Vyndakian pushed aside the flaps of his tent, looking down upon the trolls laboring in Zul'Gurub. It had been one week since had proclaimed himself as Hakkar's prophet, and he had loved every minute of it.
The Blood Priest's had showered him in praise an adoration, and he had been given the best sleeping quarters, not to mention some of the best women. The Death Knight licked his lips.
Of course he hadn't slept with them; Kisha'rowyn would have skinned him alive. But their blood… Vyndakian's mouth watered at the delectable memories. Each of the women had the best blood he had ever tasted.
The Elf looked from his tent, pondering. This place had everything he wanted: respect, a home, and an endless feeding ground. But he had betrayed his friend, Jarn'dor, and had put all of Azeroth in danger.
"No," whispered his Darksworn side, "You have everything you could never get from that piece of kodo crap, Zi'bal…"
"It's not right," argued his humanity, "Everything could be lost!" Vyndakian slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block out his two sides.
The Death Knight whirled to the sound of approaching footsteps, as the High Priest crested the hill. Vyndakian composed himself and walked to meet him.
"Ya a'right mon?" asked the Priest, clapping Vyndakian on the back. The elf nodded, as the two walked down the hill.
"Now," began Vyndakian, "How are we going to bring our Loa's glory to Azeroth?" The High Priest laughed cruelly, pointing to the central altar.
"As we speak," explained the High Priest, "We be preparin' for da Sola' Eclipse in t'ree days time. By usin' da talismans we aquirred, we shall summon our masta!"
Vyndakian had to admire the Priest. It was ingenious. By harvesting the power of the Sun and the Moon at the same time, along with the magic stored in tribal talismans, a powerful portal could be created.
"But Your Excellency," question the elf, "There must be some sort of 'starting force' for the summoning. You can't just create a powerful portal from magic."
The High Priest grinned toothily. "Dat is were ya come in… Ya be sacrificin' for our Loa!" Vyndakian nodded, becoming quiet, but the Troll by his side rabbelled on.
"I be tinkin' o' sacrifices, and I remembered dat Troll ya tortured, da Druid… He and his cellmates be perfect." Vyndakian started, but he quickly covered up his emotions, as the Priest talked on about decorations.
Here was everything Vyndakian could want and dream of. But to keep it, he would have to kill his best friend, and plunge the world into pure madness.
Jarn'dor sat inside his cell, leaning against the wall. Inside the stone chamber, was absolute darkness, he couldn't even see a foot ahead of him. Beside him, snoozed his mate, Jaz'renthi. Her presence made his imprisonment slightly more bearable. They had talked for ages about what was happening outside, and about Jarn'dor's time in the dream.
"We need to get out of here," huffed their cellmate, who called himself Golion Ragereaver. Jarn'dor hadn't seen much of the man, except when the guards opened the door to deliver food. From what he had seen, Golion was built like a well-muscled elf, but his face was covered in a rare beard, his eyes a human sea-green.
Jarn'dor sighed at Golion. "Dere be no way out o' here," he muttered. Jarn'dor had spent the first hours inside his cell trying to claw his way out, wearing down his nails until his fingers bled.
The man punched a portion of the wall, growling. While Golion had been silent for most of Jarn'dor's imprisonment, but he had become more and more outspoken over the last couple days.
Jaz'renthi stirred in the druid's arms, snuggling into his chest. Jarn'dor scowled at the man, hating that he wouldn't be able to see it.
"Sit down mon," whispered the troll, "Maybe tell a story." The man paced, his feet sloshing through the water in the cell.
The druid listened as the man sat down, splashing in the water. A sigh issued forth from his lips.
"Alright, troll. I'll tell you my story…"
A long time ago, what now seems like eons, I was born to a Human mother, and a High Elven father. That's right, druid, I'm a Half-elf. Half-breed. Whatever you prefer. My family used to live in Eversong Woods, but I was ridiculed by the other children. I was already an adult at 18 years, while my friends had barely reached puberty.
In time, I grew to hate this, and I left my home. I took up the way of the sword, becoming a… Mercenary I suppose. I was the most sought after soldier-for-hire, an untouchable whirlwind of steel. But in time, I knew that something was wrong.
