Adversity, as your people call it, Vyndakian. Until, one day.
As part of my coming of age, my parents let me do one thing, anything I could possibly wish. I decided to get my tattoo, of the vines climbing up from my left hand to my eye. I was marked as part of the Gurubashi Tribe, and I thought everything was perfect.
Until the Blood Priests came to Zul'Gurub. They preached that the Blood God, Atal'Hakkar, was greater than every Loa combined. I disagreed, for I saw the monster as what it was, a bloodthirsty fiend.
But my parents, so determined to strive for good, fell to Hakkar's sway, and became Blood Priests as well.
I was devastated. I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. So one day, I ripped the necklace of my first kill from my neck, and left it in their hut. I gathered what little equipment I had, and left Zul'Gurub.
I traveled for a long time, learning how to leap through the tree's expertly, as if I were a jungle cat. I kept true to my Loa, Bethekk the Night Huntress, and worshiped her whenever I could.
But when I thought I was safe, I was wrong. Hakkar knew that there was a traitor of the Gurubashi Tribe out there in the world, and he sent my fanatical parent's after me, as a cruel test of their faith. And so, they hunted me like dogs, their fanaticism driving them into beasts.
It was only later, I learned, that Hakkar had imprisoned the entire tribe. Some followed him willingly; others were forced under his sway. My parents fell into the second category, his magic driving them mad.
They hunted me without rest, and I knew they did. They got closer and closer, until one day they caught me in a clearing. Each fired arrows at me from deathly accurate bows, many piercing my skin. When they closed in on me, they drew out their blades, both a shining iron.
I fell to the ground, helpless to fight what were once my parents. I prayed to be saved; I begged the very earth to help me. And it did.
As my father leapt upon me, a mighty root grew from the ground, burying itself in his chest. Heavy fruit fell from the trees, pelting them both and cutting open their skin. I watched with horror, as the blood of my parents covered the ground, dying it a rich red color.
My mother escaped, but my father was not so lucky. The mighty root that had impaled him had pierced him like an Orcish Shish kabob, his heart having been torn asunder upon impact.
I fell to my knees, and wept. I had not wanted my father to die; I had only wanted to be saved. The plants had heeded my call, and I hated them for it. I no longer leapt in the trees, but walked firmly on the ground. I shut out the voices of the plants, and listened to my own heartbeat.
After a time, I met with the Darkspear Tribe, as they were beggining their voyage to Kalimdor. Vol'jin willingly accepted me into his tribe, but the other trolls shunned me. The Gurubashi had committed horrible acts under Hakkar's tyranny, and they punished me for it.
Growing up, I had no friends, no acquaintances. I only had enemies. Sure, there were times where I banded together with a Darkspear or two, but nothing came of it. But I was still a strong person, and I did many great things for the Tribe, earning me many of the women I wished to sleep with.
But that could not drive away the loneliness of who I was, and the guilt I felt for killing my father. Now that I look back on it, that was the greatest turning point in my life; when I killed my father. It was far different from killing an animal. I had watched, as the life drained from his eyes, and all I saw was agonizing pain.
It had only lasted seconds, but they had stretched into eternity for me. I had to return to the Jungle, and perhaps find my mother.
When the Cataclysm struck the world, troll druids flocked in the dozens to the Echo Isles, me included. I learned what my dominion over nature really was, and learned how to control it. With the basics under my belt, I returned to Stranglethorn Vale, and entered Zul'Gurub for the first time in years.
I would never touch the ground of the city, for it had been tainted with the presence of Hakkar. His altar was now the most corrupted spot, for it had tasted his blood. Once, every day, I would watch as a lone figure came to the altar, and tended to the rotting corpse of the Fallen God.
Eventually, I journeyed closer and closer to the altar, until I saw who it was… Tending to the deceased corpse was my mother. After all these years, she had survived. The solitude, and corruption, had driven her mad. She continuously worked to please her god, even though he could no longer walk in our world.
I could not watch, and I left… I have no idea what has happened to her, but I know that anything would be better than the fate that was dealt to that woman.
After returning to Kalimdor, I completed my druidic training, taking four long years to perfect it. I could no longer look at the monstrosity Warchief Hellscream now called Orgrimmar, the earthy city transformed into a metal monolith. To me, it was a perversion of everything that the Horde had been founded on.
I could no longer stand to live in the city, and so I kept to the wilds, returning to civilization only when I required food, or to repair my damaged clothing. In time, I learned about the Bloodraptor Clan, and they took me in. They didn't see me as a Gurubashi, they saw me as a troll.
And so, I began a new chapter in my life.
Vyndakian gazed at Jarn'dor as the troll finished his tale. The druid seemed tired, the full amount of his age weighing on him. This was the first time Vyndakian had realized how old Jarn'dor truly was, the days of his youth slowly slipping away.
The elf gazed into the fire, and thought of his own past. The druid smiled, as if reading his mind.
"Come den," said the Troll, "I be tellin' ya mah story. Yah be tellin' me yours now, mon."
The Death Knight turned a log over in the fire, pulling a bottle of deep red liquid from his pack. He uncorked it, inhaling the scent deeply. Jarn'dor knew what it was, and he knew what Vyndakian was as well.
The Darkfallen Elf sipped back upon the blood, color slowly returning to his skin. Jarn'dor sighed.
