Warcraft: A Troll Quest

A Change of Ways - 1 Success Needed - Rolls; 4, 6 - 1 Critical Success, 1 Success - +3 Successes Total

When you gave a speech to your tribe about changing times, you received two distinct reactions. The first was noticeable relief as many in the tribe were beginning to worry that the jungle would soon reject the trolls' overcollection of its goods. With that fear gone, the tribe prepared for the War you knew was coming. Only those most diehard supporters of Justice against the elves were pleased about the state of affairs, but there was that determination amidst all the trolls. Even Krah'ranik's faction, who initially seemed as if they might resist, had seen you gain a supporter you hadn't expected: Krah'ranik himself.

The old Headhunter intervened before anything could happen. Before you knew it, you heard Krah'ranik speaking with several groups of his people, and then the faction that once threatened to split the tribe into two was now also determinedly assisting. It is uncertain whether it was due to Zalan's warning or simply due to your actions investigating the issue before it all led to this moment.

But you cannot say it was not welcome.

[The Tribe enthusiastically pushes to assist in defending their home with overwhelming determination +1 Success added to Military actions (+4 Successes Total)]

[Krah'Ranik is leading his group within the tribe to actively assist in the war effort. Whether this is a start to mending the divide or something else is uncertain]




Ordered to Build; Jail for Captives - 1 Success Needed - Rolls; 6 - 1 Critical Success - +1 Sucess from Strong - 3 Successes Total

There was a distinct problem when you set out to build a place to put these captives of yours in, as your people never had any reason for one in the past. You've had those who have murdered another, for which they were murdered in kind. Non-petty thieves generally never appeared simply due to how the tribe handled the family, and those who could not help themselves were given help. Those who did were merely a unique form of craven and often had hands cut off and burned so they couldn't grow back—or be killed. Simple solutions for simple problems, after all. Plus, if it was the food they stole, the family got to eat them in repayment after the fact.

Everyone who mattered tended to be happy about it.

So when it came down to the fact the tribe needed somewhere to put these elves so they couldn't freely range around, there was the obvious sticking them over a cliff in a cage. After all, it worked pretty well for the lone elf; why not the rest? It was tempting, but keeping them out of the rain so they would not be sick was a problem that had to be learned once.

Elves were quite frail? It was bizarre. Couldn't even regenerate if you could believe that fact. You almost didn't believe the Guards when they talked about it until you saw Nyrilin did indeed cut themselves with splinters.

A potion usually solves that issue, but you don't want to keep using up your people's actual potion stores when you are about to enter a war. So, you and a few laborers went to work to make a home for these captives. The original plan to make, quite literally, a home and then let the elves live in there was shut down due to how much freedom that gave them. Then, the idea of putting them in cages in a home was put forward, but it was also shut down because it didn't seem very secure.

Perhaps it was a bit strange, but then the idea of 'Put them in cages, in a house, thousands of feet in the air, so if they try to escape, they fall!' was put forward.

No one really had a better plan than that, and it was working quite effectively, so you and the laborers went to work.

It was staggering just how fast you could make this sort of thing with determined laborers, curses, and a few cases of spilled blood alongside rope burn. By the time you were done, you had a lovely home to a dozen warriors and your six captives, each having their cage over a terrifying drop that would land them right in the pools at the base of the village. You couldn't fit more than seven cages without putting even more time into the building, but should the elves struggle too hard or the ropes holding them up be cut, they would plummet to their deaths.

And it only took a single demonstration using a furious monkey to get the point across! Anyone who told you that speaking a language was required to send a threat would receive only your laughter!

[Simply yet brutally effective imprisonment strategy was installed just below the Chieftain's hut. +2 Successes to discovering prison escapes, Instant death to a Prisoner if they fail to leave the cage properly]




A Guard for the Guards - 1 Success Needed - Rolls; 5 - 1 Success, - +4 Successes from War Footing, +1 Success from Strong - 6 Success Total

Around the same time as the construction of the Jailhouse was starting, you began the other precaution to defend the elves. It took you very little time to gather the Warriors and Headhunters who were still practicing within the village and even less time to find the needed volunteers. Krah'ranik and Jor'kill were both informed of what your plans were, and they both attended the very same meeting you pulled all the Warriors and Headhunters into. When you first laid out your plans to the two groups that defended your people, they were notably hesitant. There was no lack of bad blood between the two groups, and it seemed as if standing around together in the village for days or nights on end would only lead in one direction.

Yet the moment you laid out why, you had their complete trust.

Although the two groups were on almost as bad terms as their leaders, they were united in the fact they both wished the best for their friends and family. The Shatterspear, at the end of hte day was a united tribe, not a divided one. The idea of some elves sneaking within and possibly striking down one of their friends? Their Family? It made them mad, but it gave them a common enemy to unite against. That the Headhunters were already assisting the Tribe due to Krah'ranik's actions, and now this? There were no dissenters.

So it was Warriors and Headhunters who stood guard alongside each other in silent, seething fury, daring elves to appear before them. With the success of rallying the martially inclined members of your Tribe, you asked for the assistance of Krah'ranik and Jor'kill in running attempts to try and free the elves within their cages, to their approval.

Several teams of Headhunters and Warriors attempted to free the elves, most being caught or found long before they ever made it to the Jailhouse. Krah'ranik and Jor'kill also lead teams in these testings of the Village's defenses, but they were similarly rebuffed. Krah;ranik made it to the doors of the Jail before being 'slain', while Jor'kill managed only because there was no one in the Tribe who could match him in direct combat, but even he was 'slain' once the headhunters rallied and unleashed waves of spears against him.