As I traveled home, to Eversong, I crossed the Ghostlands, where trolls were returning to Zul'Aman… A group of trolls had slaughtered my parents…
I travelled to Zul'Aman, seeking vengeance, but their numbers overwhelmed me, capturing me. I was taken here, and here I discovered that the High Priest had ordered that land ravaged as the trolls traveled to their northern home.
The door to the cell slid aside, and light filled the room, blinding the prisoners. Jarn'dor tried to see past the light, to see the figure in the door way. Jaz'renthi awoke nearly instantly, bearing her teeth at the man.
"Well well… Two failures and their bitch," muttered Vyndakian, dressed in the flowing robes of a Gurubashi Priest. Jaz'renthi leaped at the traitor with a shriek, attempting to hurt the Death Knight in anyway possible.
Before Jarn'dor could blink, his mate was slammed against the far wall, Vyndakian sneering at the foolish attacker. Two dark hands pinned her to the cell wall, as their manipulator ripped a torch from the hands of a guard.
"Shut the door," he ordered the Berserker troll, walking inside the cell. In moments the cell was plunged into darkness, the torch giving off the only light.
Jarn'dor snarled at Vyndakian, and Golion looked ready to murder him. Jaz'renthi was slumped against the wall, holding her shoulder.
The Death Knight looked between the three of them. "In three days," he stated, "You will all be sacrificed for the glory of Hakkar," the Elf sighed.
He knocked on the door of the cell, and it slid open, the Death Knight exiting. Jarn'dor bared his teeth.
"You'll pay for dis, traita!" he roared. Vyndakian looked at his victim. As the door slammed shut, Jarn'dor heard him mutter.
"I already am…"
Zi'bal slowly sharpened his blade, grumbling. It had been weeks since Vyndakian had left for Zul'Gurub, to retrieve his stolen talisman.
The Chieftain stuck his sword in the ground. He did not like Vyndakian. The Elf constantly questioned him and his techniques, and he had a short temper to boot. The Death Knight was a wild card, unpredictable and unknowable.
A pair of arms wrapped around Zi'bal, a set of lips kissing the top of his head. Tezeek moved around into Zi'bal's lap, smiling.
"Hey dere, love," murmered the Blood Mistress, kissing her lover. Zi'bal was not in the mood, as much as he wanted to be.
Tezeek huffed in annoyance. "Still tinkin' about dat elf?" The chieftain nodded, holding his mate close. They watched as the Kalimdor set along the horizon, ducking behind the pale mountains of Stonetalon.
Zi'bal arose, Tezeek looking more than a little perturbed. Before she could get a word out, the sounds of raptor talons on earth met their ears. They turned to the sound, as a troll rode out to them, his raptor a pale blue in the encroaching darkness.
"Bruddah," whispered the troll, dismounting. Zi'bal chuckled. He embraced his blood brother.
"Zim'bawa, good ta see ya," said Zi'bal, wondering what had brought his brother to his home.
Zim'bawa handed the chieftain an unsealed letter, a look of concern on his face. Zi'bal tore open the envelope, reading the letter inside.
"Zi," whispered Tezeek, "What's wrong?" Her lover read the letter once, and then again. He looked at his mate, unsure what to say. Zim'bawa mounted back up, looking down at his brother.
"… Prepare da Tribe," ordered the chieftain, "We be goin ta fight."
Vyndakian stood upon the mighty altar, looking out on Zul'Gurub. It was only hours away until the eclipse, and the sacrifices were being prepared.
The Death Knight pondered everything that had happened in the last week. He had arrived at his paradise. Here was everything he wanted, a virtual paradise. Vyndakian was a god amongst these people. But he knew it wasn't right.
If he killed his best friend, he would single-handedly destroy the world. Everything would burn under Hakkar's summoning.
The Death Knight looked up to the sky, as the sun slowly rose to its apex. He had sent for the one thing that could turn the tables in this endeavor, Vyndakian could only prey that it would arrive before it was too late.
