The Dream shimmered around Jarn'dor, as he tried for the umpteenth time to pierce its multiple levels. He sighed, his strength waning with another failure, as the Emerald Dream came into crisp, clear focus, jungle trees taking shape around the druid.
He had spent weeks trying to move through the levels of the Emerald Dream, as he had with his Loa, Bethekk, the last time he was within the primordial vision. So far, the Troll Druid had met with no success.
Jarn'dor rose, clearing his head. In here, discipline was what mattered. Even thinking a thought other than his goal could leave him trapped forever. Jarn'dor began to walk around the old Stranglethorn Vale, quietly pondering his position. He knew now that he wouldn't be able to move between the alternate levels unless he was stronger.
The troll sighed in defeat, knowing it was time for him to leave the Emerald Dream, and return to Azeroth to become more powerful. As the thought of his friends and his home crossed his mind, he felt a jerk just behind his chest, and he was pulled forward.
A surprised Jarn'dor flew across the landscape, the earth blurring in his vision. In a short time, he was dumped unceremoniously on the plains, face down in some grass. The druid pushed himself up from the earth, spitting out a clump of dirt.
Jarn'dor stood upright, looking around. He wasn't sure where he was but there was a river beside him, flowing at a gentle pace. The Dream wavered, and Jarn'dor looked in shock as time sped forward, leaping ahead by thousands of years.
In what seemed so short a time, a tent appeared next to him, and time stopped moving forward. The troll blinked once or twice, and instantly recognized the landscape.
Jarn'dor was at Zi'bal's hut!
A quiet humming drew his focus back, as a sensual figure walked along a nearby path, picking herbs from the roadside, the flowers reflecting the light of the moon above. The druid smiled as he watched his mate, Jaz'renthi, walk down the path. He ran to embrace her, but his form slipped through hers, as if he wasn't there.
The ethereal troll sighed. Of course, this was the past… There was no way Jarn'dor could interact with it, even if the Emerald Dream would let him. He chose to simply watch the beautiful troll continue her gathering, just glad to see some form of Jaz'renthi for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
The female troll suddenly rose, her herbs forgotten. She leaped into a nearby bush, and Jarn'dor turned and watched as two Ice Trolls trundled down the path, both wearing masks and leather armour. They murmured in the Drakkari Tribe's dialect, one pointing at the tent.
Jarn'dor watched as one troll ducked into Zi'bal's tent, the other standing guard just outside. The guard troll sniffed the air, his muscled form tense. Jaz'renthi watched from her spot in the bushes her own body tensing like a spring. Jarn'dor looked between the two, wondering why two Drakkari Trolls were in Kalimdor.
The Ice Troll ducked out from the tent, something clutched in its hand. The guard troll patted his comrade on the back as he tucked the object away in his pack. They began to walk down the path, right next to Jaz'renthi's bush.
Before Jarn'dor could yell in protest, his mate leaped from the bushes, tackling one of the trolls to the ground. Despite her best efforts, the other troll ripped Jaz'renthi from his comrade.
"Well well," spoke the Thief, "Look like we be getting' us a little spy, eh bruddah?" The Guard growled, Jaz'renthi having broken his nose.
"Da bitch!" He roared, punching the struggling Jaz'renthi in the gut, watching with a grim sort of glee as she coughed, blood pooling in her mouth.
The Thief chuckled. "Easy bruddah… I be sure dat da High Priest wanna talk ta ha." The Guard could only nod, grinning at the female troll.
"Why don' we be havin' a little fun wit dis gurl first mon," said the Guard with malice, "I like mah women ta be a little fighty. Before dey learn dere place dat is."
The Thief spit as his comrades feet. "Ya be a disgustin' pervert, mon. Come on, let's deliva dis to Zul'Gurub." The two trolls walked away as Jarn'dor screamed his rage, trying to get them to look at him, to do anything.
The scene suddenly shifted, as Jarn'dor was thrown onto a dusty, red earth. The druid pushed himself up, and looked about the Durotar landscape. Judging by the position of the moon, it must have been a few nights later.
A figure rode his horse along the path, pulling it to a stop. The rider rolled his shoulders, his Saronite armor heavy on him, even with his amazing strength. Vyndakian Sunshatter patted his Deathcharger, Ravage, admiring the stars. Even the Death Knight had to appreciate this beautiful night, and Jarn'dor could only agree.
Vyndakian turned as a raptor-like screech ripped through the night, watching as a figure approached, mounted on a flame colored raptor. The troll bared his teeth, holding onto his mount's reigns with a death grip.
Zi'bal looked outright furious, and it was clear that he had murder on his mind..
"Thief," roared the chieftain, "Where have you taken my heart!" The Death Knight raised a brow, turning his Deathcharger to face Zi'bal.
