Author here, this is my first story, so any criticism is appreciated.

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Redemption Of The Unwanted

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Chapter one: Painful Awaking and purpose

Pain, sorrow, weariness, and more pain enveloped me as I awoke, feeling as though I had not slept in weeks, reminiscent of my days as a ward, where I studied magic under Eistar.

I rose on a beach, in front of me an ocean that had no end in sight, while behind me, a dense forest of pine trees extended endlessly.

An annoying headache assaulted me, with a pain beating upon my chest, the feeling of emptiness gnawed at my core, I tugged upon the chains of fate, but received no response.

"Where am I?" I pondered, Looking around me trying to discern my location from the area, I knew enough about Halann to know my location from any significant landmarks.

flooding my being with magic I tried to transmute myself into my winged form but to no avail, Nothing happened, trying again, but this time focusing on turning into a bird, or a fly, but the change was minimal as the only thing that changed was me sprouting feathers on my arms till my elbow, feathers that reminded of my mother, orange and golden in colour holding the beauty of the sun.

They fell and disappeared into the wind when my magic left them.

Ignoring the peculiarity of my magic, I continued pulling at the chains of fate, yet received no answer. Desperation intensified as the usual responses, or the jovial laughter of my brother, remained absent.

My foggy mind gradually cleared, and the last memory surfaced: my demise with a sword through my stomach, vampire assassins, the Cannorian coalition forces, Lightbringers, Eletar the martyr, Elizar.

Painful memories came like a rush of a cold stream.

"by Surael….." My brother and I were meant to lead a retreat from Re'uyel city to Ovdal Tungr, but assassins ambushed us midway through our journey, the same assassins who have been taking out the Lightbringer order members and officer corps within the Re'uyel territories, After a fierce battle, victory came at a heavy cost—I fell with a poisoned sword through my stomach, a broken soul left my body, in the arms of my brother, his cries and pains were all a harsh reality, but at the end of it, whole we are meant to be, to become one, For our broken soul to finally reunite, to mend the schism of birth, that for so long denied us our ultimate unity.

Frantically pulling at the chains revealed no response. I released my magic completely till a golden orange sheen coated my entire being, but It did not go outside my skin, it bloomed inwards, looking at my chained half-soul, it was smaller than a normal souls, in a much worse shape than it was before, almost as dry and broken as the day me and my brother connected for the first time through the chains, I left my soul be for now as I deepened my sight till I was able to see the seams of the hundreds of threads that formed my chains, I realised the chains were disconnected—not from me, but from my brother, as nothing was on the other side of the chain, no twin brother, no other half, no sunshine of the morning.

Empty, I felt hollow and empty.

I slumped down to my knees as the entire world around me felt like a boulder about to crush my entire being, I walked along the threads till I reached the realm of light, the realm in the sky, where clouds were steps and Surael taught us, temperance, kindness, where our morals became complete, where I became the dusk of the sun, where I came after my dawn went, if my brother is not there, if the sun did not rise how can it set?

"Surael, most radiant, father!" No response. Despair came first then it shifted to utter and complete rage, "My brother! GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK!" Flying out of the realm of light I bellowed, holding onto the chains with all my strength, I forced my magic, my anger, my will, my spirit and everything that makes me Jaerel Tonanzuir, "Elizar Tonanzuir!, your brother calls upon you!"

My body lit up like a minuscule sun as I merged all the chains to form one chain that I sent flying up the night sky, the night sky exploded with light as if day came to be once more.

I stood up looking directly at the soft light that the new sun embodied, it was a sun that will disappear in less than a minute, but the message and the light it sent everywhere shall last forever, no matter how far I am from home, Surael and my brother shall receive this message no matter what.

Amid the ensuing radiance of the 'morning' sun, I surveyed my surroundings, sighing to myself and just walking along the beach southwards as the coldness of the night seemed to seep in again, heading northwards would just means a colder night.

I walked slowly, less about travelling distance and more about trying to collect my thoughts, here I am in Surael knows where, naked without family, brothers or sisters, my transmutation magic unresponsive, my divinity is consumed to contact Surael, flaring my magic around me till it was in its first form, I was in my brother's armour, within his spirit, a comfort I did not realise I needed to calm me down.

Forming a mirror in front of me through transmutation, which for reasons unknown worked on the inanimate object but not its caster, I inspected my golden armour, the armour is no more than a replica of my brother's heavy armour, the very same armour that took almost 100 lightning strikes in the war of booming sticks just to give me time to strike the Magisterium mages that were sent with the coalition army, the armour held the sigil of the Jaddarry sun on its chest plate, a black burned and tattered Cape coming down one shoulder.

This entire transformation was not a transmutation into my brother's body it was me releasing my magic from inside my body into the outside to form a shell, this shell is very powerful and grants the mage extra capacity to store magic inside his body as the magic that was originally inside is now released, but the need for concentration is essential to stop the magical particles from just dissipating back into the air.

Taking a more detailed form like my brother's armoured figure, who left an everlasting imprint upon my mind, spirit and soul, is much easier than any other form and would free up much of my thought streams, like allowing me to keep track of the humanoid figures following me for a couple of minutes now.

