Chapter 1 - Reporting for Duty
All I ever know, Mon, is the life of a nomad. Constantly moving, constantly searching for home. We Darkspear, all we know is the life of nomads. We finally tinking dat we got a home in Orgrimmar and da Horde, well, what I hear is dat dey foul it all up for us. Dat's why we move again, dat's why we callin' yet another place home again.
Da town crier, he come into da valley cryin' on about Vol'jin's rage, cryin' on about taking up arms, cryin' on about "We be movin' again, Brothers and Sisters. We be movin' on back to da Echo Isles. Too long have we been from dose homes dat were Thrall's gift to us. Bear arms, Brothers and Sisters, we be goin' home and ain't nobody gonna stop us."
"Bludtusk of the Darkspear, report." A troll's thick accent brought the young troll back from the memory and into the present. War drums and the sounds of simulated battle echoed off in the distance.
"Bludtusk."
Evident irritation in the voice caused the troll's accent to thicken even more. Bludtusk remembered being introduced to the bald, grey bearded, blue skinned troll only days before when he signed up to fight for the honor and glory of the Darkspear and the Horde. Standing before the assembled trainees was Jin'thala, the troll who it was rumored could peer for a moment into your soul and determine your destiny in the Horde's army. He was not a man to be kept waiting. Any troll unfortunate enough to miss his call was sent back to a life of fishing, cooking, or farming. Bludtusk stood before Jin'thala had a chance to send him slinking back to the family farm.
"Reporting." The single word sent a shiver of anticipation down Bludtusk's spine.
"Come forward, Mon. We ain't got all day." Bludtusk stepped forward. He stood tusk to tusk with the troll who would reveal his future with only a few words.
"Ah, yes, I see it, Mon. The elements, dey speak to you. You go see Nekali. She take care of you." Without another word, Jin'thala turned to the next trainee. "Sonaya of the Darkspear, report."
The elements. Nekali. A shaman. A smile broke out on his face.
The smile was quickly removed by the harsh tones of a female troll hardened by years of watching trainees fail miserably only to find the occasional diamond in the rough promising enough to consider for front line battle. "You, Mon, get ya butt over here. Target practice. Now."
Unable to resist neither the demanding tone of her order nor her pierced and red-maned visage, he ran to the nearest target. Grabbing a mace from a nearby rack, he smacked the tiki mask repeatedly until it splintered into two pieces. "No, no, no, enough." He paused mid-swing before taking his mace to the next target. "You can swing dat mace wit de best of dem. We ain't be warriors, Mon. Dis ain't our only lot in life to be cracking skulls. Sho' 'nuff, dat be part of bein' a shaman, but dat ain't the only t'ing we be good for. Lemme show you somet'ing, Mon. What dat Jin'thala say to you? He tell ya dat the elements talkin' to ya or some such? Yeah, he be a bit dramatic sometimes." Bludtusk smiled at her blunt assessment. "Get dat smile off'n ya face, Mon. I ain't be ya Momma. Now, listen up. Plant ya'self firmly into the ground. The elements, they ain't be talkin' to ya, but they definitely be part of who ya are. Feel the energy flow up from da earth and become part of ya. Let dat energy build up until it bursts from ya fingers in a bolt of lightnin' at ya enemy."
Placing the mace in the holster at his side, Bludtusk dug his feet into the earth. He felt grains of dirt and stones as they shifted underneath. It took only moments for the energy to tickle his toes. The electricity danced up his legs, gathering in a ball around his heart. Not wanting to incur her wrath again, he suppressed a smile as the warmth spread down his arms and a stream of electricity exited his fingertips. The lightning exploded one of the tiki targets into tiny pieces. "Woo!" The exclamation escaped before he could stop it. Instead of admonishing him, she ignored the breach and turned away from him. He thought he saw the stirrings of a smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth, but couldn't be sure.
"Come see me when you t'ink ya ready, Mon. I have a job for ya."
