OC/SI into an Amani Troll shortly before the fall of the Sunwell and the inception of the Scourge. Armed with an ability to grow by killing, he sets out to become a Champion of Light, no matter what anyone else on Azeroth has to say about it. Kael'thas would like to speak to the manager.
ScourgeBane (OC/SI Amani Troll. Commissioned.)
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Chapter 1: A Champion bravely runs away.
Here's chapter 1: A Champion bravely runs away.
A new story! Yes, I know I have too many. This has been commissioned, so who knows when updates will happen - it's all up to the guy commissioning it.
To preface this - it will absolutely be an OP character kicks a lot of ass kind of story - as that's what's been requested.
I'll still attempt to not make it too ridiculous in the process.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
＊＊＊
Lazar's heart pounded like a war drum as he crouched beneath the dense canopy of the forests of Quel'Thalas, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves underneath the overpowering scent of centuries of blood. The towering trees, their gnarled branches intertwined, cast a perpetual twilight over the forest floor here.
This part of the Eversong Forest wasn't the golden leaves and pretty cultured nature of the elves. This was Troll territory. Amani territory.
"Dis be madness," He muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant calls of revelling trolls and drums. "How I end up here, mon? Dis be Zul'Aman, da heart of da Amani."
His long moss green ears twitched as he heard himself speak, no matter his thoughts, or how he tried differently, his speech came out the same. This isn't funny… Why here of all places? Why now?
He clenched his fists, feeling the unfamiliar strength coursing through his sinewy arms. His skin, a deep mossy forest green, was adorned with ritualistic scars and tribal loa tattoos that marked him as one of the Amani. Memories had flooded his mind just minutes ago, a chaotic blend of his past regular life and the experiences of this new body of his. He was Lazar, a young troll on the cusp of adulthood, armed with a simple hunting bow slung across his back, a crude club at his side, and a butchering knife sheathed at his hip.
Of all the places to be reborn, he thought, a shiver running down his spine. "Da Amani, known for dey cruelty and blood rituals. And me, just a grunt, easy prey for da sacrifices." He grumbled, fingering his sharp tusks, the curved thick tusks capable of goring an enemy. He had memories of doing just that. Blood splashing in his face as he howled in victory.
The realization hit him like a blow from a warhammer as he watched the distant glimpse of Zul'Aman through a break in the forest. He was deep within Amani territory, surrounded by trolls who wouldn't hesitate to offer him up to their bloodthirsty gods as he was no one special. In fact he had memories watching his mother be dragged to the sacrificial altars. He had to get out, and fast.
There was no future with the Amani. Their fate was to be continuously curb stomped. They'd only fall further into corruption and blood rituals, binding their own gods. None of that would end well for a low grunt like himself.
Moving with the stealth of a practiced hunter, Lazar navigated the underbrush, each step calculated to avoid the dry twigs and fallen leaves that could betray his presence to anyone curious to follow. The forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, their eyes gleaming like tiny stars in the darkness as he silently passed by.
"South," He decided, mumbling almost inaudibly to himself, recalling the geography of Azeroth. "Gotta head south. North be da lands of da high elves. Dey arrows be quicker than I can blink, mon."
He pressed on, the weight of his predicament bearing down on him. The Amani were notorious for their brutality, even amongst other trolls, and as a low-ranking member, a grunt really, his life held little value. The thought of becoming a sacrifice to appease some vengeful loa sent a chill through his bones.
He wasn't that thrilled about this new life of his, but he wasn't about to just give it up either. So far he'd avoided water, because seeing his own face in the reflection… Would make this all too real. He wasn't giving up… But he wasn't enthused about his existence as a troll to say the least.
He'd played alliance exclusively for his entire WoW experience, and becoming a troll was about as horrible a fate he could imagine. Except perhaps a forsaken - that was arguably worse. Although with the timeline he was in… Becoming that… Unfortunately wasn't out of the question yet.
Loa were the backbone of Trolls' powers and the reason behind the many sacrifices they tended to revel in, yet having seen the madness in trusting any sentient powers not your own in this setting… He wanted nothing to do with that.
"Loa be damned," He cursed under his breath. "I ain't messin' with no voodoo spirits. Dis' two hands be all I need." He decided for himself.
His mind raced, trying to piece together a plan as he ran. The Horde was not a thing yet, and even if he could reach them in Kalimdor by the time they assembled, would they accept an Amani troll? The Darkspear, led by Vol'jin, were somewhat honorable as far as trolls went, but the Amani had a dark reputation. It was just as likely they'd think he was Zul'Jins spy.
"Vol'jin be a good mon," He mused quietly to himself, hope flickering in his chest. "Mebbe he be giving me a chance."
Not that he desperately wanted to be part of the Horde. Both sides had their issues. But after Thrall went more Orc Jesus then he already was - deciding politics and ruling was beneath him and his cause - the revolving door of absolutely shitty warchiefs did not lead to a positive outcome in his mind.
He just didn't have that many options, because he sure as hell couldn't approach any alliance faction as he was. He knew himself enough to know he wasn't a fit for becoming a druid and joining the Cenarion Circle either. Nor was he shaman material to follow the Earthen Ring. Becoming an adventurer. A hero unit. Was probably his best bet. Give him some freedom to operate. Even while… Ugh… Under the Horde's umbrella.
He just had to survive until then and grow stronger… Which considering he was practically smack dab in the middle of the future scourge central was easier said than done.
His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the trees above. Instinctively, he froze, his hand gripping the hilt of his club. A figure dropped down, landing gracefully before him. It was Dracha, a fellow Amani troll and frequent sparring partner. Dracha's lean frame was adorned with bone jewelry, and he held a spear with casual confidence, currently not pointing at him thankfully.
Unlike Lazar's large protruding tusks, Dracha had small stubby ones, something he knew the troll was self conscious about. Something which made the other troll a vicious annoying bugger, always setting out to spite life itself. The old Lazar had attached himself just to avoid being a regular target of Dracha's temperament.
"Lazar, dat you, bruddah?" Dracha's beady eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in his gaze.
Lazar forced a grin, though his heart raced as he readied himself for quick action. "Dracha, me bruddah from anotha' motha'. I been lookin' for ya. Got somethin' special t' share."