The Village was now tightly guarded and ready for any Elf attempts to free your captives.

[Overwhelming success in rallying your Mighty Warriors and Headhunters, managing to mend some of the divide while also accomplishing your goal.]
[+2 Dice for Shatterspear Defenders rolls, +3 Successes to catch Intrigue Actions against the village and +3 Successes to responding and fending off Might actions against the village]




Drama's an Old Friend - No Successes Needed - Rolls; 1 - Nothing Interesting

In between managing construction projects, preparing to speak with Shirvallah, and preparing to tackle once again the genuine possibility of Elves infiltrating the village, you stopped by to talk with several elders. Subsequently, you were passed around from group to group as more and more of the elders realized you had set aside time to speak with them at length.

Perhaps a bit of a mistake on your part.

Many were quite furious that you had avoided their circles after dropping the juiciest drama in over half a decade, that being Tojiar and Junjie's secret tryst. You had let it slip in retaliation for the rock thrown at your head, and it had seemingly set the village ablaze. Several elders attempted to grill you for knowledge of how you found out; others shared their amusement with you about how upset everyone was, and some had already forgotten it as 'past news.' The topic of their mating supposedly being blessed by Shirvallah was a much hotter topic.

So it was you who mainly was caught up to date with the daily gossip of the last several months and the ever-escalating love lives of the Trolls.

Perhaps you should send Junjie a nice present… She is supposed to be pregnant right now…




Craftsmenship Worthy of the Name - Armor for Jor'kill, Champion of Warriors - 1 Success Needed - Rolls; 2 - 1 Failure - +1 from Season's Worth of Work, +1 Success from Strong - 1 Success Total

You had only escaped the cruel clutches of the Elders when a completely different elderly troll approached you and shoved a basket into your arms. Confused by curiosity, the Elder explained he was wholly unsatisfied with the work he did the previous season and instead demanded you gather proper materials before requesting another such project. Even this could have been more satisfactory. Then there was a very long ranting dialogue about improper conditions, the wood that was unsatisfactory, and the fact that several Witch Doctors were too busy to assist him in coating the wood in something that would stand up to an axe. This was apparently the fifth iteration of the armor that finally satisfied the old Troll. Still, he would be willing to attempt another set should the Tribe gather wood of higher quality.

You thanked the Elder, who nodded and wandered off.

At the very least, Jor'kill will be ready for war.

[Jor'kill gained: Champion's Armor - +1 Success to Combat Rolls]




Untangling of Tongues - 4 3 Successes Needed - Rolls; 3, 3, 1, 3 - 1 Critical Failure, 3 Failures - +1 Success from Cunning, +2 Success from Additional Elves, +3 From Nyrilin's Cooperation - 1 Success Total

When you entered the cage house for the second time that season since it was constructed, it was too quickly silenced voices. The elves had been conversing under the suspicious eyes of the Warriors, who were thumbing their axes as they clearly were on the edge of breaking it up. That violence wouldn't happen now, however, as the elves all turned to regard you as you entered. Then Nyrilin quickly got to her feet and met your gaze.

"D'ey been talkin' since d'ey been put in 'ere." You turned your head to the troll who spoke, "We be stoppin' 'em sometimes." A shrug followed the admission "Ain't sure what d'ey be talkin' 'bout, so we be t'inkin' it be 'bout escapin', but it mainly be d'at first one who be speakin' lots more."

"Nothin's come of it?"

"Nothin' but d'at first one gettin' more scared."

You hummed as you rolled that over in your mind for a few moments before dismissing the warrior with a wave of your hand. Three warriors went over to the rope holding the first of the elves above the abyss and began hauling it higher; the purposefully heavy cage was lifted before the wood was placed across the hole. The cage was placed back down with the sounds of relief from the warriors who were forced to lift the thing.

For her credit, the elf only had to crouch slightly to maintain its balance, but it was admirable how stoic it tried to look nonetheless. Two warriors, the two you brought with you, that is, pulled the elf from the cage, and the four of you left the cage house to the village. Nyrilin almost immediately began looking about, seeing all the extra guards, the village in the throes of preparation for war, and the trolls preparing weapons for the war. Every sight made the elf more nervous and panicky. If the Warriors weren't dragging the smaller creature, you were confident they might have stopped to stare more than once.

Your home, slightly more lived in now after a few seasons inside, was already ready with two cushions and some fruits prepared for the two of you. You took your seat while Nyrilin was not so gently shoved into hers. Then, the same method of learning how to speak these strange elf's languages began.

But it soon became apparent where exactly the topic was going, even with your near rudimentary ability to speak the oh-so-annoying language—things such as axes, spears, warriors, fight, hunters, etc. But despite your best efforts and Nyrilin's complete and utter willingness, it was a struggle to piece these together. Most likely, it was because it was clear Nyrilin was trying to fish for information from you. No doubt Nyrilin's wincing at your pronunciation was hardly helping.

"Why."

You raised a brow at that.

"Anu. Ethala. Shari…?"

Nyrilin was speaking awfully simplistic, no doubt for your benefit. It also wasn't hard to figure out what the elf meant. 'Why, Warrior, Fight'. There's not much to misconstrue when you've watched her direct the teaching this entire time. But you were gracious enough to its willingness anyhow. What's a treat or two?

"Alah U'phol." Home. Threat.

The stricken and guilty look on its face let you know it knew it was its fault.