"So, ya still be drinkin' blood?" The Elf could only nod.
"It's the only thing that keeps me alive now," he answered, "And I prefer only killing someone when necessary, to answer your next question." The troll chuckled.
"Ya been mellowin' out wit ya freedom, mon," replied the Druid. The Death Knight nodded in response. "Come on, mon," nudged the troll, "Tell me ya life."
Vyndakian gazed into the fire. "Then I suppose, I'll start from the beginning…"
My tale does not include every point of my life. I shall only tell you of the past twenty or so years. For those are the most important, and the most traumatic.
Years ago, I was a Paladin, of a very secretive sect. We carried out the most important missions, and were as tight as real brothers. We fought and died together, until one day.
I had returned home from a failed mission, my brothers were killed defending me. Our leader, the Archpaladin, could only reassure me it wasn't my fault, but his rose-like words hid a poisonous serpent underneath them.
I returned home, to watch as it burned down. "Brothers" of my order had been sent to raze the house, setting it aflame. My wife had her throat slit, her blood drenching the front door. I heard the scream of my daughter, until it was suddenly cut off.
The door collapsed as I charged into the house, looking for my baby girl. I kicked down the door to her room, and watched as my "Brothers" desecrated her corpse, raping her dead form.
In that moment, my fate forever changed, as I used my dominion over the light to utterly destroy the defilers, watching as their bodies burned in righteous fire. I heard another traitor burst out of my family's stable, and I leaped out of the house, drawing my blade.
The bandit, for that was all they were to me now, rode my warhorse. This horse was my life-long friend. It had born me through thick and thin, and this bandit had sparked in me the greatest anger with this crime.
As the thief galloped away on my horse, I let loose one final burst of magic, and watched as my friend was struck.
The horse fell and tumbled, crushing its rider. I ran to my steeds' side, a look of betrayal etched on its face. My pain peaked, for now all of my family was dead. I was too late to save them. But I knew who had given the order.
I charged back to the Temple, throwing aside the guards as a storm might throw leaves. I marched to the Archpaladin, and was caught in his trap. My failure, he said to me, was letting my brethren die to save me. And so, my punishment was to be expelled from the order, and everything of value stripped from me.
They expelled me, and I wandered, my rage taking hold of my every waking thought. I slowly wandered my way across the world, my path unknown even to myself. I trudged to Northrend, and became lost in a gigantic snowstorm.
In that storm, I heard a voice speak to me. I now know it was Ner'Zhul's voice. It promised me everything I wanted, revenge, my family, and power. But in exchange, it would take my soul. I would be left an empty husk, without emotion.
I took this new power, and returned home to the Temple. I faced the Archpaladin, and reduced him to nothing but a skeleton. When I left the Temple, it was unholy ground, the remains of the Temple flung around the landscape like toys.
Before I left the unhallowed land, I returned to the place where my horse had fallen. I used my new power, and brought back the one friend I knew I could have again. My new Deathcharger, who I dubbed Ravage, was as faithful to me as he was in life. The horse whinnied its happiness at seeing me, and I looked at was once my home.
I could not bring back my family; I knew that they were lost to me forever. I mounted my faithful companion, and rode back to the frozen north. I now served my master, Ner'zhul faithfully.
When the time came, I aided Arthas in his rise to power, and watched as he became the Lich King. I spread his rule across Northrend, decimating tribes in the name of the Scourge. My greatest victory was also the lowest I sank as a member of the Scourge.
To defeat one tribe of the Taunka, I ordered my units to take their children, and slay them. Using the dominion I wielded over the dead, I raised the corpses, and sent them to wreak havoc upon what were once their parents.
We decimated that tribe, and the halls of Icecrown Citadel rang with my success. But the tables began to turn on the Scourge, as foes pressed in from every side. In one battle, I marshaled a mighty army of the Scourge, and rode to battle.
I fought the general of the Argent Crusade, and he utterly decimated me. His army marched over mine, and continued to the King's Citadel. But there was still salvation…
I was taken by a group of men, and given eternal life. These men were the Darksworn. They were life drinkers. Some drank blood, others drained it like Warlocks, and now I was required to feast upon the blood of living things just to survive.
The Light had forsaken me; of that much I was sure. I had fallen farther than any Death Knight, and yet I had never died once. What I once revered had turned against me. I had been betrayed by the thing I had based my entire life upon.
Needless to say, Arthas fell, and the world was saved. I found myself without purpose then, and I wandered back here, to the world of the living. You and I met, which I know you remember, and now I'm in your clan…
Jarn'dor nodded, feeling pain for his friend. He had known Vyndakian had experienced a horrible life, but the troll could never have guessed the magnitude of it.
The Death Knight gazed into the flames, his emerald eyes half open. The druid yawned quietly, rubbing his eyes. Vyndakian stood.
"My friend," said the fallen paladin, clapping the troll on the shoulder, "You are tired. I'll leave and let you sleep." Jarn'dor nodded, stifling another yawn. He watched as the Elf waved farewell, pulling up his hood and vanishing back into the starless night.
The troll leaned back against his bag, his eyes drooping closed. He could hear the Death Knight walking away, until his footsteps were no more. Jarn'dor pondered about their pasts for a time, until he truly fell asleep.
Nightmare free for the first time in years.