Jarn'dor, Jaz'renthi, and Golion were tied to the altar, as every troll in Zul'Gurub booed and jeered at them. Vyndakian stood nearby, leaning on his runeblade.
The druid loathed Vyndakian, wanting to see the Death Knight burn. Jaz'renthi struggled feebly against her bonds, and Golion had seemed to accept his fate. Jarn'dor looked out to the crowd, trolls of every different tribe standing and cheering on the Blood Priests.
Dotted throughout the crowd, were figures covered by dark, earthy cloaks. Jarn'dor snorted, and passed them off for some sort of secretive tribe. The troll's eyes wafted back up to the altar, landing on Jaz'renthi.
"Jaz…" started the troll, but she smiled warmly at him. She managed to lean over and kiss his cheek.
"Don't even say it," she warned with a wink, "Cause ya don' have to apologize." Jarn'dor returned her kiss, quietly wondering how she always knew what he was about to say.
The High Priest walked up the great steps to the altar, holding a bag in his hand. When he arose, Blood Priests swarmed around him like vultures, each eyeing the bag with interest. From within the bag, the High Priest drew out several items, handing one to each of the Blood Priests.
Jarn'dor craned his neck, and saw that each priest had a seemingly random item. One had a piece of bone, another had a multi-colored rock.
"Bruddas and sistahs," roared the High Priest, the crowd instantly falling silent, "Today, we bring fort' Hakkar da Soulflayer!" The troll's cries were deafening, the very foundations of Zul'Gurub rumbling from there applause.
"Wit his powa," continued the elder priest, "We will reclaim every piece of land we be losin' to da oda races!" The crowd cheered, and the troll motioned for them to be silent.
"When da sun be blotted out, we be usin' da talismans we acquired to summon our Loa, with a great sacrifice!" The crowd was dead silent, hanging on the High Priest's words.
Jarn'dor looked up to the sky, as one edge of the sun began to darken, a black edge creeping over the bright orb. The High Priest ripped one final talisman out of the bag, a shriveled troll heart.
Vyndakian's eyes locked onto it at the same time as Jarn'dor's did. It was Zi'bal's missing heart!
The crowd cheered as one half of the sun vanished in shadow. "For five minutes," continued the High Priest, "Da sun will be eclipsed, more den enough time ta summon da Soulflayer into our world!" Each priest began a summoning spell, a great pentagram forming under the sacrifice's feet.
As they began to chant, clouds opened up in the sky, and rain began to fall. Jarn'dor eyes looked up, as the crowd began to scream. Falling from the clouds was not rain; it was blood.
"Yes," roared Vyndakian, "Even Azeroth bleeds from the power of our god!" The crowd screamed, cheering once they got over the shock.
"Now," stated the High Priest, "Da Blood Prophet will begin da sacrifice!" The crowd cheered as Vyndakian walked forward, his Runeblade glowing ominously.
Jarn'dor locked eyes with Vyndakian, as the sun was eclipsed, throwing Azeroth into shadow.
The Death Knight looked at his friend sadly. "I'm sorry…" Jarn'dor spit at his feet.
"No ya not," retorted the Druid, and Vyndakian winked at him.
"You're right," he replied, "I'm not." In one swift motion, the Elf spun, and lopped off one of the High Priest's hands. The one holding the troll heart.
As the Priest screamed in agony, the heart flew off the altar, down into the crowd. It landed in the outstretched hand of one of the cloaked figures, who ripped off his cloak.
Zi'bal clutched his heart, a grin on his face, as he let out a raptor-like cry. Instantly the cloaked figures sprang into action, the Bloodraptor Clan throwing aside their coverings.
Jarn'dor watched as all hell broke loose in Zul'Gurub, trolls turning to face the sudden attack. Vyndakian sliced the ropes holding him and the other sacrifices, grinning at the druid.
"Didn't really think I'd betray my best friend, did you?" The troll, chuckled, shifting into his bear form.
"For a minute," replied the monstrous bear, "I nearly did." The mighty druid leaped into the crowd as Jaz'renthi shifted into a jungle cat, adding her own havoc into the mix. Golion looked at Vyndakian, stunned.