Their souls were not bright showing their alignment to be less then good but still better then evil, a natural soul light.

I continued my walk, as an increasing number of entities began to fill the area around me, most were armed with what appeared to be primitive axes, and spears. Their souls emanated neither hatred nor anger but rather curiosity towards my presence. Clad in resplendent golden armour, I presented an unusual spectacle akin to a metallic golem, a sight rarely witnessed.

My march came to a halt when the apparent chieftain of the tribe descended from the tree canopy. For the first time, I beheld these beings with my own eyes: green humanoid figures closely resembling the orcs of Castonath, distinguished only by tusked mouths and elongated ears surpassing even the grandeur of any elf's. Their robust, uncouth physiques mirrored the orcs of Castonath, adorned in little but a loincloth covering the private parts. These 'Orcs' surpassed their Castonath counterparts in stature by a head or so, yet exhibited a remarkable affinity with the surrounding flora. Unlike the Castonath orcs, their focus leaned more towards symbiosis than relentless destruction. Furthermore, they possessed three fingers and toes, a departure from the norm.

A man of stature comparable to mine stepped forward amongst the inquisitive 'Orcs' and began to articulate.

" #£ &%# %£# & £^£ &%£#%?" the Orc's voice was booming, as expected, his language unknown but the question was clear. He asked me something, an easy question to deduce.

I walked closer to the 'orc' and answered, "I am Jaerel Tonanzuir, who is the speaker before me?"

"Mlaeral'onanzuir," he responded, then met my luminescent gaze, adding, "Zul'jin."

I nodded my hand pointed at myself and spoke, "Jaerel" then pointed at him and spoke, "Zul'jin", He acknowledged with a nod. Extending my hand, causing a palpable tension among the 'Orcs' around, I continued, "Jaerel Tonanzuir, chosen of Surael, general and prince of the Jadd Empire." Uttering names in the hope of eliciting a reaction from this enigmatic orcish race, I observed Zul'jin's response, which regrettably was no more than a glance at my hand before firmly accepting the handshake.

"Zul'jin, #%^ &..." he commenced, reciting his titles. I diligently processed each word, seeking familiarity with known lands and regions. Alas, none rang a bell.

Following this, I received an invitation to meet a figure known as Zul'Aman. Finding little reason to decline the offer, given my lack of purpose in these lands and perceived superfluity, I acquiesced.

Walking in the wake of Zul'jin, we were enveloped by 342 'Orcs,' predominantly male, armed with axes and spears. These formidable beings displayed immense physical prowess; some possessed hands larger than the tree trunks surrounding us. Although formidable, they seemed culturally and technologically underdeveloped, deducible from their rudimentary weaponry held together by ropes and tree sap. Absent were guns, long gowns, pants, boots, or sandals— an indication of a highly primitive society that had long evaded societal progression and advancement. No artificer class, no mages, or a magical priest hood at least none that appeared in front of me yet, a society lacking in a highly active magical class at the least.

As I ventured deeper into the forest, stone totems adorned with wooden masks emerged, likely serving as territorial markers against potential hostilities. The 'Orcs' accompanying me gradually eased into a more relaxed state—from hushed whispers initially to laughter and normal conversation. The increasing dialogue allowed me to decipher their language, revealing a primitive form lacking the refinement of ages past, bereft of poetry, bards, songs, and the quintessence of chivalry, honor, and honesty. Despite the natural brightness of their souls, a nuanced goodness and fondness for life seemed absent. Thank the goodness of Surael, traces of a heroic age, a legendary epoch, persisted in the reverence with which certain names were spoken, with Zul'jin standing out as the embodiment of pride for his people. Where his gaze alighted, his people straightened, and his voice commanded a reverent silence.

It appears that I have the privilege of meeting a legendary figure—a genuine leader, the nature of whose leadership, whether tyrannical or kind, remains to be seen.

I turned my gaze at Zul'jin's back, I spoke slowly, and softly, "Zul'jin, you are loved by your soldiers."

His countenance abruptly shifted towards me and his steps heckled, till he was just a step or two in front of me.

"You &^#% our tongue O *#&%# of light" his eyes were wide and his voice was reduced to a whisper, yet audible.

I looked at him and spoke in the same hushed tone as his, "no, I listen, I learn, what does *#&%# mean?"

I refrained from inquiring about the first word, easily deducing it to mean 'speak.' The second word, however, remained perplexing, though I had encountered it a few times already.

Zul'jin surveyed his surroundings, before looking back at me, shaking his head. "When we %#£ & Zul'Aman, I will show you what it means, so who are you O yareel Tononzeiir?"

I nodded, my heavily armoured visage subtly brightening as I channelled excess magic into it. At this rate, it should reach its second level within the next few hours. "I am a prince of the Jadd Empire, a servant and chosen of Surael, the god of the sun and light. I awoke on the shore where you found me walking this night and have been wandering along it since. We were engaged in a war against the heathens of Cannor when I was assassinated by their vampires. So, who are you, O Zul'jin, leader of the Amani?"