He patted a leather pouch at his side, the contents clinking softly. In truth, it held nothing of real value - just some bone dice, a few coins and dried herbs meant for smoking - but he needed Dracha to lower his guard to make this easier on him.
He couldn't afford to draw too much attention. There would be other trolls guarding the perimeter further away. And they all had freakishly good hearing as a racial ability.
Dracha's curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped closer, peering at the pouch. "What ya got dere then, Bruddah?"
As Dracha leaned in, Lazar's grip tightened around his club. With a swift motion, he swung it upward, striking Dracha from underneath his jaw, throwing his head back, before smashing his club into the side of his head. The other troll crumpled to the ground, temporarily dazed.
With troll regeneration as it was - even if grunts didn't have it work as well as the elites - such a strike was only a momentary annoyance. What wasn't so minor, was Lazar mounting his friends chest and stabbing his butcher knife into his throat and eyes repeatedly until Dracha stopped moving.
He probably should feel bad or something. But all he felt was relief that the whole thing had been so quiet.
A sudden notification flashed before Lazar's eyes:
Body +1
"What da...?" He muttered, shaking his head to clear the strange vision. There was no time to ponder it now. It did bring him some hope that he wasn't left completely without recourse in this death world.
Although going back to that whole, don't trust a sentient power thought he had just minutes earlier… Non-sentient would be alright though. Maybe.
He quickly relieved Dracha of his spear and any supplies he carried, slinging a small satchel over his shoulder. With one last glance at his fallen comrade, Lazar resumed his journey southward, each step taking him further from the dangers of Zul'Aman and closer to an uncertain future.
The forest seemed to close in around him as he ran hunched over, ears flicking constantly as he tried to detect any possible pursuers or guards, the trees felt like they were focusing in on him, whispering bloody promises of ancient times. He moved like a shadow, his senses fully heightened, every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig setting his nerves on edge.
"Dis place be cursed," He muttered, glancing around warily. "Gotta keep movin'. Can't be lettin' dem catch me."
Hours passed, the moon climbing higher in the sky, the nocturnal wildlife going through its cycle of predator and prey around him as he ran. Lazar's muscles ached, but he pressed on, driven by the primal instinct to survive. Not sure if the Amani would follow - but sure he'd suffer mightily if they did and caught him.
As dawn approached, he stumbled upon a small clearing. A stream gurgled nearby, its clear waters reflecting the first light of day. He knelt by the bank, cupping his hands to drink, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. As a troll he had some ungodly stamina, but he still felt it when he went for hours on end.
"Need ta find shelter," He mused, scanning the area. "Can't keep runnin' forevah."
It wouldn't do to escape the Amani just to stumble into a Quel'dorei trap or even a human party on their way to one of the elven cities for trade.
His eyes settled on a large, hollowed-out space amongst a copse of trees at the edge of the clearing. It would provide some cover, at least for a few hours. He crawled inside, the earthy scent of moss and wood filling his nostrils.
As exhaustion overtook him, more mentally than physically, Lazar's thoughts drifted to the future. The world was vast, and he was but a single troll, lost and alone. But he was determined to survive, to carve out a new path, far from the blood-soaked rituals of the Amani.
Although his path would be no less blood-soaked, because that was how this world worked. Even just minding your own business and trying to eke out a peaceful existence didn't protect you from sudden old god shenanigans or randomly appearing dragon attacks, bandits, or someone summoning a demon in your neighbours basement.
"Vol'jin," He whispered to himself again, the name a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Mebbe he be givin' me a chance."
With that thought, he allowed himself to drift into a restless sleep, the sounds of the forest lulling him into uneasy dreams, even as he kept one ear open, the Amani used to sleeping lightly.
The days that followed were a blur of movement and survival. Lazar traveled by night, resting during the day to avoid possible Quel'dorei patrols or Amani hunting packs. He subsisted on wild berries and the occasional small game, his skills as a hunter serving him well, although he weirdly didn't have much of an appetite.
Each step took him further from Zul'Aman, but the weight of his memories, his bloody past, clung to him like a shadow. The Amani were cruel, they were raised that way, born that way maybe even, and he bore their marks still, both physical and emotional.
"Can't change who I was, ya know," He said one night to himself, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But I can choose who I gonna be, mon."
＊＊＊
Weeks later, Quel'Thalas, Eversong Forest.
Lazar sat cross-legged by the spring, the soft gurgling of the water the only sound in the stillness of the forest. His fingers worked absentmindedly over his tusks, tracing the rough bone and the little charms of carved wood and animal teeth tied to them. His violet eyes, one scarred with a jagged line that ran from his brow to his cheek courtesy of a poisoned Quel'dorei dagger as a child, stared into the clear water. The reflection staring back at him wasn't overly familiar - not yet, anyway.
He still held on to his humanity in a way. Even as he let his troll memories and instincts guide him through the tribulations he faced.
"Dat be me now, huh?" He muttered, his voice low, almost resigned, as he studied himself.
The troll in the water's reflection was stockier than most of his kin. His frame was wiry but solid, with broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle. His moss green skin was marked by a network of tattoos, tribal loa designs carved into his flesh, symbols of his Amani heritage. A loincloth hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for a square of padded leather strapped across his heart, its rough edges tied together with sinew. His feet were clad in worn boots, cracked and stained from countless hunts. A belt sat snug around his waist, holding a jagged knife and a few pouches of dried herbs and meager supplies.
A single strip of red hair trailed down the center of his skull, ending in a long braid tied together with bone charms. Despite their presence, they made no sound when he moved, as if even the beads respected the silence he tried to keep. Or his mother's voodoo, whatever it might have been, kept them silent.
He'd always been a brute, to his mother's disappointment. Not that she got to be disappointed long. Since the Amani cut her open to deliver her to the Loa for a minor boon.
"Can't believe dis where life be takin' me," He muttered, running his thumb over the scar on his face. "Outta one life, into dis mess. What da Loa want wit me, eh? What dey see in a grunt like Lazar?"
If there was some strange power behind his existence, surely they would have transmigrated him into someone who mattered. Someone who could change things for the Amani perhaps. Instead he was a complete nobody.