The Death Knight drew another runeblade from under his cloak, tossing it to the half-elf before hacking apart one of the Blood Priests.
Zi'bal fought his way up to the altar, grinning at the sight of Tezeek setting a Berserker troll aflame. He enjoyed the carnage for a time, but he quickly ran up the monolithic altar, joining the brawl at the top.
Vyndakian sliced a priest from head to foot, bisecting him in a fountain of blood. He spun and unintentionally crossed blades with Zi'bal.
"Glad you could join the party," said the Death Knight, a grin on his face. Zi'bal chuckled.
"Wouldn't be missin' it for da world," retorted the chieftain, disengaging blades with the elf.
The High Priest rose, clutching the bloody stump that was his arm. He eyed the two, and a grin spread across his face.
"Vyndakian," began the priest, "Dis scum don' be knowin' ya powa! He would walk all ova ya and treat ya like rapta dung!" Vyndakian narrowed his eyes at Zi'bal, knowing it all to be true. Zi'bal bared his teeth.
"Strike him down," continued the weakened, old troll, "And you can rule over him and everyting else unda Hakkar!"
Vyndakian grinned at Zi'bal, and in unison the two plunged their blades into the High Priest's gut.
"No thanks," replied the Death Knight, "I'd like to work out our family issues first." The pair ripped their blades out of the troll, pushing him off the altar. Zi'bal looked at Vyndakian, nodding.
The two looked out over the city, as the Bloodraptor Clan was slowly being forced back, the trolls regrouping and focusing on them.
"Retreat," roared Zi'bal, "Retreat to the Temple of Bethekk!" Vyndakian leaped from the altar, carving himself a path to the mighty structure, paving the road with blood.
Jarn'dor battered down the door to Bethekk's temple, crushing an unfortunate worshipper underneath the mighty stone plate. The druid returned to his troll form as two guards rushed him, holding javelins.
The druid scorched one with moonfire, dodging the other guard's attempts to gore him. He reached out and snapped the end off of his spear, driving the sharpened rock through the soldier's brain.
The druid sighed as the guard fell dead at his feet. Jarn'dor abhorred fighting, but this time it was the only thing that could help his Clan escape.
The Bloodraptor Clan rushed into the Temple, Vyndakian and Golion keeping the horde of trolls at bay. The pair of warriors leapt backwards as Zim'bawa threw up a wall of fire, blocking the Gurubashi from entering the temple.
Vyndakian clapped Golion on the back as Zim'bawa slumped back against the wall. Jarn'dor smiled at Jaz'renthi, hugging her as she shifted back to her troll form.
"What now," questioned a troll, his hands covered in blood. The Clan murmured in agreement.
"He's right," added Vyndakian, "That wall of flame won't keep them back forever." Zi'bal pondered for a moment, looking at Jarn'dor.
"Jarn, how far down does dis temple go?" asked the chieftain, and all eyes fell on the druid.
"It goes far down, at least 100 feet," replied Jarn'dor. Zi'bal nodded, ordering the clan down into the temple's depths.
The Clan assembled down in what appeared to be a room of worship in the temple.
"A'right," said the Chieftain, "Kisha'rowyn, Zim'bawa, and I will be attemptin' ta put togeda a portal for escape!" The sound of troll feet on the floor above them broke his speech, the cries of the Zandalari Empire reaching the Bloodraptor's ears.
Zi'bal could only nod as the trio began to construct a portal, everyone else looking in stark terror. Jarn'dor sighed, stepping forward so he could be seen.
"Bloodrapta," he shouted, "We will come away from dis! We survived da Cataclysm, and years of inactivity. Da Clan will come away from dis, stronga den eva!"
His comrades cheered, taking up arms as the Gurubashi barreled into the room, and bloody fighting ensued.
Zalaman fired bullet after bullet from his gun, his attackers dropping like flies. The experienced marksman grinned, thinking this was far too easy. A troll escaped from the grasp of Vyndakian, charging the hunter
Zalaman was knocked to the ground, and the troll raised a mighty axe. As the mighty hunter cried out, a serpent coiled around the foe, sinking it's fangs into the troll's skin.