"I am honoured to meet a chosen of the light. I lead the Amani trolls, the king of the Amani tribe. I guide my people in an unending war against the &££# to reclaim our lands, our sacred ground. We seek vengeance for our ancestors—fathers, brothers, sons—and aim to reunite our race. but…. Such thing is far, very far away, we trolls will bide our time with small attacks till some disaster or catastrophe may strike the &££#." Zul'jin conveyed. As he spoke, his soul seemed to darken progressively whenever the &££# were mentioned—a troubling trajectory for Zul'jin down a dark path..

"Who are these &££#? if you don't mind me asking" I inquired.

"They are a race that originated from a distant land. Initially known as the highborne, they massacred our people and established their capital on our sacred land. They created the Sunwell, a font of magic powering their city and the surrounding forest. Subsequently, they adopted the name High Elves—a race of white-skinned, long-eared beings. Most of them have blue glowing eyes, a side effect of their arcane rituals," Zul'jin elucidated, his long white hair trembling with evident disgust and resentment.

I ceased my movement not due to any aspect of the elves' similarity to my own race but in response to the visceral reactions elicited merely by uttering their name. Hate, anger, and fear emanated palpably from the trolls around me, shedding light on the reason why the society is so war-centric, for such a dark society bereft of an age of honour and chivalry, can only come from a never ending genocidal war.

My purpose crystallised—I aimed to usher light into these people, allowing Surael's light to course through them, bolstering their strength against the encroaching darkness consuming them, turning the forces of darkness against darkness itself.

As our conversation delved deeper, the focus remained on the trolls, a subject Zul'jin gladly expounded upon with fervour—victories, defeats, origins, and the genesis of the world I found myself on, Azeroth, a beautiful realm. However, the question lingered in my mind: how in Surael's name did I end up here? Undeterred, I regaled Zul'jin with tales of my homeland, Halann, the exploits of Jaddar, the conquests of Bulwar and Rahen, the prophet's teachings, and my journey until the day I fell in battle at the hands of vampire assassins. seemingly vampires did not exist in this world or at least within these lands, so explaining to him was just another enjoyable part of the story, though I did skirt around the subject of my race, as I wanted to know a bit more about the trolls before I took more detrimental actions.

As the morning sun rose behind us, casting its gentle glow, I requested a brief respite from Zul'jin, kneeling before the sun to commence my prayers. Sunlight enveloped me, its warmth amplifying the divinity of Surael within. Without delay, I unleashed my magic, filling my brother's armor. Wings sprouted from my back, the cape transformed into an ornate garment, and the armor expanded until I nearly stood as a giant. Yet, mindful of practicality, I condensed the form, channelling excess magic into crafting a sword—the same longsword my brother once wielded single-handedly. Now, slightly larger than my original size, I stood as an Avarial, the progenitor of elvenkind from homeworld, Halann, the one and only within these lands.

The sun's radiance around me intensified, eventually erupting into a brilliant burst of light. From it emerged my second form—luminous, resplendent, embodying the visage of the Knight of Morning, my cherished other half, my beloved brother's armour to be, a future that once seen and completed after my death.

In the midst of their wonder-filled gazes and reverent expressions, I proclaimed, "I rise, I bring forth a new age, I am light. I lead, and all shall follow, for your morning is upon you." With a flourish, I bowed dramatically to the trolls, driven by nothing but nostalgic flair, for the pretentious words of my brother were something that always sent people into a shocked stupor, or an unconscious anger.

I walked slowly to the stunned figure of Zul'jin, "so how far away are we from Zul'Aman?" I questioned.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Zul'jin's white hair and purple scarf shook in the wind. "We shall reach there in an afternoon or less," he replied.

I nodded and walked behind the recovering group, I seem to have captured some hearts with my action just now as the trolls are looking at me with a newfound brightness to their souls. Good, souls should never hold a dark sheen in the first place, I will make sure of it.

"Jaerel, what did you do just now?" Zul'jin asked.

"I needed to harness as much magic from my spirit as possible. I must contact my brother through the soul link, and if my initial attempt failed, I must try again and again in every conceivable manner. Hence, I released my magic outside my skin, compelling it to take a more tangible form—my brother's form, the manifestation of what he could have become in the future, a future we saw with clarity," I explained through the wind, opting for a more efficient means of communication given my condition. Evocation, being my forte as a legendary wizard, allowed me to ease the burden on my weakened soul through simple magical tricks.

It was no more than 10 minutes more into our talk when I sensed something, at the border of my senses, souls, as bright as the trolls around me, filled with weariness, but they were not like the trolls at all, they looked human with longer ears, or simply elves in this land.

"Zul'jin I think we got company, 250 elves coming near our direction, they are coming from our back, from the same direction we came from," I looked directly into the yellow eyes of Zul'jin, I need to know his response, how will he handle this, as he is the king his response would set my mind at ease or force me to be the zealot that I am, burning the heathens, unification and civil reform within little time, or an advisory role that will help me set the tribe right through soft power, through Zul'jin.

Kneeling with my hands together, sword unsheathed, I directed myself toward the sun. Magic flowed from within, preparing magic circles with divinity seeping closely behind.