He sighed and pulled up the strange screen again that had given him that odd notification during his escape. It had taken him a while to figure out how to summon it, but once he'd been alone and away from the immediate dangers of Zul'Aman, he had taken the time to inspect what it was - and frequently checked back on it. He had tried many words until status had finally worked, and now the ethereal panel hovered before him like a ghost.
It wasn't what he had hoped for. There was no grand system to turn him into a hero, no sprawling tree of magical abilities or flashy moves. What he saw was painfully simple.
But it had its own simple charm, so he didn feel too put out.
"Every kill be gettin' me somethin'," He murmured, his teeth clicking lightly as he spoke lowly. "Dat all it be. Kill, and ya grow. Dat's it."
The categories were few, but their implications loomed large. Body was straightforward - every kill could make him stronger, faster, tougher. Likely enhancing his regeneration at some point as well. The category of Magic teased at the possibility of spells, mana, and the kind of power that could make even the loa take notice - without the blood sacrifices. Crafting seemed less thrilling but undoubtedly useful for someone scraping by in the wild - and if it was as anything like other worlds' crafting system, the high levels would be… Insane to say the least. The last option, though, made his stomach churn, as he debated it, gnawing on his lip.
??? was all it said, marked with an icon of a swirling vortex. No explanation, no details. Just a sense of foreboding.
Mystery box.
It was a struggle to not pick it.
"Dis one..." He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the mystery box. "Ain't no way ta know what it do. Could be somethin' great, or dis could make me end up like one o' dem cursed bastards soon ta be walkin' round da land."
He tapped a finger against his chin. "Not worth da risk. Least not yet. Ain't like I got da luxury to be curious, mon."
Mystery box was for those who could afford to gamble.
One day…
For now, he had chosen Body. Magic might be flashy, and crafting might be practical, but none of that would matter if he got his skull split open before he had a chance to use them. Survival came first. Strength, stamina, and agility, with a dash of possible regeneration improvement - that was what he needed now.
Too bad he could only pick one thing at a time for his kills to improve. He wouldn't have minded some sort of split.
"Ain't no point in dreamin' big if ya can't live long enough ta see it," He told himself, leaning back and letting out a slow breath.
He stared at the water again, at the reflection of the tattoos that wound across his arms and chest. They were marks of the Amani, the clan that had once been his people, marks of the Loa he'd been worshipping. Now, though, they felt like chains, a constant reminder of the brutal culture he was trying to escape. His human mind was still somewhat warring with his memories and experiences as a troll, a disassociation entirely of his own doing due to the vastly different lives.
The thought of ritually sacrificing someone like his sister… Like his mother had been sacrificed. The Loa did not hold his allegiance anymore. His outsider perspective on the young troll's life easily spotted all the cultish brainwashing that had been going on. But saying so, deciding so, didn't completely erase the feelings.
"Dese marks, dey don't mean nothin' no more," He said quietly, insistently, running a finger over one of the swirling patterns. "Ain't no goin' back. Dey'd kill me just as soon as look at me if dey knew what I be plannin'."
His hand drifted to his knife, the bone hilt worn smooth from years of use. It wasn't much, but it had saved him more than once already. He glanced down at the spear he'd taken from Dracha, its wooden shaft etched with faint carvings.
"Sorry, bruddah," He said softly, though he knew Dracha couldn't hear him. "Didn't want ta do ya like dat, but it was ya or me. An' I ain't ready ta meet da Loa just yet."
Heh, he was getting introspective again, one of the pains of being alone for weeks on end, he supposed.
The forest around him was alive with sound - the distant calls of birds, the rustling of leaves, the faint hum of insects. Despite the relative calm, Lazar's nerves were a bit frayed he could admit. He was far from safe still. He had no idea how far Amani patrols might range, not having been part of that section of the tribe, and there were other dangers in the forest besides his own people.
"Dis world be brutal, mon," He muttered to his reflection, his fingers tightening around the shaft of the spear. "But I ain't goin' down easy. Not wit dis second chance."
His mind wandered back to the screen, to the milestones that had been teased. Every 250 kills, there was a promise of something - a reward, a beacon of hope. It was a cruel system, one that forced him to survive by taking life. But it was a system he could use. There was plenty of life to take on Azeroth.
"Justified murder, dey'd call it," He said with a bitter laugh. "Dat's what dis world be runnin' on. Wars, vengeance, survival, call it self defense, mon. Always a reason ta kill."
He leaned forward, staring hard at his reflection. "But I ain't gonna be like dem, ya hear? I ain't sacrificin' bruddah's ta no loa. Ain't killin' for fun or glory. I kill ta live, so I can save em' all, and dat's it."
The words felt hollow, even to him. He could justify it all he wanted, but the fact remained: every life he took made him stronger. It was a dark truth, one he couldn't ignore. It meant he'd live a life soaked in the lifeblood of others. Not everyone would be guilty.
But every death would be worth it if he could stave off even one of the many tragedies doomed to happen.
Lazar pushed himself to his feet, the soft squelch of the wet ground under his boots grounding him in the moment. He adjusted the strap of the leather square over his chest, ensuring it was secure. Even if it looked ridiculous.
He should just be glad he wasn't a female in a chainmail bikini…
"Time ta move," He said, glancing around the clearing. "Ain't no safety here. Gotta keep movin', keep killin', keep growin'."
The spear in his hand felt heavier now, not from its weight, but from the burden it symbolized. Every swing, every stab, every life it claimed - it would all bring him closer to true survival - a true life on this murder planet. And maybe, just maybe, it would bring him closer to freedom. To be able to move freely in the world…
As he stepped into the dense foliage, the forest seemed to close around him, the shadows swallowing him whole. The spring and its fleeting moment of peace were behind him now, and the path ahead was fraught with danger.
But Lazar had never been a stranger to danger. He was an Amani troll, born into blood and raised in brutality. And now, with the strange power of this system at his back, he would forge his own path through the chaos of Azeroth.
Future knowledge would be its own boon too. Even if most every faction would hate him on sight. Making things more difficult.
"Dis world gonna regret underestimatin' Lazar," He muttered, his voice low and determined. "Loa or no loa, I be survivin'. One kill at a time."