[Jalo'ki Gained Body Trait: Rudimentary Darnassian - Ability to speak 1 in 10 words of the Elf Language]




A Bargain Struck (Shirvallaha) - Rolls; 1, 1, 4 - 2 Critical Failures, 1 Failure - +2 On the Eve of War, +2 Protective Mother - 1 Failure Total

The time to commune with Shirvallah is always on two very distinct times of day. The first is when the sun is at its highest peak in the sky and where no shadows can live without cover. Shirvallah embodies the warm sun, casting her warmth and love upon the Trolls of the tribe. But the second is on the verge of a baby's birth; Shirvallah is said to always be there in spirit to see the welcoming of a new child unto the tribe.

Now, for obvious reasons, you don't have a mother ready and waiting to pop out a baby. However, there are several notable times in your tribe's history when the Chieftain waited for that before consulting Shirvallah; yours is not one of those… You think.

Mainly just lacking in time for the whole thing.

Maybe if this was the fall or winter when Junjie was expecting.

Regardless, Una Ji'ro, as Voriya before, was amidst calling upon the Loa. The shrine of Shirvallah was far more plain in comparison to that of Bethekk, with but a single triumphant statue of Shirvallah atop a stone plinth, looking towards the sea. Supposedly to protect the tribe from invaders but also to watch for the ancient enemy she once flung from the peak.

As it was told to you.

The shrine had four braziers surrounding the corners of the plinth upon which the statue of Shirvallah.

As you were pondering the nature of Shirvallah's shrine, you felt the presence. That overbearing feeling of eyes gazing down at you, encompassing you like a weight on your shoulders. This was not Bethekk, a predator slinking within their domain of shadow and darkness, but the eyes of a domineering animal, unchallenged by all and dared another step forth so it might rip out the challenger's throat.

Then, the great tiger Shirvallah stepped past you, approaching her shrine on a stroll. The force was there, yet this time, there was no feeling of being threatened, of dominance. The weight of before now was a comforting embrace, the sense of a mother's protectiveness, the promises that everything would be fine and that nothing could harm you. In these times of uncertainty and unknowns, it was very comfortable indeed.

"Child of the Shatterspear," Shirvallah intoned, sitting back to back with the stone statue of her visage. Perhaps that was why it faced the sea, so Shirvallah's own eyes would be the ones to look upon the tribe… I see you are hale and whole, Jalo'ki. This pleases me greatly." The genuine care in her voice made you wholeheartedly believe those words.

"'Ah thank ya', Shirvallah for ya' concern." You respectfully bowed. "But 'ah cannot say it might continue to be so. 'Ah have come for answers to the past of my people." You hesitated there, wondering if you might invoke the same wrath as Bethekk brought to bear, but as your heartbeat, the semi-translucent Loa made no such move outside the twisting of its tail. "The Elves be ever encroachin' an' we 'ave fought some o' them. Do ya' know of the deal d'at was made when the Shatterspear arrived upon d'ese lands?"

Shirvallah hummed as if you answered her question. "So that is how you angered Bethekk so. I understand." Shirvallah's head turned as if regarding something in the distance, but you would swear you saw an upturn in the tiger's lips before they returned to you. The look afterward thoroughly squashes any amusement you had. "I am sorry, Jalo'ki. I was not the Loa to make such a deal with the Elves."

Thankfully, before you could even voice the hopeless confusion now written across your face, Shirvallah continued, "Bethekk and Myself were only called upon after your people had made their village within these mountains. We knew nothing of your people before their arrival to these lands… But that is not to say we do not suspect who it might be."

"There are other loa?!" Your jaw gapped, the notion itself seemed preposterous. The only two gods were Shirvallah and Bethekk, there WERE no other gods… Except there was that story of Shirvallah's shrine… "Are ya' speakin' of d'at troll whose shrine ya' swiped into the sea?"

You felt the goddess's anger then, muscles ripping across the translucent body of the Loa, and you felt the misstep you made when your heart seized in fear. That protective embrace felt like weighted stones. "No," Shirvallah intoned, even as slaughter was upon her mind. But there are others in this world beyond us. I shall seek out who I suspect."

The feeling of stones left, replaced by the feeling of encouragement, eased your heart to the point you could not stop the exhale, which left your shoulders drooping. The tiger Goddess plodded towards you, head nuzzling your cheek affectionately, while her body wrapped around you. "Do not fear, Jalo'ki. For all of Bethekk's anger, for all of my dotting, we are not without means, and we are not without our powers." Your hands were filled with the fur that allowed none of the half-solidity to show as Shirvallah embraced you wholeheartedly.

At that moment, above all else, you did not feel like the chieftain you styled yourself as. Even greater than before, you felt no weary, no fear, no doubt. It almost brought you to tears as the goddess slowly detached herself from your body. You earnestly and thoughtlessly almost held onto the Loa then, desperate to keep the feeling, yet your mind caught up with your heart, and you let her slip from your hands.

Feeling all the colder for it.

"You are young, Jalo'ki." Shirvallah whispered into your ear, "You need not bear all the burdens of your people. Call upon us. We shall answer as it has always been." She left you then. No longer was the translucent tiger there, yet you felt the goddess all the same. "Your people were the first upon this world. They shall yet be the last."

[Shirvallah Relation Revealed: Good]
[Shirvallah does not know about the deal with the Elves, but suspects what Loa did oversee such a deal and will do her own investigation]



It was after most of the season had passed that it happened. It is far too late in the summer for the best opportunities, yet the reason for a delay for so long befuddled many after the fact. Indeed, if they were to infiltrate the village, doing so before you had established guards before you had fortified where you kept the prisoners would not have been a better time… Yet it happened so late, all the same, like a misfitting puzzle piece that did not fit correctly.

Perhaps that is why it caught you all by surprise.