The axe-wielding fiend fell to the ground in its death-throws as the Wind Serpent unfolded its wings, hovering to land on Zalaman's shoulder. The troll rose, stroking his pet lovingly. A mighty roar shook the room as a Berserker charged down the stairs, throwing aside Bloodraptor Clan members. The duo rushed to meet the threat head-on.
Golion hacked a troll to pieces, grinning as its blood splashed on his face. The Half-elf felt closer to his revenge with every kill. He looked over to the troll Vyndakian had called Zi'bal. The gargantuan figure was obviously very well versed in warlock magic.
"Zi'bal Bloodrapta!" cried a voice. Golion looked toward the sound as the High Priest pushed through the crowd, covered in his own blood. Zi'bal did not budge, his spellcrafting dominating his focus.
Everything seemed to slow down, as the High Priest's hand filled with shadows. Golion roared, running towards the troll. As the Priest let loose with a bolt of dark magic, the Half-elf leaped, taking the bolt face first. He slammed into the wall as the old troll screeched in anger.
Golion rose, pushing off from the wall, driving his blade into the Priest's heart. "That, was for my parents," he roared, ripping out his blade and removing the troll's legs. "That was for my home!" The High Priest fell to the ground as Golion brought his blade down, beheading the troll.
"And that, was for me," murmured the fighter, his revenge sated. His legs suddenly gave out, a feeling of weakness spreading throughout his body. The Half-elf fell to the floor, tumbling into darkness.
Vyndakian fought back the Gurubashi as a sudden bang forced his opponents to the ground.
"Da portal is ready," roared Zi'bal, "GO!" The Bloodraptor disengaged from their foes, dragging the injured and leaping through the portal. Vyndakian looked over as Golion fell to the ground, covered in the blood of the High Priest.
The Death Knight scooped up the Half-Breed, leaping through the portal.
Jarn'dor, Vyndakian, and Zi'bal stood over a grave in Eversong, watching as a Grovekeeper filled it in. Buried within it, was Golion.
The trio turned to walk away, each reflecting inwardly. But all thought back to what had happened when they returned home.
Golion had become deathly ill, his flesh decaying. After taking him to a shaman, they understood that he had been afflicted with some sort of flesh-eating curse. Vyndakian knew that it had been the High Priest.
On Golion's deathbed, the trio learned that he had leaped in front of the bolt meant for Zi'bal, saving the chieftain.
"Zi'bal," spoke the weak Half-Elf, "You must serve your people still… My time… Is up…"
After a few quiet words with Vyndakian, he had expired.
Jarn'dor looked between his comrades. "What now?" Zi'bal sighed, looking up at the sky.
"We do what we can," spoke the warlock, "And try ta recover from dis… We lost people, but we have at least delayed da Zandalari." The druid could only nod, but Vyndakian remained silent.
The three walked away, as the sun set over the woods.
A figure slipped up to the hill, shovel in hand. Vyndakian Sunshatter drove the shovel into the grave, turning aside the dirt. He quietly dug up Golion, his mind fixed.
"Vyndakian," the Half-Elf had whispered on his deathbed, "I only ask one thing from you… The one gift you can give me… I want life, life no healer can give to me… I can't be saved, but I want to live…Give me… Undeath…"
The Death Knight shuddered at the memory, remembering the desperation in the fighters blue eyes, the unwillingness to give up.
Vyndakian slammed his shovel into a wooden casket, and leapt into the grave. He was unsure if it was right, bringing back a dead man.
"Damn it Vyn," he muttered, "You've done worse lately, one more thing won't ruin you." With a mighty heave, the Elf ripped open Golion's coffin. He nearly cried out, most of Golion's skin having been devoured by the Priest's curse.
The Death Knight put one hand over the corpse's heart, one over the head. He began to murmur quietly, forcing his power to leech into the corpse, feeding it energy.
Thunder boomed overhead, splitting the quiet night. As Vyndakian worked, winds in the Forest picked up, the sound of their moaning distracting the necromancer for only a moment.
As the weather seemed to harass the Death Knight, he finished his work.
And Golion opened his eyes.