＊＊＊
Several days later, the very south of Quel'Thalas.
The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind teased the trees. Lazar crouched low in the underbrush, his green fingers brushing lightly against the shaft of the hunting bow he'd come to rely on. His violet eyes stayed fixed on the approaching caravan. He remained perfectly still, his breath slow and steady, as the human trade group marched north. Ten carts in all, their wheels creaking softly against the dirt road.
He chewed his lip, his sharp tusks jutting upward as he observed the group. Five civilians handled the carts, simple looking folk with wide-brimmed hats and plain clothes. Eight guards surrounded them, armed with an assortment of swords, axes, and shields. Their armor was piecemeal, mostly leather with a few sections of chainmail. Only one among them had a piece of plate - a breastplate that caught the light as it filtered through the trees. Thankfully, none of them carried bows. That was the only reason Lazar dared to entertain this risky idea.
He needed more points. And he had a feeling actual armed men fighting him for their life would be worth more than animals, or his quick takedown of his sort of friend through subterfuge.
"Dis gonna be messy," He muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting to the poison-coated arrows in his quiver. "But ain't no hero yet. Gotta grow strong first, den maybe save da world later."
Amani children learned how to brew poison as a matter of course. So it hadn't been hard for him to identify several plants and put together something to give him a further edge.
His stomach churned at the thought of what he was about to do. They probably didn't deserve this. They were likely innocent of any crimes, caught in the larger wheels of a world that cared little for their lives. He'd leave the civilians alone. The guards? They'd signed up for this, knowing full well the dangers. They would defend the caravan with their lives - and he needed to take those lives if he was going to move forward.
It wasn't ideal, but they were likely doomed to die anyway as Lordaeron was soon to become plagued.
Lazar sighed, muttering softly as he nocked an arrow. "Loa forgive me. Dis be for survival."
Old habits still stuck around as much as he tried to divest himself of it. Swearing or praying to the Loa, the hardest one he wrangled with. The one true avenue where this amalgamation of the two of them truly was won by his troll part.
The lead guard raised a hand, signaling a stop. The caravan slowed as the men adjusted their weapons and scanned the trees. Lazar froze, blending into the foliage, wondering if they'd spotted him somehow. He drew his bowstring back, the poisoned tip of the arrow glinting faintly.
Then quick action was needed.
The first arrow flew true, striking a guard in the neck. He gasped, clutching at the shaft before collapsing. The poison would work quickly to kill, even if in this case it was a moot point as the guard bled out on the dirt road. Chaos erupted as the guards shouted orders, scrambling to defend the civilians. A waste, because he wasn't going after the civilians. He fired again, this time striking a man in the unarmored thigh. The second guard stumbled, falling to the ground as the poison took hold.
"Ambush!" One of them shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "To arms! Take the treeline, close the distance!"
Lazar blinked slowly, a bit surprised he'd been able to understand the man, didn't everyone speak different languages? He sure didn't have a memory of being able to understand the common tongue.
Lazar put it out of his mind as he moved swiftly, already having intuited exactly what the humans would do beforehand, slipping through the trees like a shadow. He had no intention of facing them all head-on. His Amani instincts and months of survival training in the forest as a child told him to divide and conquer. As three guards broke off to chase him, he grinned darkly.
"Dat's it, mon," He muttered. "Come an' play wit Lazar."
The remaining guards stayed near the caravan, their weapons drawn as they formed a protective circle around the civilians. Lazar climbed higher into the trees, leaping from branch to branch with ease. His newfound strength from weeks of hunting and the incremental gains of his system made him light on his feet and agile as a jungle cat.
The guards chasing him stumbled through the dense forest, their movements clumsy and loud. Lazar moved over the traps he'd prepared earlier, having layed down false trails and pitfall snares to slow them. The first guard to actually catch up, fell into a shallow pit lined with sharp stakes, his scream piercing the air.
The poison on the stakes ensured that he'd be dead within the minute, so he could move on to the next one.
"One down," Lazar muttered, loosing another arrow at a second pursuer who'd frozen upon seeing what happened to the first man. The poisoned tip struck true, sinking into the man's shoulder. He dropped his sword as the limb immediately stopped cooperating, staggering before collapsing against a tree.
The final guard paused, looking around nervously. He raised his sword, turning in circles as he tried to spot his attacker. Lazar felt annoyed in some ways that only his first trap was sprung, drawing another arrow. He waited until the guard turned his back, then fired. The man crumpled soon after, his body going limp as the poison worked its way through his system. Lazar might have been a tad mean to shoot him in the rump, but they'd annoyed him by being so… Bad at this.
The difference between actual army men and hero units - and some farm boys with swords trying their luck at being mercenaries or guards, he supposed.
"Three fer three," Lazar murmured, satisfied. "Dat be good odds." That left only three back at the caravan.
He doubled back toward the caravan after collecting his arrows from the corpses, his movements swift and silent. The remaining guards were scanning the forest for signs of him, acting nervous, no doubt having heard the scream from the first guard. Lazar crouched low, his sharp eyes picking out the weakest link - a guard near the rear of the group who had strayed too far from the others, hefting a shield as he glanced nervously around.
The caravan master and lead guard were too busy arguing with each other to notice.
With practiced ease, he notched another arrow and let it fly. It struck the man in the side of the neck, and he dropped to his knees, clutching at the deadly wound. He fired another arrow right after, hitting one of the two last guards in the torso, his leather armor not enough to prevent a scratch introducing the poison in his system.
Leaving the lead guard, who roared and rushed towards the treeline where Lazar was hiding.
Lazar didn't waste time. He burst from the underbrush, his bone club swinging in a wide arc to batter away the sword strike, his other hand holding his spear which he immediately jabbed into the guard's side. The lead guard was too slow to react, so he stabbed him again, in the armpit, and he fell with a wet gurgle.
The civilians screamed, their cries of terror echoing through the forest. Lazar ignored them, his focus on the carts. He rifled through the supplies, grabbing a rucksack and stuffing it with dried meats, bread, and a few jars of preserves. His hand lingered on a bundle of arrows, which he quickly added to his haul. He also found several books that he pilfered as they looked like some sort of magic tomes.