"For once," replied the elf coolly, "I have no fucking idea what's coming out of your mouth Zi'bal." The troll screeched again, pulling out a wicked blade.
"Don't lie to me, scum!" screeched Zi'bal, pointing the deadly sword at the Death Knight. "I know you have the Heart!"
Vyndakian scowled, his patience seeming to have already run thin. "Zi'bal, for the last time, I have no idea what you're talking about!" The Elf turned his Deathcharger on Zi'bal, trotting away.
Jarn'dor watched in terror as Zi'bal let out a screech, propelling his raptor forward, and swinging the wicked sword down into the flesh of Vyndakian's horse. Ravage screamed, nearly pitching it's rider from its back.
The Death Knight held on for dear life, as Zi'bal turned his mount a short distance away, preparing to charge again. Vyndakian snarled, drawing his mighty Runeblade. Zi'bal grinned and charged again, unleashing a ball of felfire at the last moment.
Vyndakian fell from his mount as it tumbled to the earth, thrashing in agony. "Ravage!" cried the Death Knight, running to his friend as Zi'bal turned his mount. The Elf could only watch as his warhorse stopped kicking and struggling, dying in absolute, unbearable agony. Vyndakian clenched his fists. "Zi…..BAL!" The cry turned into a banshee-like wail, the fallen paladin's eyes becoming an ice cold blue.
Zi'bal charged again, and Vyndakian spun, lopping the legs off of the flame-colored raptor. The chieftain tumbled to the earth as raptor blood covered the combatants, the beast's cry almost as horrible as Ravage's had been.
Vyndakian walked forward, as the ground under his feet died, turning into blighted earth. He roared, clashing blades with Zi'bal. It was clear that the chieftain was strong, but the Death Knight's revenge would not be denied, his anger easily overpowering the taller troll.
Zi'bal tumbled away, coming away with a wound across his arm. Vyndakian's armour was dented in multiple places, but the killing machine took no notice, the very air chilling with his cold rage.
Jarn'dor was whisked away again, and landed in Zul'Gurub. He looked up to the Altar of Hakkar, as two Gurubashi trolls dragged a body onto the monolithic surface. The ethereal druid could not see the man's face, but the trolls lashed him to two of the mighty structure's pillars, tying his arms and revealing his chest.
One of the jungle trolls carried a whip, and with a mighty crack, he struck the man. He let out a yelp of pain, but that was quickly cut off by another as the troll flayed him again and again, ripping open his flesh. The man's blood flowed onto the mighty altar, staining the ancient stones blood red.
Jarn'dor watched as a shadow grew behind them all, taking the form of Hakkar.
"Your time comes," whispered the Soulflayer, "And you will bring all of my glorious power into Azeroth!"
Jarn'dor awoke from his slumber with a start, never having been ejected from the Dream before. He was surprised and intrigued, but the visions he had… They were the most horrific of all.
The druid attempted to stretch, until he realized he was buried underground.
The troll growled. He had, of course, dug himself his own Barrow, covering it so he would not have the danger of being eaten or attacked by the local wildlife. However, he had forgotten the implications.
He began to claw his way to the surface, nearly punching through the dirt. Jarn'dor was physically weak, nearly a husk from his extended time in the Emerald Dream. But what he had seen drove him forward. He had to save Jaz'renthi. Had to.
Jarn'dor broke ground face first, taking a breath of the clean, luscious air, as if it were his first in eons. With a great effort, he clawed his way out of his Barrow, covered in dirt. He panted heavily, breaking out into a sweat from the exertion of digging himself out.
He reached inside of his pack, drawing out a piece of dry beef. The druid greedily ate it, already feeling strength returning to his limbs. He dove back into his pack, and before long, his rations were gone. After a short time, Jarn'dor stood, looking around.
The troll had dug his Barrow in Stranglethorn Vale, feeling most at peace amongst the jungle trees. But Jarn'dor had dug it as far away from Zul'Gurub as possible, and now he loathed the idea of walking there with so little time.
Jarn'dor hoisted himself to his feet, and tightened his belt. He tried to dust as much of the dirt off his leather armor as he could, but to no avail. The druid began to trudge through the jungle, grumbling all the while.
Jarn'dor looked up to the stars, watching as the moon slowly rose to its apex. He had sat down a few hours before, lighting a campfire to warm his chilled skin. Jarn'dor leaned back, unwilling to sleep, but knowing he was too weak to do otherwise.
A stirring in the bushes raised Jarn'dor from his dozing, and he immediately reached for something to defend himself. The clomp of heavily boots proceeded the tall figure, and out of the bushes trundled a weary Vyndakian, who smiled weakly at the druid.
Jarn'dor stood up and embraced his friend. "Funny seein' yah hear, mon." The Death Knight chuckled. "Yes and no, my friend." He replied.
The two sat by the campfire, and Vyndakian began to talk, his tale none too pleasant.