Abjuration, though not my forte, blended with my expertise in evocation quite nicely, granting me control over the entire battlefield.

Expanding one of my thought streams for a comprehensive view, I observed Zul'jin strategically placing the elite around me, seemingly utilising me as bait or perhaps as a hostage. Lithe figures dispersed into the trees, while 335 trolls occupied various positions. The 334 souls permeating the area radiated different intensities of hate, fear, and seething anger, some souls reddened and released palpable heat—an indication of a race teetering on the brink.

My eyes remained fixed on the rising sun, but my mental faculties were fully engaged in preparing for the impending battlefield. Spells of rock walls, wind talk, fireballs, lightning strikes, water streams, elemental conjuration, tree sprouts, giant shape-shifting, illusion mirrors, confusion, enchantment, and the dire meteor were at my disposal. The interplay of blue, white, orange, and red light adorned my visage, with only the most potent spells requiring placement on my sword.

Enhancement, awakening, elemental enlightenment, temporal warp—powerful spells cast upon my mind, enabling me to effortlessly manage the entire battlefield with complete ease.

With complete awareness, I observed every detail. Not a leaf fell, nor a bug sang without my notice; I was the very air in the forest.

The elves, sensing something, halted and dispersed through the woods with an agility befitting wood elves. However, on this battlefield, I reigned supreme; no one would perish today at my expense.

The woods shifted subtly, bugs falling silent as trolls and elves engaged in reconnaissance warfare, testing each other's mettle with simple tricks.

An unknown elf approached before me and Zul'jin, regarding me with curiosity and overt disdain and hatred for the trolls around. Zul'jin, particularly, bore the brunt of it.

"Zul'jin, give us the being of light, and we shall not slaughter you and your trolls in this forest," the man spoke, his accent making his words challenging for me to decipher. Yet, when spoken softly and with less gruffness, the trollish language sounded less primitive for once.

What struck me most here is the slight usage of magic by the elf to communicate with the other elves, using high sound waves that I can't hear but seemingly the elves can.

"Lor'themar Theron, the second in command of the Farstriders, I am honoured to have such a high elf in my presence," Zul'jin declared, walking to the front of the elf. His imposing figure, towering over the elf, showcased his muscled visage. However, I refrained from asserting Zul'jin's potential victory, considering the magic that seemed to infuse the spirits of the elves—a seemingly infinite supply connected to them. It posed a formidable challenge for my upcoming mission and an unpredictable factor that I had to account for.

The initial clash unfolded as Zul'jin's axe met Lor'themar's intricate sword. Lor'themar's magic flared, enhancing him and his sword with a powerful magical fire that sent Zul'jin reeling back.

Reluctant to leave Zul'jin at a magical disadvantage, I bolstered him with enhancement and water evocation, infusing his body with cool magic to counteract the searing heat, and the unpredictability of the magic used,

Magic surged from my entire being, thwarting rangers from turning berserkers into pincushions, diverting an elf from a decapitating strike with a tree branch, quelling forest fires with water clouds. I sought to level the playing field, ensuring a fair fight, allowing fatigue and injuries to take their toll. No one would perish in the name of unknown gods, deities who offered no solace, peace, or anything but torment.

Reinforcing armour, dulling weapons, striking foes with lightning, compelling them to grapple with trees, I aimed to exhaust them. The greatest challenge lay in countering the elves' magic, where a moment's distraction could spell the end for a troll's life. This complexity was only rivalled by the berserker trolls, who grew in size and power with each injury, disrupting my calculations for the entire battle.

Of particular interest were the elves at the back, fifteen in total. Injured elves escaped to them, and emerged back into combat healed—a seemingly impossible feat, introducing healing magic into the equation and further complicating my calculations. The prolonged battle necessitated expending more magic to enhance the trolls, ensuring an even playing field.

After another half-hour, straining my magical abilities to their limits, 95 elves had succumbed, and I pulled them to a small pile at the back. As for the trolls, 124 had lost consciousness. Each time one did, I transported them underground, shielding them behind my abjured barriers from any magical or other threats.

BOOM!

An explosion blossomed between Lor'themar and Zul'jin as fire and water clashed. While the elves possessed more prowess due to their discipline, organisation, and seemingly infinite magic, the trolls were not far behind with their sheer numbers and unbridled abandon in battle. As the battle progressed, more trolls succumbed to berserker fury, their fear of death diminishing almost nonexistent as they attacked the elves with deals of mutual death.

Another half an hour passed, 212 of the elves have already been sent to the pile, while 301 trolls are resting behind me, Zul'jin is already sweating buckets and Lor'themar is going berserk himself thinking that his elves are dead, blue glowing eyes met the bloody yellow.

"If I am going to die today Zul'jin I will bring you with me, you will die Zul'jin!" Lor'themar theron's berserker rage only intensified, as Zul'jin was pushed back, I cast enhancements upon Zul'jin, while keeping the other trolls and elves from making a ditch effort to interfere in the legendary battle in the middle.