His eyes lit up as he spotted a decent sized steel warhammer in the carts carrying steel weaponry. He picked it up, testing its weight. It was heavier than his bone club but far more durable - and deadly. He slung it over his shoulder, satisfied with his loot.
He didn't know where he'd even spend the coin, but the filled pouch of coin he'd pilfered too should come in handy one day, surely?
The civilians cowered nearby, their eyes wide with fear, except for a young girl who was held to the ground by one of the others as she cursed impressively. Lazar scratched his chin, debating whether to speak. He wasn't going to kill them, but without guards… If they were stupid, they'd be dead meat if they continued.
Even kobolds or gnolls would take them as they were now.
He stepped toward them, his voice rumbling low. "Listen up, ya lot. Turn back. Go back south ta safety. I done got what I need, so I be feelin' generous today. Ain't gonna eat ya... Dis time."
One of the civilians whimpered, clutching her man close. Lazar's jaw tightened. He wasn't a complete monster, no matter how much the system seemed to nudge him in that direction for profit. He wouldn't harm civilians. He turned away, shaking his head.
"Get ta movin'," He called over his shoulder. "Before I be changin' me mind, ya hear?"
He grabbed a few more supplies from the carts before disappearing back into the forest. The civilians watched him go, their relief palpable, though fear still lingered in their eyes as they eyed all the dead.
Lazar moved quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the caravan as possible. He wouldn't stay at his usual cave for too much longer - it was too risky now. If adventurers or soldiers came looking, they'd search the area. He needed a new hiding spot.
It was for the best anyway, he never intended to keep to one spot. Too easy to track him down and put him with his back to the wall.
As he walked, he glanced at the shimmering screen that appeared before him. The numbers had changed - each guard had given him ten body points, bringing him closer to the next milestone. He smirked, though the expression lacked joy.
"Almost dere," He muttered. "Body be close ta 250 now. Wonder what reward dis system gonna throw at me."
His grin faded as his thoughts returned to the caravan. The sight of the civilians' terrified faces lingered in his mind. He didn't regret taking out the guards… Much. They'd signed up for the risk. But the rest? It left a sour taste in his mouth to see their fear and terror.
"Dis ain't what I wanted," He grumbled, running a hand through his braid. "Thought… Dis make me feel stronger, yah. Better. But all I feel is tired, mon."
He glanced south, toward the lands of Lordaeron. Soon, the plague would sweep through, turning everything into a nightmare. The undead would rise, and this entire region would become a battleground. Lazar sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Maybe when da undead come, I can fight dem instead," He said softly. "At least den I won't feel so bad."
For now, though, he had to keep moving, keep growing stronger. Survival was all that mattered. One day, he might become the hero he dreamed of being. But today? Today, he was just a troll, alone in a hostile world, doing whatever it took to stay alive.
＊＊＊
Hours later, Lazar's cave.
The forest's soft rustling was usually a comfort to Lazar. He sat cross-legged on a fallen log outside his temporary cave residence, his bow resting nearby and a small pot of bear stew bubbling over the fire. For the last few days, this clearing had been his refuge - a place where the dangers of Azeroth felt distant, at least for a time,
But tonight, something was off, something he couldn't put his finger on. Lazar's ears twitched as he caught a faint noise. It wasn't the usual scurrying of forest creatures. This sound was of someone trying to be sneaky, a sidestep to avoid snapping a twig, a rustle of foliage too careful to be an animal. Someone was trying to sneak into his camp. They weren't bad at it, either, but 'not bad' wasn't good enough to fool an Amani who'd been born in these forests.
"Well now," He murmured, his voice low as he rose to his feet without any further sound.
He climbed a nearby tree with the ease of a jungle cat, his muscles tensing as he pulled himself onto a thick branch. From his perch, he scanned the clearing, his violet eyes narrowing. His hand reached for his bow that he'd snapped up on his way, notching an arrow in silence. Then the figure emerged from the underbrush, and his jaw nearly dropped.
It was the girl from the caravan. The one with the filthy mouth who'd been held back by the others.
"What da hell…?" Lazar muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes to study her.
She was a wisp of a thing, barely into her teens by his guess, or more likely just approaching it. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her icy blue eyes burned with an intensity that didn't belong on a face as doll-like as hers. She moved cautiously, clutching a dagger in both hands, her gaze darting around the camp with murder in her eyes.
Lazar scratched his chin, baffled. What was she doing here? And why did she look ready to gut him? How had the other humans let her do this? Were they insane?
"So… Whatcha be doin'?" He rumbled, curious, throwing his voice to the far side of the clearing with a simple Amani trick. He might not have any mojo or be a voodoo type of guy, but there was more to the Amani than mojo.
The girl froze, her head snapping toward the wrong direction. Her dagger wavered slightly as she held it out. "Show yourself, monster!" She snarled, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
Lazar grinned, though there was no humor in it. "Nah… Don't think I gonna be doin' dat, li'l girl," He said lazily, shifting his weight on the branch. "Ya real stupid, ya know dat?"
Her glare deepened, and she turned in another direction, scanning the trees with wide, hate-filled eyes. "I'm not stupid! I tracked you, didn't I?" She snapped, her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her dagger.
Lazar tilted his head, mildly impressed despite himself, because yeah, that wasn't something he'd have bet on. Was she secretly a high elf? "Hmph. Took ya long enuff, but yah, not bad fer a human cub. Still stupid, tho', mon."
"You stole my magic books!" She shrieked, her voice cracking with pure anger. "Master Haddock said I'm useless now! He threw me out because I can't study without them!" Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, though she blinked them away furiously.
Lazar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The books. He remembered grabbing them during his raid on the caravan, thinking they might give him a head start on learning magic. It hadn't taken long to realize the flaw in his plan - knowing English didn't mean he could read Common. The books had been useless to him, but apparently, their absence had destroyed her life.
Just his luck. This just had bad Juju all over it.
"What da crap an' aspiring mage be doin' workin' fer a caravan master anyway?" He asked idly, more to keep her talking than anything. At the same time, he silently cursed the caravan master for abandoning her in what was essentially enemy territory. What kind of man left a child to fend for herself?