"Jarn'dor, I've come here to clear my name of evils and mistrust. A few days ago, Zi'bal had a powerful talisman stolen from him. It was a troll heart, imbued with powerful magic. But alas, my story doesn't begin there.
"From what we know now, two members of the Zandalari Empire infiltrated Zi'bal's tent while he was away on business. They took his talisman, and from a letter we received sometime later, we know they also took Jaz'renthi with them.
"Immeadiatly, Zi'bal accused me. You can imagine my response, and we had a dispute… But that was cleared up when we received the letter. It was from the Zandalari Empire, and they took the heart for a reason they wouldn't disclose. So, Zi'bal asked for someone to aid the Clan.
"None volunteered but me. And so, I'm here now." Jarn'dor nodded, and related his visions to the Death Knight, earning him a few "hmm"s and "hah"s from the stoic figure.
Eventually, Vyndakian became silent. "Jarn'dor, I have a question outside of this situation I want to ask… It involves Kisha'rowyn." Jarn'dor nodded, awaiting Vyndakian's question.
"She found out what I was, and one thing led to another and now… She's Darksworn too…" Jarn'dor knew that he was gaping in shock now, and Vyndakian could only nod.
"Do you think it was right of me," asked the Elf, "Because it saved her from a worse fate… But do you think I've damned her?"
Jarn'dor pondered quietly. "Does she love ya, mon?" Vyndakian nodded, replying, "I love her back."
The druid smiled. "Den ya be doin' notin' wrong. Ya love eachoda, and dat's what matta's." The Death Knight gave Jarn'dor a rare smile.
"Thank you," said Vyndakian, "You are one of the few people I can count on these days." The troll chuckled, believing it.
The friends talked late into the night, until the fire was nothing but embers. Eventually they both fell into the world of sleep, smiles adorning their faces.
Jarn'dor hiked with Vyndakian, new strength in his limbs. They had come far since their waking at sunrise, now being nearly noonday according to the sun. The two were following a rather unused path, taking multiple twists and turns through the thick jungle foliage.
As they neared closer and closer to the Gurubashi Capital, their conversation died out, until all that they heard were their feet tramping across the soft ground. Jarn'dor could almost hear Vyndakian's thoughts, as quiet as it was.
The pair entered a clearing, and a screech issued from the trees. Trolls adorned with the face paint of the Gurubashi tribe leaped from the foliage, pointing weapons of every kind at the pair. The Death Knight and the Druid were back to back, Runeblade and staff in hand respectively. The ambushers were well prepared, each having perfect aim on their vitals.
One of the trolls sneered. "Throw down ya weapons," spoke the Jungle troll, holding a longbow primed to fire. Other trolls were ready as such, most of them having javelins in hand, the short shafts tied to serrated rock tips.
Jarn'dor analyzed the situation closely, and he knew that there was no way out of this. As the druid threw his staff to the ground, he felt two sharp bolts of pain in his neck. He cried out as he felt his life begin to slip away, his body becoming weaker with every second.
The druid collapsed to his knees, falling into unconsciousness as Vyndakian wiped blood from his mouth.
Vyndakian nearly threw Jarn'dor aside, trying not to drink too much of his friend. He knew the Gurubashi troll's had their eyes on him now, as Jarn'dor fell to the ground, paler than the dead. The Death Knight wiped his friend's sweet, tantalizing blood from his mouth.
"Gurubashi," began the elf, "Behold! I have come to you, as an emissary of lord Hakkar! I, am his Blood Prophet!" He could hear the trolls murmuring, some lowering their weapons altogether.
"I feast off of blood," continued Vyndakian, trying to assert his lie, "I hunger for it, crave it, and demand it!" Some of the trolls stared in horror at the Death Knight, each hoping they wouldn't be the next victim.
"Ya be a lia," roared one troll, "Hakkar no be needin' a elf ta be his Prohpet!" Vyndakian looked at the Gurubashi, and he knew what he had to do. Even as he commanded it, the troll's blood began to boil, exerting great pressure on his skin.
In moments, the troll exploded, coating most of the troll ambushers in their comrade's blood. Vyndakian bared his fangs.
"The unfaithful shall die like he did," warned the elf, "If not worse. Like our Loa, I have dominion over all blood! I can already feel it pumping in each of you!" The Gurubashi looked uncomfortable at this, and some looked out right terrified.
Vyndakian pointed to Jarn'dor's body. "Grab him, and take us to Zul'Gurub! I must speak with your High Priest!" The trolls hesitated for a moment, unsure if they should trust this stranger.
"GO BEFORE I FEAST UPON YOU!" screeched the Death Knight, the trolls instantly grabbing Jarn'dor's still form. Vyndakian followed the procession, grinning grimly.