The night was one where the moon shone brightly in the sky. The guards you had established were ever watchful. It was not a matter of the guards slacking; they all knew this would be the season the elves made their move; for months on end, the Warriors and Headhunters prepared endlessly for the attempt to make it through the village to the captives. So they watched the darkness from the bastion of torches, but with the moon so bright, the need for torches almost didn't exist except to coat the village in orange light.

One such Headhunter watched a bush wearily. He was but one of many in the village that night, yet there were several times he would have sworn he saw the brush move. He watched it for almost a minute now, feeling sweat bead down his face as he peered over his two great tusks. He thumbed the spear in his hands, debating whether or not to test the nerves of his brothers and sisters, who were also on guard, by chucking it directly into what he thought was a foe. Slowly, ever so, he hefted the spear in his hands, readying himself-

"What are ya' doin', Mon?" Pomar asked, turning away from where they were looking across the distance to another group who was walking around the perimeter of the village to regard him with curiosity.

Tebak looked at the warrior at his side for the interruption before looking back to see an Ocelot escape from the depths of the bush. Tebak shook his head. "Nothin'. How it be lookin' cross the way?"

"Same as it be an' hour 'go."

Thus, the two slowly growing friends went back to their watches.

Unaware of the lowering bow within the same brush Tebak was inspecting.


At the base of the waterfall, the heart of the village, no families still walked the dirt paths of ladders or walkways of the village, none save the Defending Headhunters and Warriors who stood lookout while their people and compatriots slept. They were on the lookout, under no facade that the elves might get past their brothers and sisters on the outskirts of the village. So they patrol between the houses and huts, eyes shifting towards shadows and rooftops, unaware of their very same targets drifting through the village like spirits.

Trolls plodded along the path up and down the mountain trail, exchanging nods and greetings and the smallest of talks for a few moments before continuing. Several trolls inspected the shadows of houses every few hours, but as it was much like previous days, there were very few signs of any elves. Guard change was due to happen soon, and those who rested half the day and half the night emerged to take the place of their brothers and sisters.
But it was amidst this change that Voriya awoke.

As a priestess of the Loa, Voriya did nothing like guarding the village, with perhaps the exclusion of the shrine, but that was hardly true. She slept in that shrine just as Una J'iro did atop the mountain in a small home just beyond the shrine. To both commune with their god at a moment's notice and to allow the Loa to speak dire warnings about the future. So it has been so that it will be.

So it was now.

Voriya awoke and equipped herself with the ease of a lifetime as both a Headhunter and a Priestess of Bethekk. She did not hear the command, but she felt the compulsion—the need to inspect the village then, on nothing more than the lightest tug upon her mind. So, she readied for war.

There were very, very few reasons for one of the Shatterspear to devote themselves to a Loa. Why would they? For all that the Loa were honored, and it was an honor to serve them, there was very little need of their mortal servants. If one needed to know how to perform a ritual to the Loa, you asked the Wave-Riders… Wave-Rider with Elder En'don's passing. The Priest of the Loa does upkeep their shrine, ensures proper guidance is given when trolls ask for it, and assures those attending the ritual the Loa are watching.

What might cause a Headhunter with great skill and ability to put such a thing down in favor of serving under one of those Loa?


The Honor of serving one who stands above mortality.


Voriya pounced on the first, sending her to the ground with an exhale of pain before the clawed gauntlets that all priests of Bethekk wore to war tore them into a bloody, mauled mess before they could even scream. The second's throat was gored upon Voriya's tusks, while a third saw them fall as claws tore at their armor and slashed their bow to splinters. Then, the Elves realized what had descended upon them and drew daggers.

It would have been kinder to themselves to flee.

Voriya's rampage continued unimpeded by the blades flashing and attempting to slay her. Why would it? The priestess of Bethekk was in her element, covered in the shadowy leather of her Patron Loa, the elves caught by surprise, rend-murder-SLAUGHTER- REPAY FOR THE DEATH OF THOUSANDS-

The Rage of Bethekk flared.

A Roar escaped from Voriya's throat.

The village came alive.


A horn was raised to the lip of the Elf leader, and the blast shook the walls of the village itself.

The Fate of All that was Known is now Unknown.




You awoke in a cold sweat, panicked, as the echoing roars of the Loa, which once hunted your steps, echoed in the darkness. You scrambled, hurriedly lighting the brazier just beyond the reach of your hammock, casting your home atop the village in orange flickering light—angry light. Then, the sounds of fighting met your ears.

Flinging open the mat that acted as a door to your home, you looked over your village.


You saw only carnage.

With your vantage point, you watched as Trolls on the edge of the village engaged with Elves that clung to shadows and looked invisible to your eye. Warriors and Headhunters engaged Elves atop that same giant cat you saw Krah'ranik slay engaged warriors, while elves wielding bows traded arrows with the Headhunter's spears. Elves riding atop Hippogryphs unleashed their frenzy as well, supporting those elves attacking the edge of the village. But they were clearly challenged by the mountain's terrain. They were a mix of death cries, roars, warcries, and shouts of exertion.

Elves were constantly erring when it came to the uneven terrain, even the great cats having to readjust their stances to find better perches, and that allowed the Warriors all the advantage they needed. Elves riding cats were finding themselves readjusting their stance, and they were put at risk as Warriors with their axes took advantage.

But the cost was bloody.

Trolls were winning around the outer ring of the village where the mountain gave them their edge, but they sustained losses. Outnumbered as they were by the elves, they could only do so much. More trolls flooded in from their position around the edges of the village and began surrounding the elves, but it would take them time to get there. The trolls that held the elves back were taking the heaviest losses as dozens of trolls traded their lives for a greater number of elves. They held for now, but numbers were telling a different tale.