"They were mine!" She screamed, stomping toward the fire and kicking dirt over his cooking pot. Lucky for her, he was Amani, eating dirt wasn't anything new. "I stole those books fair and square! After I kill you and take them back, I'll go back to the caravan, and everything will be fine!"
Lazar barked a laugh, his tusks gleaming in the moonlight. "Girl, dat caravan master o' yours prolly halfway to da gates o' East Lordaeron by now. You ain't catchin' him, especially in da dark."
Kid certainly had kid logic though. Personally he wouldn't go back to someone who so easily discarded you…
Her icy eyes burned with fury as she spun toward him finally getting it right, meeting his eyes. "Then I'll run faster, avoiding animals by wearing your skin!" She snarled, clutching the dagger tightly.
Lazar sighed, rubbing his tusks in frustration. He had a murderpuppy on his hands. This was his fault, no doubt, but he wasn't about to kill some tween girl to fix it.
"Alright, den," He muttered, shaking his head. He dropped lightly from the tree, landing in a crouch behind her.
The girl spun, startled, but she was too slow. With a flick of his wrist, Lazar plucked the dagger from her hand. She stumbled back as he spun the weapon lazily between his fingers, studying her with an expression that was more curious than threatening.
"Got a bear stew on da fire," He said casually, jerking his head toward the bubbling pot. "Only got one bowl, tho' and ya kicked dat dirt in, so no complainin'."
The girl gaped at him, her chest heaving as she scrambled away. Her blue eyes darted between him and the cave, like a cornered animal looking for an escape route.
Lazar squatted by the entrance of the cave, tilting his head as he watched her. "Help yerself. I take ya back towards da gates in da mornin'."
With a furious cry, the girl rushed at him, her tiny fists hammering against his chest. Lazar didn't move, letting her vent her anger. She might as well have been punching a tree for all the damage it did. He could regenerate anyway if she somehow managed to do anything.
"Girl, ya like a li'l storm spirit, yah," He muttered, more amused than anything. "Gonna wear yerself out 'fore long."
When her punches slowed, he gently caught her wrists and held them steady. She glared up at him, her cheeks flushed with frustration.
"Ya done, mon?" He asked, his tone calm but firm.
She wrenched her hands free, stumbling back with a defiant glare. "I'll kill you," She growled, her voice trembling with anger.
Lazar sighed, running a hand through his strip of red hair and down his braid. "Sure, sure. Ya keep tellin' yerself dat, li'l murderpuppy."
The girl's face turned red with indignation, but she said nothing. She stalked to the fire, ladled some of the stew into his only bowl that sat nearby, and sat as far from him as possible, her glare never leaving his face.
Lazar leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her carefully, noting the way her hands twitched when they strayed too close to her neck. A chain gleamed faintly beneath her shirt, and his sharp eyes caught the edge of a medallion.
"Magic bauble, huh?" He muttered, more to himself than to her. That probably explained how she understood him, despite his Zandali. For a moment, he considered taking it. But no - stealing from a kid was a line he wouldn't cross. Not today, at least.
He'd been wondering how they were able to understand each other. The effect must be pretty wide, because he'd understood the guards too, at least at the caravan site. Higher ups in the Amani knew the common tongue, mostly so they could better taunt enemies, but a lowly grunt like him had never been taught.
"Just eat, girl," He grumbled. "We deal wit dis in da mornin'."
She didn't reply, though the firelight reflected her simmering rage in her eyes. Lazar leaned back, allowing himself to relax. He really should've expected what happened next.
The bowl of stew hit him square in the face, hot stew splattering across his tusks and chest. Before he could react, the girl tackled him, her small frame colliding with his. Lazar stumbled back, more out of surprise than anything else.
"Girl, ya serious?" He growled, grabbing her wrists again to keep her from clawing at his face. Then letting out an exasperated breath as she kicked him in the junk.
Who taught this girl?
"Give me back my books!" She screamed, writhing like a wild animal.
Lazar sighed, holding her steady as she struggled. "Li'l miss, ya lucky I ain't da eatin' humans type. Now sit down an' stop actin' like a goblin on the end of a bad deal."
She froze for a moment, glaring at him with pure hatred. Then, with a huff, she tore herself free and stomped back to the fire. Lazar shook his head, wiping stew from his face.
"Dis girl gonna be da death o' me," He muttered. "I can already tell."
His main priority was definitely to dump her back with the humans. She could go be crazy with them…
His gaze fell on the mountains separating Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas, the plague…
＊＊＊
The night had fallen thick and dark, the forest around Lazar's camp alive with the sounds of chirping insects and the occasional distant howl of a wolf. The small fire crackled softly as he lay stretched out near the flames, one arm resting behind his head, the other loosely gripping his warhammer. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady, but anyone paying close attention to the signs would have noticed he wasn't quite asleep.
It was hard to sleep with so much murderous attention directed your way after all.
On the other side of the fire, the girl sat cross-legged, her icy blue eyes glaring at him with a mixture of hatred and frustration. She'd been unusually quiet for the last hour, not even muttering insults under her breath like she had before. That alone was enough to keep Lazar sure she was plotting.
And sure enough, two hours into the night, it happened.
She moved like a shadow, creeping across the camp with surprising stealth for someone so young. Lazar didn't move, didn't even twitch. He had to give her credit - for a kid it was damn impressive. Her steps were quieter now, more deliberate, though not quiet enough to get past an Amani troll raised in the wilds.
Then she ruined it for herself.
Not that she ever stood a chance.
With a high-pitched war cry of all things, the girl launched herself at him, her small frame hurtling through the air as she brought a dagger down in both hands. The blade hit against his chest with a dull thud, followed by another and another, as she laughed maniacally, stabbing in such fervent joy he was a little worried for her mental health.
Lazar sat up with a long-suffering sigh, the motion sending the girl tumbling off him and onto the ground. He plucked the dagger from his chest, examining the bent tip with a faint frown before tossing it aside.
"Girl," He rumbled, his voice exasperated, "How ya sneak through a forest, track me down, an' still be tinkin' breakin' stealth wit' a war cry be a smart idea?"