After incapacitating the last of the elves and trolls who had their fill of the battle, only Zul'jin and Lor'themar remained standing. They entered a certain rhythm, Zul'jin's combat style seems to evolve mid battle, he was advancing, his technique became more cunning, lethal strikes growing more frequent. each would have killed a man within seconds if not for what was happening to Lor'themar himself, whom spirit was once like fireworks, the burning anger cooling off, and magic becoming more prolific around his body—abjuring barriers, invoking fire like a fire elemental, and enhancing himself with transmutation. It was a beautiful sight, it was a beautiful sight that would have left Zul'jin in shreds before, but now was barely able to keep up with the speed of Zul'jin.

As the battle seemed poised to continue for days, my focus was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of another group of 200 elves.

I sent a message to Zul'jin through a wind-talk spell, "We need to pull back, Zul'jin, as another group of elves is coming to reinforce."

cutting his way through another fireball to attack Lor'themar, Zul'jin gruffed, "I understand, but I can't disengage from Lor'themar. I ask of you, *#&%# of light, to take my injured away from here while I keep this elf in place."

"That is not possible; you are coming with me," I stood up, unsheathing my sword from the earth. Flapping my wings, not to fly, but to capture the attention of the two fighting legends, I addressed them, "I think you've had enough fun for the day, Lord Lor'themar. Please leave the trolls be; your people are well and should awaken shortly." I spoke in the same gruff voice as the trolls, locking eyes with Lor'themar with my grey-white eyes—the eyes of a blind man.

The fighting ceased as Lor'themar slowly pulled back. His sweating hands and battered face indicated his imminent collapse. Zul'jin, while in no better shape, had managed to endure the battle, the two of them were littered with small wounds and scratches painting themselves in blood, none are lethal that will see either dead but they may cause problems if not treated well.

"Being of light, why do you attach yourself to such people who do not worship you, nor do they care about you? If anything, they would see you sacrificed to their barbaric gods. Come back with me to Quel'Thalas, to Silvermoon," Lor'themar's plea fell upon deaf ears. He spoke with sincerity and love, but I would be lying to him and his kind, I would likely end up in a worse fate under these magocrats the minute my real identity was found out.

"I am not what you think, and I thank you for your warning. You may leave," I softly replied in troll speech, maintaining eye contact with Lor'themar until Zul'jin turned around and walked towards the barriers of light behind me.

"Have a great day, Lord Lor'themar," I said before turning and walking behind Zul'jin, who was undoubtedly putting on a strong front. His muscular structure was collapsing under the heavy treatment it received, but he should be fine in a couple of hours, considering the trolls' physiology. Watching the injured trolls behind me regenerate skin and bloody gashes was an amazing, enlightening sight I have never seen in my life.

Waiting until Lor'themar ran away in the direction of his fallen comrades, I began sending spells under the earth where the trolls lay, solidifying it before reducing its weight. With a bit of wind, the unconscious trolls were on the move again, all in front of Zul'jin's yellow eyes, who was looking straight at me.

"Who are you, Jaerel?" Zul'jin asked, his eyes holding a dreadful understanding.

I met his yellow eyes and replied, "I told you, I am a prince of the Jadd Empire, a servant and chosen of Surael, the god of the sun and light." For the first time, I spread my magic from its solid form to an aura that spanned quite a distance. "I am an elf, the son of Hiderion Tonanzuir, the grandson of Jaddar Jexiszuir, the dusk of the sun, the twin of morning, the servant of the most bright, and a lightbringer of the Lightbringer Order." I revealed my true form for the first time, standing at the same height as Zul'jin. I looked more human than elven in this world, with less pointed ears, less glowy eyes, and less golden hair. "I am a desert elf from another world, and I request to be hosted under King Zul'jin within the city of Zul'Aman."

Zul'jin's face expressed anger, betrayal, and then despair, cycling through all colours before saying, "Jaerel Tonanzuir, yo-you are coming with me to Zul'Aman." His last words were uttered before he passed out. I rushed to his aid, holding him before he fell to the ground with my elven form, no longer covered by magic or armour.

Holding Zul'jin within my arms until I reached the floating earth, I laid him among his men.

I honestly expected nothing but disdain, threats, or even an outright attack, not a begrudging acceptance. But it was meant to happen at a certain point, be it sooner or later. I was not going to lie for a thing as simple as my identity.

Encasing myself anew in resplendent golden armour, I ascended, soaring above the earthly realm once more. My wings gracefully beat the air, and there I was—aloft, with the wind around me, the land beneath me, and the heavens above me. A prisoner, yet within this exquisite captivity.

Descending back down to the ground, I was met by some of the reawakened trolls—those that did not succumb to their berserker frenzy, expending their spirit upon a temporary boost of strength.

Thud.

My feet made a resonant impact upon the ground before I signalled to awe-inspired trolls about the sleeping form of Zul'jin, "the king is fatigued; the king shall remain under my protection till he awakes. Lead the way to Zul'Aman, as the Amani warriors have fought valiantly and deserve respite."

The trolls, unable to restrain themselves from assuming a more upright posture, their previously hunched backs flattened. "O-on it" with a slight stutter two trolls responded, promptly jumping down the mobile platform and hastened at full speed in the direction of what I presume to be Zul'Aman.