Yet the greater carnage was within the center of the village itself.

A dozen elves within the very center of the village with bows and daggers set about their surroundings. A patrol of Warriors and Headhunters engaged them, much as they did in the outer surroundings of the village, yet it was not the warriors that drew the eye. Instead, it was the priestess, coated in gore and blood, that tore to shreds all that entered her reach.

Voriya fought like a troll possessed, descending on every person or elf within reach and shredding them to death. Arrows stuck from her body, yet she fought on, taking stabs of daggers and pressing onward.

Even still, the elves were fighting in disciplined ranks, covering each other's retreats with arrows and shouts of the elven language too fast for you to parse into the chasing trolls and Voriya, but it was a swift and quickly losing battle. As the Warriors finally were beside Voriya and also attacking the elves, their numbers dropped even faster. At the same time, the Headhunters were given the most straightforward task of picking off those furthest as they were wholly too busy attempting to fend off the frenzied Voriya and the Warriors half a step behind her.


You watched, stunned, as the trolls rallied at the edge, joining in the fight against the elves that continued to attempt to bypass the trolls, holding them back in their attempts to get inside the village itself. The trolls, perhaps in realization, fought even harder.

The home of a Troll tribe was its heart, where innumerable generations were born, raised, and died within, giving them a quite literal spiritual connection to their home. In all the world where the Trolls could be, they were here. They were at peace here. This was Their Land.

The trolls stalemated yet again. As more and more trolls fell, so too did their opposition as the Elves tried desperately to strike through the troll defenders, only to meet with even more determined desperation to hold them at bay. Trolls rallied to their fellows, evening the battle in numbers and beginning to surround the elves. Their force had met a deadlock with the trolls, who refused to give them an inch of ground now that they were eye to eye with the number of elves.

So, the Elves were made like cowards.

With the sound of a horn echoing, You watch as a score of hippogryphs escorted by some elves atop their own descended past the Headhunters who were far too occupied with slaying an Elf atop a great cat that managed to make it past the warriors. You watched as the Hippogryphs made for where the group of elf infiltrators managed to make it halfway up the trail toward-

"GET DOWN D'ERE!" You shouted to the nearby warriors guarding the Cage-house. They, too, were watching the battle, clearly wanting nothing more to do exactly that. They turned to you, unsure, "LEAVE THE ONES IN D'AT HOUSE! DON'T YA' BE LETTIN' D'EM CLIMB HIGHER!" That was all the encouragement they needed then. A direct order from the chieftain saw five warriors charge downhill toward the elves who were still trying to run from Voriya and the other Patrols.

The Infiltrators saw the descending warriors and formed a circle, half laying into the trolls down the hill while the other half shot at the descending warriors. The pincer of trolls was stalled for a few moments, all except Voriya, who did not care about wounds. Instead, the Priestess roared her anger at the elves and continued charging up the hill in defiance of the multiple arrows in her body.

Then the trolls were atop the elves, and it was a slaughter. Warriors with axes, headhunters with their spears picking out those not directly in combat, Voriya amidst them all uncaring of her wounds. You saw that the elves gave their lives and died for it. Of the three who managed to climb aboard a hippogryph without getting ripped out and slaughtered on the ground by the trolls, none of them were unwounded.

Then, the Elves outside the village, with whatever infiltrators saved that they could, began to retreat, with the trolls pursuing in their frenzy.


You, far too busy seeing to the wounded and trying to fix the, thankfully, light damage to the village itself, only learned of the disastrous pursuit after the fact. When the Elves retreated, it was almost pure confusion that saw their ranks break apart and disintegrate as they retreated towards the passes out of the mountains. Yet it was virtually the same with the trolls. The dissipation of trolls into groups of two or three continuously ambushed elves wherever they were found, the mountains working both for and against this, and by the time the trolls returned home, wounded yet filled with glory and their dead, it was to uncertainty how many of the elves escaped or how many still resided within their Vale itself.

However, for the only battle between the Trolls and the Elves, the trolls showed they were not to be underestimated.

[With the unplanned intervention of Bethekk when the Elves strayed too close to her shrine, Voriya uncovered the elf infiltrators and alerted the tribe]
[The Elves Attempted to free the captives by force, but the Infiltrators were slaughtered almost to a woman, while the outside force bloodied and were bloodied by the Troll Defenders]
[The Elf Retreat and Troll pursuit were both complete disasters, with the Trolls slaughtering groups wholesale, yet are unsure if they truly managed to get every group that fled]
[Minimal Damage to the Village]
[1 in 5 Outer Trolls wounded, Several Dozen slain]
[Minimal Losses from Inner Defenders]
[Elf Losses ???]
[Only 3 Infiltrators managed to escape]




AN: It's amazing the time RNG Jesus decides to look down upon y'all is when you have the best modifiers.

Excluding the obvious infiltration section since that was a lot of rolls. But also Good god Voriya and Bethekk took no prisoners.

Thank you so much for your patience, I promise the Interlude will not take nearly as long… Hopefully…

In death, Master En'don looked far more peaceful than he did in life. But that peace came from the uncanniness of his face, not sporting a smile that told you he knew something you didn't or the scrunched-up face as the wheels in his head turned as he was fitting together some sort of puzzle. It was that same that always met you when you asked a question or the two of you were having good-natured debates over the messages left by your tribe's forebears. It was the smile that told you the history of your people in such detail it left your child's brain spinning, baffled by how you were to remember it all.