She scrambled to her feet, clutching another dagger tightly and swinging it wildly as she charged at him again. Lazar raised a hand, catching her by the forehead and holding her at bay at a distance giving her a chiding look. She roared in frustration, her feet digging into the dirt as she swung the blade at him, anywhere she could reach, which wasn't far enough to reach anything with how long his arms were.
Lazar sighed again, glancing up at the night sky as if seeking divine intervention. "Dis be da Loa punishin' me fer turnin' me back on dem, ain't it?" He muttered.
With his free hand, he plucked the dagger from her grip, twisting it easily out of her hands. He held it up, showing her the bent tip from where she'd just stabbed his arm, finally going for a target she could reach. "Girl, I'm a troll. Me skin tougher dan yer little daggers can handle. Give it up."
She stopped struggling, her shoulders slumping as she pouted angrily, her icy blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Lazar groaned inwardly. Great - now she was looking adorable, and he couldn't even yell at her for being an idiot.
He squatted down so they were eye level, gesturing with the dagger. "Look, girl. Someone yer size? Always go fer da soft bits. Eyes, throat, yah? If dey bigger dan you…" He flipped the dagger in his hand, demonstrating. "Cut da back o' da knees, get dem fallin'. Once dey down, ya stab here." He pointed to his throat. "Lodge it in deep, an' even regeneration won't help, mon. If ya got a long enough dagger, go through deys eyes, or go fer da brain." He tapped the side of his head where the skull was weakest. "Push hard enough, ya might get through."
She stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. It was clear she wasn't sure how to process being given a lesson on how to kill him. At the same time, he could see her mentally taking notes.
"Why?" She mumbled, her voice small and uncertain. She fidgeted slightly, rubbing her arm as she looked away from him.
Lazar scratched his chin with the bent dagger, his sharp tusks gleaming in the firelight. "Eh, ya ain't gonna kill me either way. But if ya run inta another troll someday, only fair ya get a fightin' chance. Good t' know, yah, mon?"
"I can definitely kill you," She grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at him with her icy blue eyes. "Just watch me!"
He ruffled her hair with a broad hand, grinning as she squawked in protest and flailed her arms at him. "Sure ya can, brat. Sure."
Lazar tossed the bent dagger over his shoulder, the blade clattering against the dirt. He stood and grabbed her by the waist, ignoring her squeal of protest as he lifted her upside down. Holding her by the ankles, he gave her a gentle shake.
Well… For a troll.
Three more daggers clattered to the ground.
Lazar stared at the weapons in deadpan disbelief before turning his gaze back to the girl. "Girl," He rumbled, "Where da hell ya even hidin' all dis? Ya got pockets I don't know 'bout?"
Typical girls and women, you never knew what they'd pull out next, and how. Like where exactly was she keeping these things?
"Put me down!" She screeched, waving her little arms uselessly, her hair all over the place.
Lazar set her down with a sigh, pocketing the daggers for himself. "Ya gonna let me sleep now, mon?" He asked, raising a brow at her, having to hide another grin at how adorably she huffed, trying to straighten out her hair.
"I promise I'll leave you alone," She grumbled, her cheeks red with indignation.
Satisfied, Lazar stretched languidly, before heading back to bed. This time, he climbed up a nearby tree to rest on a thick branch. He wasn't overly concerned about her actually hurting him, but the idea of her poking him in the eye with a sharp stick wasn't appealing either. So might as well make it a bit more unappealing to even attempt it.
He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the jungle lull him into a light doze.
That's how he learned never to trust a human's promise.
The first attempt came less than an hour later.
Lazar jolted awake as the girl scrambled up the tree after him, a sharp rock in hand. He sighed, catching her wrist before she could swing. "Girl, ya serious? A rock? What ya plannin' t' do wit dat?" He looked at her dubiously, it probably wouldn't even bruise him, she'd be better off trying to pop his eyes with her thumbs or something and really dig in there.
Her response was to climb up his arm like a monkey and kick him in the chin, making him wince, not in pain, but at how close she'd gotten to impaling herself on his tusks. "I'm resourceful!" She snapped. "I would have found a way!"
"Resourceful don't mean smart," He grumbled, grabbing the rock and tossing it to the ground. He climbed down and set her back near the fire, shaking his head. There was no point in going back up his tree, so he just rested his head against one of his satchels, using it as a pillow as he laid down at the edge of the fire.
The second attempt came barely thirty minutes later just as he had dozed off. This time, she tried to sneak up on him with a sharpened stick. Lazar caught her mid-swing not even opening his eyes, before plucking the stick from her hands and snapping it with his thumb.
"Girl," He said, now fully exasperated, "Ya tryin' t' make me regret sparin' ya?"
She glared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "One time is all I need, I'll get you."
"Sure, brat," He said, tying her wrists together with a bit of rope, hoping she'd just give it a break with the upped difficulty. "Dis not gunna be da night, mon."
The third attempt involved her trying to roll a heavy rock onto his head from a low branch. He caught it with ease, her attempt way too noisy with having to get the rock up there in the first place. He set it aside with a tired sigh as he gave her a look. She scampered off, her bindings already gone.
By the sixth attempt, Lazar had had enough. He tied her to a tree, ignoring her shrieks of indignation. "Girl, ya tryin' me patience. Time fer ya t' stay put."
Time outs worked on brats, right?
He sure as hell wasn't going to spank her, so it would have to do.
"Let me go!" She demanded, squirming against the ropes.
"Not till mornin', brat," He said, settling back near the fire. "Now go t' sleep."
The seventh attempt was her trying to chew through the ropes to get at him again, almost managing by the time the noise woke him. By that point, Lazar couldn't even be too mad. If nothing else, the kid had spirit.
She would have made a pretty good troll, if he was honest.
Probably a better one than him.
He could definitely see her do some bad voodoo.
"Pretty good fer a li'l murderpuppy," He muttered to her afterwards, shaking his head as he tightened the ropes, adding another loop around her head to prevent her from being able to bend her neck and chew anymore rope. "But dis troll still be needin' me beauty sleep."
As dawn broke, and with an amazing three hours of sleep behind him, Lazar untied the very tired looking girl and handed her a bowl of stew, shaking his head at her furious glare.
Somehow it was his fault she hadn't had any sleep.
Women!