I did not dwindle behind, casting a spell to mitigate the wind's impact and friction on the platform, I hovered with my wings unfurled behind the speeding trolls, the platform trailed closely.

After almost half an hour of unrelenting sprint we encountered a contingent of trolls, 504 trolls in size, 3 leaders at the front, the one runner that was sent by Zul'jin and 500 trolls. Among the diverse multitude were priests, berserkers, axe throwers, and some foul looking trolls, seemingly grotesque not in physique but in soul. Their entire spiritual essence appeared tainted, exuding a pus-like substance and emanating some polluted spirit around it that seemingly corrupts the very air around it. If this was within The Jadd empire, I would have struck them where they stood, the agenda of such people shall be discussed deeply with Zul'jin later on.

I permitted the witch doctors to examine Zul'jin and the unconscious warriors, while keeping my eye on the voodooist.

The witch doctors had weaker spirit around their souls, unless they are some really depressed people without ambition or future, there must be a reason for that, meanwhile their souls were a much more virtuous light then all the other trolls, being brighter and more aligned with goodness, health, and vitality, but most odd was the serene harmony they have with their surroundings.

Conversely, the voodooist harboured a considerably darker soul, imbued with an evil essence seemingly aimed at causing harm to those in proximity. but what mostly cemented their place as people of untrustworthy moral fibre; was how the pus and darkness in their spirit seemed to shy away and try to hide away from my light and sight.

I shall remain of utmost vigil against these people and whatever action they may do.

I directed my focus toward the magic cast by the witch doctors. water, flowing gracefully from their hands, gently dripping upon the unconscious warriors with any shape or form of wounds, healing them easily.

a troll witch doctor looked up from the form of Zul'jin and spoke to me " *#&%# of light what happened to our king?"

I regarded the lanky troll below and articulated, "He engaged in combat with Lor'themar Theron, the second-in-command of the farstriders rangers. The skirmish extended for two hours and then some."

The troll's eyes did not leave mine for the next 15 seconds or so, "I am Tzoxo, the leading witch doctor of Zul'Aman," he lowered his eyes back at Zul'jin.

"I am Jaerel Tonanzuir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, if you are going to heal Zul'jin's muscular system, I would advise against it, you would take away some of the benefits that battle would grant Zul'jin," I spoke to the weird witch doctor.

Tzoxo nodded at me, "then all he needs is some rest to heal, but I have a question for you Jaerel Tonanzuir, you are no *#&%# that I have ever seen, nor do you act like a *#&%# at all, if anything you act like a man of a civilised society, so Jaerel are you a *#&%# at all?"

I met the eyes of the witch doctor again, "Well I don't think I can answer your question at all"

Tzoxo eyes gained a look of incomprehension, "what do you mean by that?"

"You may not be aware, but I have learned your language in the past 7 hours through the conversations of the warriors laying around us, so there's some words I simply can't comprehend without encountering an example first, and ' *#&%#' is one of them, as I simply do not know what you are referring to" I explained to the lanky witch doctor, Tzoxo.

The lanky witch doctor's visage registered shock, his hunched back straightening as he reeled back, his black hair and goatee fluttering, "Hahaha" Laughter burst from him, the laughter continued for more than a couple of minutes to the shock to almost every troll present and awake.

After Tzoxo concluded his laughter, he stood up from his fit, "I apologise, allow me to reintroduce myself, if you do not mind. I am Tzoxo, the leading witch doctor of Zul'Aman and the uncle of Zul'jin. My brother, the previous king, has died recently and our king is yet inexperienced. Despite being the talk of legend, he is still young nonetheless. I am an elder and the chief advisor of king Zul'jin till the day I am relieved of my duty or meet my demise," Tzoxo extended his hand, "nice to meet you Jaerel Tonanzuir, chosen of Surael. I warmly welcome you into our troll city of Zul'Aman.''

I clasped his hand as I witnessed his soul shedding its darkness and weariness, revealing a luminous, beautiful light—the first soul of such magnificence I had encountered within this realm. A soul characterised by robust moral convictions, a pure heart devoted to doing good upon this world.

Unable to restrain myself, I lowered myself to a height that would not leave Tzoxo utterly dwarfed, "the honour is entirely mine, O Tzoxo, elder of the Amani tribe."

I earnestly hoped he wouldn't be the sole representative of the Amani tribe possessing such a radiant soul.

"So, what are these *#&%#?" I asked, seeking to steer the conversation back, as I was genuinely intrigued by the meaning of the word.

The honoured troll ceased dusting his clothes off, casting his gaze upon me. "They are beings that we, witch doctors, can harness. We have a mission as the shaman witch doctors to keep equilibrium between the four primary elements: earth, wind, fire, and water. We preserve this balance by living in harmony with the elemental spirits, by being the medium to any conflict, we utilise spirit to seek aid from the elemental spirits, however, there are certain elemental spirits that get forms, and these elemental spirits are called elementals."

I regarded him as he halted his speech, visibly taken aback by the similarity. "So, they transform into elementals but manifest a physical form, with fire elementals embodying a fiery form, water elementals composed of water, and so forth, correct?" It echoed the very beings I could summon through my conjuration spell.