There were the faces Master En'don made in conspiracy, knowing it was your mischief that had the village knocking on his house. Yet, it was that same face that promised you would be punished before the two of you spent the evening in jest over what tricks or schemes you had done. Rarely did the old troll frown over the near decade and a half you spent under his teachings, but those heralded the worst of punishments that could be inflicted onto a young child. Practicing Zandali by chiseling out the ancient poems of so and so honored ancestors until they can be given out.

Once, when you were only a few years into your learning under Master En'don, he spoke of the third of your order, an old troll who refused to talk with anyone if it was not on matters related to the history of the tribe. You had only met him once, a shriveled-up bag of bones who smelled like the very same clay that coated his hands, speaking at length of the importance of various herbal remedies that kept one's mind coherent in the daunting face of your people's history.

You assisted Master En'don in caring for the old troll as he passed, then helped toss the troll off the ledge into the sea as he had requested in his final moments. 'To return from where our ancestors left'... At the time, you did not understand why Master En'don cried so fiercely at the old troll's words… That was the only time you saw your mentor cry.

You thought of this all as you kneeled and stared at his body, still resting in his hammock… It was almost like he was asleep rather than dead. You wonder what his final moments were like, angry? Sad? He was oh so fearful of his memory when you had… Last seen him…

Did he remember you before he breathed his last breath?

You were the only living thing in your Master's home now. The Witch Doctor, who was keeping track of his health and having cleaned his body, had long since left. Master had long since dried since you started to kneel here. How long until his body began to rot? A Troll's natural regeneration lasts a bit longer after death, at least a few days if you recall correctly. Sometimes longer or lesser, depending on the troll…

You stood for the first time in hours on sore legs and left him there.




The underside of the houses with which the Shatterspear Trolls made their homes upon stilts to hold above the often muddy ground. Your ancestors once made their homes directly onto the ground, only to realize after the first rain season that water and mud did not care how much wood or how many reed woven mats were placed below their homes. Then mud and water would ascend all the same. So, they put their homes on stilts to put them above the elements. Dry floors were much nicer to live on, after all.

You thanked your forebears' thoughtfulness then, if only because it made it so much easier to access the mound of mud that stood as a crude shrine.

You had always assumed it was just some child's attempt at a fortress of mud, but now that you crawled on your hands and knees in the darkness of sunset, you knew all too well. Your six fingers pulled the pliant mud away, shoving it to the side before continuing deeper. When you were elbow deep, no longer were you fondly recalling the memories of your past but instead cursing every single forebear who decided THIS was a tremendous damned way to hide whatever wound Master En'don was high-strung over.

You don't quite know how long you were down there, scrabbling around in the mud, ruining your clothes, and giving your entire front a nice mud bath for your troubles. The deeper you dug, the more mud started turning almost directly into the water; the water soaked into the earth, filling the hole you made as you displaced more and more mud. It made digging that much of a pain, having to bowl handfuls of water out of the hole before you could begin making progress again.

As you went to get another globule of mud out, you felt your hand hit something solid. Perhaps it was exhaustion, maybe it was you digging in the dirt for what felt like hours, but the relief that you weren't on some half-mad venture was one of the greatest moments of your life.

Until another few hours later, when you had to pull up a chest that was as tall as you, then you just wanted to murder whoever came up with this cruel joke.

The chest, much unlike you and to your confusion, was pristine. It was almost like it had been freshly made by one of your woodworkers, except this one was buried under the mud and water for who even knew how long. It made you purse your lips before you began hauling the chest out from under the hut and with more curses and unkind words than you think you've ever spoken in your life into the rain, which also seemingly was rejected from the damned chest before bringing it into your Master's home. You made sure to avoid looking at your Master before making, quite honestly, macabre use of his bath.

Refreshed and renewed, you kneel before the chest. You, with much more patience than previous, unlatched the simple bronze latch. That was also a novelty you weren't expecting. Only the oldest heirlooms of the tribe had Bronze. It was something of a forgotten-

Your mind was seized, and it felt as if you swallowed your own tongue. Every hair in your fur stood on edge, and your gut told you this was some bad mojo. You once thought the feeling of Loa looking at you was disconcerting, but this was far worse. It was like a whole tub of cold water poured over your head before someone started to pick strands of hair from your fur.

Shutting the chest suddenly stopped every bad twisting feeling in your gut, but then your mind caught up with your body. Your heart beat like it was trying to escape your ribs, and your breaths were coming out fast and ragged. You couldn't help but turn your eyes back towards where your Master lay, wondering just what he was giving you. Then you looked back at the chest and prepared your body before you opened it again.

Being ready for the feeling did nothing to stop it from consuming you in its grips, but at least you weren't stuck in a panic over it all. Laying your eyes on the contents of the chest, you saw an ornate red mask resting on a cushion with some sort of cloth you hadn't seen before. On either side, leaning against the edges of the chests, were several clay tablets. You were suddenly thankful for the strength you inherited, as that would have made hauling this out of the sucking mud all the more challenging.

Your eyes, trying to avoid looking at the mask that made your soul stand on edge, looked toward the tablets on either side of the chest. Instantly locking on to the one with the words 'I beg your forgiveness, Jalo'ki.' With a gentleness that came with heart-palping panic and not so little amounts of desperation, you easily hefted the tablet out of the chest before slamming shut the chest once more. The calmness of a rainstorm slowed your heart from the grip of the mojo going on within the chest.

You pulled the tablet from your side into your lap and began to read the Zandali script for what it said.

A Letter for Leniency

I beg your forgiveness, Jalo'ki.