Bludtusk finished his training by destroying a few more targets, both using powerful melee strikes from his mace and his newly found power of lightning. Both types of attacks caused joyous release, each in its own way, of pent up energy. He approached his teacher, wondering what job she might have for new students. Moments later, chasing away wildmane cats and killing those too stupid or stubborn to leave, he wondered just what crazy notions of heroism led him to be disappointed at his current employment as a glorified exterminator. The cats needed to be killed. They were picking off the boars and better them to go than have his brothers and sisters die of starvation. He collected pelts from the cats. After driving the last of the pesky creatures from the boar fields, he returned to Nekali with his collection of pelts.
"T'ank ya, Mon. Dese make wonderful cloaks for our trainees to use in da Provin' Pit. Speakin' of da slimy devils, how about ya grab one a dose cloaks and head on over to da Pit. I figured from ya reaction to chasin' after da cats that ya have bigger dreams den just dat. Still, I had ta send ya out dere to see how ya react. Ya shown me dat ya willing to do whatever da tribe ask of ya and dat makes ya a special breed, Mon." She winked. "Get on ova' to da Pit and show me what ya got. I might be havin' a surprise for ya if ya live."
Bludtusk swallowed hard, cinched the cloak into place, made sure that he wore his mace in its holster, and walked to the Proving Pit. He had heard stories of troll trainees who had met their deaths in the pit, promising young warriors and magic users who were defeated, killed, and had their corpses fed to the naga slaves. The naga were a dangerous foe with natural body armor of scales and spikes, sharp dagger like claws, command of frost magic, and their natural hatred for the trolls. If he wasn't careful, he would quickly join the ranks of the defeated and nobody but his family would mourn the loss. Nervously stepping down the slope into the pit, he heard the command, "Release the prisoner!"
Unable to grab his mace due to the ferocity and rage of his opponent, Bludtusk found himself on the defensive to start the fight. The slimy creature opened its mouth wide, it's long tendrils waving in the sea breeze, and spat at him. The naga slithered quickly forward on the attack and he could only raise his arms in front of his face to fend off the scratching and biting of the fish man. The claw marks multiplied on his arm. They burned as bacteria crawled infected his blood. Bludtusk fell to one knee. He screamed as the naga bit off part of one of his fingers. His life flashed before his eyes, a life of farming and fishing. Why did I leave the farm, he thought bitterly, just to die in the trials? What a wasted life.
He could no longer even hold his hand up in defense. He used it to keep himself propped in a kneeling position. If he lost all leverage and ended up face down on the ground, it surely would be a wasted life for him. The naga laughed, a horrible guttural sound. Then, the creature began to chant. Bludtusk didn't understand the language, but he knew magic when he heard it. It's over. He thought. I'm sorry to leave this burden to my family.
"Ya have not been a burden. Ya have offered ya life in defense of the Darkspear tribe. We be proud of ya. Da Darkspear, dey be proud of ya."
"Grandfather?"
It couldn't be. His grandfather died during the Zalazane uprising. The hallucination was broken by an intense cold that enveloped Bludtusk's body. The naga had finished the spell and a blast of ice hit him with full force and pushed him on to his back. The naga moved in for the kill. "End this!" Someone in the gathered crowd shouted. "Kill the weakling!" Someone else added.
"You can do dis, Mon."
His grandfather spoke to him again. The familiar soothing voice focused Bludtusk on the task at hand. He felt power growing inside of him, fed by the elements and enhanced by the spirit of his grandfather. This was no longer a fair fight. The naga was outnumbered two to one. His grandfather would not allow him to die. Bludtusk waited until the stench of the creature was right over him before expelling all of the energy in as concentrated a burst as he could manage. "DIE!" He screamed. The lightning fried the naga, evaporating the slime from its body and producing an even fouler stench than normally associated with the fish men. The naga's body slumped forward on top of him. He closed his eyes against the pain of his injuries. The surrounding trolls let up a triumphant cheer.
"Get that troll out of dere. Fix him up." Nekali said. "He gonna go meet Vol'jin. Vol'jin gonna have big plans for him."
Vol'jin? Bludtusk thought. Me? I'm either dead or dreaming.
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