Attempting the summoning spell, fruitless the results were, there is most likely a problem with Azorath's elements or a disconnect to explain my inability to summon them.

He affirmed, "Those are elementals. They can be summoned from their respective realms—realms forged by potent beings to confine the unruly elementals. When an elemental perishes on Azeroth, it is sent back to its corresponding realm. As a witch doctor, I can wield the power of the Elemental spirits—elementals without a form, like this." Tzoxo's hands emitted a blue light, casting a lightning bolt upon the ground before us, rousing some slumbering trolls and startling those already awake. "If there were a water body nearby, I could employ the water in a similar manner," he added.

Surveying the fire sparked by the lightning bolt, I noted it to be a weaker version than the lightning I could evocate. Nonetheless, it remained impractical for me, given the changes I had recently discerned.

Dousing the fire with a water stream. "Could you do that again elder Tzoxo?" I requested..

Tzoxo complied, and as I focused on his spirit during the lightning cast, I detected a minute alteration in his spirit, akin to it being syphoned away.

Contemplating, I remarked, "Elder Tzoxo, Did you know that your spirit was syphoned when you cast your spell,"

Tzoxo's expression conveyed mild astonishment before taking on a sombre hue."There is something in the earth, the air, the plants—everywhere around us and within us—known as spirit. it exists within all beings, and is produced by them in a really small supply, unfortunately the spirit is the thing that calms down the Elemental spirits so they can be talked to, So I have to give a little of my spirit away, every time I need to cast a spell, the stronger the spell I want casted, the more spirit I need to give away."

Meeting my gaze, "How can you see my spirit?" Tzoxo spoke.

I locked eyes with him, my grey-white gaze meeting his eyes. "You see, my eyes were not naturally grey; they were blue. However, upon being chosen by Surael, we were presented with the choice between perceiving the souls of the living and later developing the ability to see their flesh, or observing the flesh and subsequently the souls. Under Surael's tutelage, we discovered the soul's unparalleled beauty, so we opted for it. The soul is encompassed by an outer layer that largely governs the being's emotions, moods and keeps him connected to his body. It's akin to transparent, clear water encircling the soul—commonly referred to as the spirit. The spirit is a component of the soul that remains after the being's demise."

Tzoxo's already fiery gaze only got more heated, "Jaerel Tonanzuir, who are you? Are you a mage from Dalaran, arriving to scorn us, or a magister from Silvermoon, aiming to manipulate us into becoming willing pawns in your schemes? The more you speak, the more you remind me of those monsters who massacred us in the troll wars, seized our cities, plundered our holy lands. The same people who relentlessly hunt us every dawn and dusk to ensure our demise. That's the only explanation, unless you were dispatched by the loa themselves as aid in our time of greatest need for heroes and reminders of who we truly were and are."

I cast my eyes downward, fearing the potential disappointment in those hopeful orbs—a glimmer suggesting they might escape society's reproach, no longer scorned creatures of civilization. I steeled my heart, There is no way out after this. I declared, "I am neither a mage from Dalaran nor an elf from Silvermoon." My eyes ascended to meet his, resembling miniature suns nearing their dusk, the orange hue waning before the encroaching night. "Yet, I shall deliver salvation unto you. I will instil righteousness, expunge the hatred within you, transforming every soul into a radiant sun. Tzoxo, know this: in Surael's name, I shall aid your people. It is a promise I will uphold, even should the sky crumble tomorrow."

"I will ensure you fulfil this promise," echoed the unexpected voice of Zul'jin, who had been at rest not so long ago. "Your aid shall not be forgotten, O chosen servant of Surael."

a weird Silence enveloped us as the warriors awoke from their rest.

Hovering behind the army, progressing at a leisurely pace through the forest, I bore the weight of two trolls upon my shoulders—Zul'jin and Tzoxo. Zul'jin maintained a stoic face with no apparent change, but his soul spoke volumes about the wonder he was feeling to be flying. In contrast, Tzoxo exuded an air of merriment, That showed truly on his face with a wide smile. Soaring higher, we ascended above the dense trees of the Amani forest. A rhythmic beat of my wings I propelled myself at a high speed, I couldn't help but resent Zul'jin's stony heart, it is cold, unfeeling of much around it, taking on a persona that will see him broken and crazy at the first sign of pressure. As he is the leader of his tribe, such a disposition could result in the tribe's isolation and eventual demise.

Doing aerial acrobatics, I noticed Zul'jin's increasing excitement, suppressed behind a veneer of restraint. Conversely, Tzoxo's merriment transformed into fear as the world seemed to spin around him. wheelbarrows, flips, dives, and more, I heightened Zul'jin's exhilaration until he began screaming, not in fear like Tzoxo but from sheer delight.

After a few more minutes in the sky, I dropped down….sharply, causing an explosion as I breached the sound barrier. Zul'jin's screams transitioned from excitement to fear. Crashing into the earth with an explosive impact, I dislodged and shattered the surrounding forest.

"How did you like that?" I spoke, trying to hide my amusement to an unfortunate end.