I knew of your appointment to be the Chieftain of the Shatterspear. I knew for almost half a decade that Jah'donak was adamant despite all my protests. He saw the hunger in your eyes, the same that I saw, and so these two old fools both sought to vest themselves of responsibility and leave it in your hands. It was unfair of us both to leave such in your hands, barely a girl past adulthood and yet being handed the keys to the history and the future of the tribe… Perhaps It is fate that you inherited both. Why else would the Wave-Rider's last living member be you, and the Chieftain's children be unfit for the role?

I don't know in what state you last saw me, whether I was a raving lunatic, lost in my memories, or someone else entirely. I don't know what you saw in my decaying mind. even now, I feel myself losing grip on who I remember… I don't know what you will see when you put on the mask. I saw the destruction of my city, oh so familiar yet so fantastical, that I could not comprehend it.

But I ask you not to remember who your Master was. I am not worthy of such remembrance, but I do plead for your forgiveness because I was unable to stop fate's wheel from turning to put everything on your shoulders.

Bwonsomdi will claim me soon. I feel it in my bones and hear his laughter in my ear.

I beg you, Jalo'ki. Yours is a heart of gold. Let no one dare speak against your abilities.

Even your doubts.

En'don the Wave-Rider

You set it down, sitting with only the pitter-patter of rain and the dead troll behind your back. You had thoughts, you had oh so many thoughts. Two fingers tapped your chin, glaring into the face of the chest as you were; what exactly caused such a violent reaction with your mentor? WHAT was within that mask, as strange as that sounded, which would give you such a violent response and make your Master see such things…

Did it matter?

No. Not to you. Why would it?

There were risks beyond even the risks of simply living life. But with this gift your Master left, could it truly be a consideration not to put it on? This was your legacy, regardless of Master's final days and fears. This was what he gifted to you. This was the history of the Wave-Riders.

The lid of the chest was lifted, and the mask was snatched before any fear or doubt could creep into your mind. As you swiped it, you realized what you had thought dyes or paint was instead blood that refused to dry or congeal, no different than freshly spilled for all the generations this mask had been sat in this chest… For a moment your mind strayed to the other tablets that looked newly made and wondered how old those were before it was ripped back on task.

Turning around, I showed a completely bared-back half of the mask.

Then it was upon your face, and you remembered.


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The sun through the window was the first rude attempt to draw you from your bed. For all that, it was a valiant attempt, and you ignored it. The sun was far from an unbeatable enemy. Nay, you weren't going to awaken for that alone. The stubbornness with which you clung to your sleep and blankets was unmatched by such benign forces. You've had natural causes that moved you when the sun did not.

It's a shame there were forces far from benign in this world.

The 'BAM, BAM, BAM' of the wooden door was one such.

"Apprentice ◼️◼️◼️◼️, awaken. Ya' Masta' demands your presence upon the highest terrace before da' Height o' da' sun eclipses da' vale."

Your ceremonial guard, despite all attempts, contrary to your personal feelings, did not consider it such a ceremony. As adamant at protecting your life from what threat eluded your attempts to find out, was their equal of making sure you did not escape your duties? Your groans only resulted in three more blows against the door. Your sleepy mind managed to form together a parry to the

"I be d'ere. Allow me ta' sleep mo'."

Alas, you faced a master in words as well as combat.

"Ya' have two hours 'fore ya' masta' need ya' on d'at terrace. No doubt ya' gonna be usin' one o' 'em to prepare." Three more, far more forceful blows, pounded on the wooden door. "Get up, or Imma be comin' in d'ere and forcin' ya up."

You almost considered making them come in and doing so. But no doubt if you risked such a fate, that damned fool Fenjir would make a mockery of your appearance. Your guard was oh so numb to the need your position put onto your appearance… No doubt they'd just throw whatever old cloth would fit in time and see you run off to Master with little better than underclothes rather than the proper robes befitting your station.

With a sigh, a groan, and several curses, you went upright in your bed. You already heard your guard step away with heavy steps, and the thought did cross to return to your slumber, but you knew better of it. It is better to get up and be up than be under the throes of that brute's hands.

So you stepped upon the fine pelts that littered your floors and marveled at the great Tiger head that rested above your mantle before stepping into the washing room.

The mirror showed–


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Name: Jalo'ki ◼️◼️◼️◼️
Gender (No Mechanical or Cultural Differences): Female Male or Female?

Starting Trait(s):

• [x] Witch Doctor (Legend 3) - You are the Healer and Voodoo user amidst the Trolls, yet all Witch Doctors call upon one unknowing aspect of Voodoo, as the magics of your people call and respond to you as a person, and your spirit responds in kind.
  (Disclaimer: regardless of which you pick, It will not assist in furthering Non-Troll uses of these schools of magic)
  • [] Arcane
  • [] Shadow
  • [] Loa
  • [] Nature
  • [] Tribe Exclusive: Blood

• [x] The Serpent's Apprentice (Legend 6) - Your Master, titled the Serpent for the death he deals with his mouth, is the second in command of the Tribe and is readying to lead the tribe to conquest once more. As an apprentice, you have only a fraction upon a fraction of his power, nonetheless you stand head and shoulders above the rest of the tribe.

Shatterspear Exclusive Starting Trait!!!

• [] Shatterspear Wave-Rider (Legend 3) - Once serving as sailors, now a ceremonial role, you are tasked with passing down the oral and written history of the Shatterspear alongside their knowledge.

Patron Loa:
Though it is true Trolls pray to all the Loa of their Tribe, there is always one a Troll turns to first amidst all. Who is yours?