Jarn'dor stirred, groaning. He felt so weak, as if he were a corpse. The druid tried to move, but found himself unable. He struggled vainly, and then realized where he was.
The druid was tied to the mighty altar in the center of Zul'Gurub, and the Gurubashi Tribe was gathered around it.
Vyndakian stood off to the side, his eyes a blood red. From the edge of the platform, Jarn'dor couldn't see much, but he heard a voice.
"Bruddah's and sistahs," it boomed, "Today, we be getting' a great gift from our Loa! We be recievin' da talismans, and he bring us his Prophet!" The crowd roared, and Jarn'dor winced, his head already pounding like a Taurahe drum.
The voice belonged to the High Priest of Hakkar, a whithered old troll, who had to walk with a staff, his age-whitened hair handing down to his waist. The High Priest's skin was wrinkled beyond description, showing how old he truly was.
"With the power of these talismans," continued the High Priest, "We can bring the true power of Hakkar into our world!" The trolls cheered, and Jarn'dor was now terrified. Bringing Hakkar into the mortal world?
"We will not see his avata' as we have before, but we shall see him in all his full glory!" The roar of the populace was deafening, and the druid was unable to block out the sound. Two Berserker trolls picked him up from the altar and carried him out to the crowd, tying his arms to the mighty pillars of the altar.
"But de tribes dat no ally wit us try ta take back what belongs ta us now," screeched the Priest, and the crowd roared in agreement. Jarn'dor looked wildly as the Priest went on, and he locked eyes with Vyndakian. Instantly, he knew what had happened.
Jarn'dor refused to believe that his only friend had betrayed him. They had hunted and killed together, and both had saved each others lives repeatedly. A mighty crack shook the druid from his thoughts, and a searing pain brought him back to reality.
A troll had just flayed him with a whip, shredding his leather armor. The crowd booed and jeered as the High Priest pointed out the Gurubashi markings under the Bloodraptor ones, each cry of disapproval from the crowd only adding to the whipping he was enduring.
Vyndakian roared, and the crowd went silent. "How is this torture," he stated, "Give me that whip, simpleton." Without a word of argument, the Death Knight ripped the whip from the torturer's hand, and threw it into the pond below.
Jarn'dor sighed in relief, until the Death Knight drew a red runeblade from under his cloak. The druid had heard about such weapons, how they heated up as if the victim had stuck their body in a forge.
The elf eyed Jarn'dor. "Why do you seek to interfere in our god's work," asked Vyndakian. Jarn'dor didn't answer, choosing to look out over the crowd.
Without a word, Vyndakian drove the runeblade into Jarn'dor's flesh, watching as the druid writhed in absolute agony. Jarn'dor felt as if his very soul was on fire, burning at an infernal stake. Mercifully, the blade was removed from his flesh.
"Now then," began the Death Knight, "Why do you seek to ruin Hakkar's great work!" Jarn'dor this time chose to spit in his face, earning him another jab from the torture-blade.
The druid endured his torture, simply because he had nothing to say. After Vyndakian was done, Jarn'dor's flesh was cut and torn, the troll hanging limply, too weak to support himself. His blood stained the altar red, as the blood of so many before him had done so.
The High Priest laughed cruelly, speaking to the crowd. Jarn'dor was too pained to care, as the Berserker Trolls undid his bonds. The druid fell to his hands and knees, and one troll threw him over his shoulder, walking down the massive altar.
Jarn'dor noticed that the crowd had quieted down after a while, and managed to look up, the mighty troll carrying him farther away from the monolithic altar. Soon, the pair followed a tunnel etched into the earth, and the troll ripped a torch from the wall.
Screams and cries of the dying met the druid's ears as he was carried into what he could guess was some sort of prison, the dark tunnel having doors inserted into them. Each door was a different size and shape, but as they went deeper, they turned into great rock plates.
The Berserker suddenly stopped, dumping Jarn'dor onto the ground. The druid's eyes teared up in pain, and he knew that at least one bone had been broken today. With a mighty heave, the Berserker pushed aside the stone block door, and grabbed Jarn'dor.
He was thrown into a small room, partially filled with water. As the door shut closed, he lay down in the water, sobbing. He was now totally alone, his only friend having betrayed him and the entire tribe. Jarn'dor had known it to be true, once he had looked into the eyes of Vyndakian, and saw the rage and soullessness there.
"Jarn…?" The druid looked up to see a woman kneeling down beside him, suddenly hugging him tight to her body. "Jarn! It be so good ta see ya!"
Jarn'dor embraced the woman, and almost instantly knew it was Jaz'renthi. The two met with an impassioned kiss, his mate resting against him. He stroked her hair comfortingly; glad to feel her warm body against his.
Jaz'renthi kissed her mate. "Jarn," she asked, "How ya end up hea?"
"Yes, Jarn'dor," piqued a quiet, yet powerful voice, "How did you get here?"