The pallid face of Zul'jin turned to me, "That was an experience….."

Tzoxo's countenance was less composed. "That was truly amazing. Perhaps I'll live long enough to experience it again, just not on your shoulders." He jumped down from my shoulder with unsteady legs, walking behind the army, albeit at a slower pace due to his weak and wobbly legs. The army had come to a complete halt during my flight, gazing in astonishment.

For the next hour and a half, a comfortable silence reigned, in stark contrast to the discomforting hush before.

With Zul'jin perched on my shoulder, we beheld the sight of Zul'Aman. As expected, it was an enormous city in severe disrepair—crumbling, overgrown with moss and greenery, statues adorning the gate that would have appeared majestic if not for chipped stone and moss rendering them unsightly. Even the walls required reinforcement from the outside with wood to prevent collapse. I was genuinely appalled and disgusted at such a sight.

I don't even think this place is able to maintain any life outside the trolls, who have the immune system and bodily strength to take so much punishment from nature.

Upon touching the ground to proceed through the main gate, trolls respectfully parted, their gaze fixated on the golden giant—myself—entering the city.

The moment I stepped into the city, my entire being recoiled, as if on the brink of retching from the sight and stench. Dark energies permeated the air— Spirits of dead trolls, repugnant bloody sacrifices, and the lingering vengeance of elves and humans. The city stood hamstrung by the worst disaster that could ever befall a civilization, Disowned by their forebears, scorned by their adversaries, the trolls, battered by successive defeats, grew embittered, descending into an abyss of moral degradation. They abandoned all principles, standing for nothing, willing to sacrifice everything for a glimmer of victory—an abhorrent reality that stood before me, a reality I vowed to incinerate.

The dark energies and the haunting whispers of the damned did not contribute to the prosperity of the city; rather, they envoked the darkest inclinations of those within their reach. Jealousy, disloyalty, anger, guilt and pride are little more than spawnlings of the dirty spirit and the dark energy spread about in the air.

Shoddy shacks littered the landscape—wood and mud conglomerates dubbed homes. The lake resembled a morbid scene, its water undrinkable, tainted by the scent of feces and putrid meat. the very stones beneath my feet groaned, the place drank so much pain and hatred that it etched marks deep. A civilization cannot and will not rise from such barbarity. feelings of despair and pain will only lead to damnation, a spiral becoming increasingly harder to escape with each passing generation.

Houses sprawled across the land between the two temples surrounding the sanguineous lake, multitude of trolls, young and old looked upon me with wonder and awe. Yet, what shown most bright was hope—hope they directed towards Zul'jin, hope for a better tomorrow, that he will restore the greatness that was once lost, he will alleviate their sufferings, and obliterate their tormentors. Amidst the multitude, the one who radiated the most hope was Zul'jin himself. He aspired for his people, hoping to meet their expectations, aspiring to be a great king.

We traversed over a bridge that linked us to an island in the middle, hosting a decaying temple—a carcass of a bygone era. Much like the neglected city walls that surrounded the city , it was equally dilapidated, overgrown with moss and filth, and tainted further by bloody sacrifices. This was a dire aspect that needed swift rectification. How could an empire flourish on the bodies of its own people is beyond me.

Upon emerging from the temple, we proceeded towards another bridge that spanned across another lake situated behind the deteriorating temple. The surrounding populace of trolls was noticeably in better condition—well-nourished, robust, and generally healthier. The warriors accompanying me began dispersing among the families. They were the families of the troll warriors, more well fed, better housed in an area more protected, more secure, where the powerful and smart came to live far away from the general populace.

Exiting the residential area, we saw ourselves before a temple that was curved into the hillside, its ascending steps rose so high that it took the people on an odyssey to the heavens. However, even these steps were tainted by the relentless advance of the moss, its stones worn and destroyed, decaying in the wind. The temple, a testament to bygone glories, now stood as no more than a whispered echo, inviting those who ascended to dwell in reminiscence in old glories rather than fostering new triumphs.

I followed Tzoxo up a flight of stairs that led to a table beneath a throne. Several trolls were gathered around the table, and the number increased as additional trolls took seats in the vicinity. My role was clear as I walked toward the skull-adorned throne at the summit, crafted from wood and stone, with armrests fashioned from skulls seemingly shedding tears of blood. It presented a disturbingly captivating sight. Extending my armoured hand as a ramp for Zul'jin to walk upon, so he can seat himself upon his skull throne.

Seeing their king descending from a literal giant must have been quite the sight as the trolls all around looked upon their king with a newfound respect manifested in their gaze. I positioned myself behind the throne, assuming the role of a bodyguard. In an effort to minimise distraction, I dimmed my radiance and blended with the sunlight. I directed one of my thought streams to harness the power of the sun, fortifying the divine energy within—Surael's divine essence that I could wield within this distant world.

A profound silence fell, stifling any inclination to speak as the king settled into his seat. A minute elapsed, the trolls patiently awaiting their king's words. Finally, Zul'jin broke the silence with a command addressing his aide, "Daa'kara, Please brief the Elders upon the happenings of our latest endeavour"