• [] Shivallah the Life Mother - Shivallah is the Mother of your people, a guardian and a nurturer who defends your people as a mother would her own young. She guides and assists, readily providing healing to the wounded or sick, and bestows blessings to the just amidst your Tribe.
• [x] [] Bethekk the Night's Mistress - Bethekk is the secretive defender of your people, the silent watcher, and the silent instructor. Discipline and Cunning go hand in hand amidst her priesthood and she seeks to instill it in all trolls. She is the one who whispers the solution to a puzzle in your ear at night and in your dreams.
• [] Shadra the Mistress of Spies - Shadra is the shadow's mistress, the spirit of truths and the finder of lies. Shadra teaches the many secrets of the world and unveils the truth to the trolls, often a crisis is solved before it could even begin to the unsung praise of the Spider Loa. It is Shadra who finds the foes many know not how to seek.
• [] Hethess the Poisoned Lord - Hethess is the knife and assassin amidst the Loa of your tribe. Hethess teaches trolls that to protect you must predict, be proactive, and manipulate those who would attempt to threaten your people. A Poisoned foe is a crippled foe and poisoning the mind is just as effective as poisoning their body.
• [] Hir'eek the Lord of the Midnight Sky - Hir'eek is the teacher of your people's way of war, to strike from the shadows and night and allow no advantage. Hir'eek speaks to those lost in soul and in body, guiding them unto their place in the world and gives his blessings unto those who mastered the ways of bat riding and guides.
• [] Hakkar the Soul Flayer - Hakkar is the War God of your tribe, teaching domination, conquest, and the use of Bloodlust in fighting. Hakkar teaches brutal fury and bloodlust as the ways to win battle, often thought to have been the originator of the Berserkers found in all tribes of the world while also teaching enhancement through blood Voodoo.
  Though Hakkar is now outlawed amidst your tribe, his influence and fate are still yet tied to your tribe. A fact he is well aware of.

Motivation:
Motivation directs your actions and purpose, no Chieftain leads without purpose and no People would follow a directionless Chieftain. The Motivation you select will influence your character.

• [] Revenge
• [] Justice
• [x] [] Glory
• [] Greed
• [] Zealotry
• [] Indifference
• [] Sloth
• [] Knowledge
• [] Power
• [] Vanity
• [] Write-In

Body Traits (12 Points):

• [] Tall - 1 Point - +1 Success to Might rolls
• [] Small - 1 Point - +1 Success to Intrigue Rolls
• [] Flexible - 1 Point - +1 Success to Intrigue Rolls
• [] Sturdy - 1 Point - +1 Success to Endurance Rolls
• [x] [] Strong - 1 Point - +1 Success to Might Rolls
• [] Hardy - 1 Point - +1 Success to Endurance Rolls
• [] Spiritual - 1 Point - +1 Success to Mojo Rolls
• [] Beautiful - 1 Point - +1 Success to Moxie Rolls
• [x] [] Cunning - 1 Point - +1 Success to Mind Rolls
• [] Brave - 1 Point - +1 Success to Willpower Rolls
• [] Friend - 1 Point - +1 Success to Moxie Rolls
• [] Superstitious - 1 Point - +1 Success to Mojo Rolls
• [] Intelligent - 1 Point - +1 Success to Mind Rolls
• [] A Favor Owned - 2 Points - Guaranteed favor
• [] Dire Troll - 2 Points - Your bloodline had one or two Dire Trolls within it, and you have inheritor their strength +4 Success to Might Rolls, +4 Success to Endurance Rolls, +2 Failures to Mind Rolls
• [] Animal Friendship - 2 Points - All animals find your personage as an age old friend
• [x] [] Loa's Blessing - 2 Points - You earned a Blessing of your Loa
  • Write In
• [] Natural Berserker - 3 Points - Others had to work diligently for their ability to transform into the feared if temporary Dire Troll form, you've had the ability since Birth
• [] Zandalari Blood - 3 Points - Your family line descends from a Zandalari Troll, lowered Blessing Thresholds from Loa (If taken, Loa's Blessing cost 1 Point)
• [] Perfect Memory - 4 Points - If you have seen or heard it, you remember it clearly
• [] Hyper-Active Regeneration - 4 Points - Trolls regenerate naturally, yours is of the Trolls of Old
• [] Inheritor of a Legacy - 4 Points - Your ancestor was great and mighty, within you you can reclaim that which was lost
• [] Call of the Mojo - 4 Points - You understand how Mojo flows during your workings of Voodoo… Better to say you understand when it flows incorrectly.
• [] The Line of 'Non - 5 Points - Your Family were the ones to lead the tribe and cast out the Self-Destructive god. Your family has ruled the tribe since, and you are one of its scions. Unlocks ???
• [] Blood Runs True - 5 Points - You've the inkling of understanding how your Blood can increase your abilities with Mojo. (Add Endurance Dice to Mojo Rolls at the cost of HP)
• [] Arena Champion - 5 Points - You are the undisputed champion amidst the bloody sported gladiators of the Arena, they have all fallen where you have risen up. For that, you are adored and respected in equal measure. +4 Might Dice, Lets you use Might dice for Moxie actions and vice versa.
• [] Loa's Chosenborn - 6 Points - You were born blessed by a Loa of your tribe, and as such have become their champion.

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AN: Apolgies for the wait on this one, I had to compile all my notes, get the background stuff that might not even appear, etc etc. Not to mention writing for my small social circle. God forbid Pokemonrogue somehow sneaking in there with its horrifying distractions... Anyhow, enjoy.

EDIT: Added an extra day to teh vote since this is a 2nd character creation and I figured y'all might want more time to debate and discuss options.