＊＊＊
Later that day,
Lazar led the girl through the dense underbrush. Despite her endless reservoir of murderous intent, the trek had been surprisingly tolerable. She was too busy trying to keep up with his long stride and watching the dark trees around them with wary eyes to cause him any real trouble. For once, she wasn't plotting his demise - at least not actively.
"Dat's it, girl. Step light, yah?" Lazar said over his shoulder as he deftly sidestepped a thorny bush. "Watch da roots too. Ain't no fun twistin' yer ankle out here."
"I know," She muttered, irritation in her voice. Despite herself, her focus stayed on his every movement, mimicking his careful steps.
He grinned to himself. Maybe there was hope for the murderpuppy yet. Not that he could explain why he kept bothering to teach her. Something about her rough edges called to the part of him that wanted to at least leave her better off than he'd found her. Besides, it wasn't like she had anyone else to teach her after he got her dumped by her caravan.
And with the plague coming… He could at least give her some wilderness survival tricks. Maybe they'd help, maybe not. But at least he felt like he was doing something.
As they moved, Lazar paused periodically, pointing out plants and fungi and explaining uses and cautions depending on which was which. "Dis one? Don't touch it. Nasty stuff, burn ya skin like fire. Dis one here? Good fer patchin' up wounds if ya mash it up first." The girl nodded, her icy blue eyes laser-focused on his every word, her small hands brushing the leaves of the safe plants he indicated.
She was adorable when she got like this, all serious and intent, absorbing everything he said as if her life depended on it. Her usual murderous impulses seemed to evaporate during these impromptu lessons, and for a little while, she almost seemed like a normal kid.
Almost.
"Now, dis one…" Lazar pulled her aside to crouch near some faint tracks in the dirt. "See dis? Wolf tracks. Ya can tell by da size an' da way da claws dig into da dirt. No pack too, dis likely a runt. Follow da tracks slow, don't rush. If ya spook it, ya lose yer dinner."
She nodded solemnly, her small face scrunching up in concentration. "What if it hears you? Or smells you?"
"Dat's why ya move quiet-like. Slow, steady, yah?" He smirked, ruffling her hair, before smudging her face with mud with his other hand, getting an offended squeak out of her, and a death glare that was more cute than scary. "Smell like da forest too, mon. Come on, let's find dis wolf."
It didn't take long. They found the creature drinking at a small stream, its small size confirming his earlier thoughts, its ears twitching as it seemed distressed. Lazar handed the girl his bow, crouching low beside her. "Steady now. Draw it back slow… breathe… An' let it fly." He whispered into her ear. He could hear her heartbeat as it slowed down as she focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.
For the past two days of traveling he'd been slowly teaching her how to shoot. His hunting bow was small enough she could just barely use it when she used her full strength.
She wasn't great, but she was also surprisingly quick at picking it up.
But that could just be how martial the population of Azeroth was in general, he supposed.
The arrow missed by a hair, grazing the wolf's side, the girl cursing up a storm. It bolted of course, but Lazar had already expected it, and was on it in an instant, bringing it down cleanly with a throw of his spear. He motioned the girl over, beginning to show her how to skin the animal and preserve the pelt and pointing out all the uses for the innards of the animal beyond food. She watched with rapt attention, helping where she could, her small hands working with surprising precision under his guidance.
"Every kid need t' know dis," He said as they worked. "Ain't always gonna have someone else huntin' fer ya."
Probably was more a troll thing. But considering things, it could do her good too.
She nodded again, her gaze serious. For once, she didn't have a snarky comeback. It was almost nice.
He'd only had himself to talk to these past few weeks, perhaps why he tolerated her so easily, because above all, it was someone else to talk to.
…
Over the days that followed, he even taught her how to properly use those daggers she was so fond of. She'd taken to the lessons well, her intense focus making her a fast learner. Her nightly murder attempts had dwindled to a mere three, her exhaustion keeping her in check. He didn't comment on it, though her increasingly creative insults during practice amused him greatly.
He even made sure to teach her some new ones. Something to bother the humans later once she was let loose amongst her kind.
Little cute girls swearing was funny. Sue him.
Did they have lawyers in Azeroth? He tried to imagine a lawyer trying to argue something to an orc. The lawyer's head flew away shortly thereafter in his imagination, screaming about depositions.
Probably not in the Horde, he thought, scratching his head at the oddity of his thoughts sometimes.
The last night before they reached the human gatehouse between Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron, Lazar noticed movement in the distance. He froze, motioning for the girl to stop. She obeyed without question, crouching low beside him. Through the trees, a small group of kobolds shuffled by, their pickaxes glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Lazar's lips curled into a grin. "Looks like loot an' some points, mon…" He muttered to himself.
Although kobolds were unlikely to be as plentiful in regards to points as a human guard, he suspected.
"What?" The girl asked, her voice barely audible.
"Kobolds," He said, his grin widening. "Li'l rat bastards wit' crappy pickaxes. Perfect fer huntin'. Ain't no threat unless dey swarm ya." He gave her a considering look, "Me, anyway, you, just be a snack."
He crouched and motioned for her to follow him into a tree. She scrambled up beside him, clinging to a thick branch as Lazar handed her his bow and quiver. "Stay up here, girl. Watch da fun. If somethin' come after ya, shoot it like we practiced."
She glared at him, her icy blue eyes narrowed. "When you die in there, I'll come pick at your corpse," She said seriously.
Lazar snorted, shaking his head. "Girl, if I wouldn't get shot full o' arrows on sight, I'd love t' have a word wit' yer parents 'bout how dey raised ya."
Her face shifted, the glare faltering for a split second as pure, unfiltered terror flashed across her features. She shuttered it quickly, returning to her usual murderous scowl, but Lazar caught it. He frowned but decided not to press. She'd be gone by tomorrow anyway.
It probably explained why she was desperately trying to join a caravan at her age though, and had connotations he wasn't happy with.
Problem with Azeroth? It could literally be anything from just regular abusive parents - to old god cult - to crazies wanting to become one with the Murlocs. He really didn't want to know which one he was dealing with here.
Again he reminded himself, she's gone tomorrow anyway.
He dropped from the tree, fingering his warhammer for a moment, before letting it go with a grunt. As he approached the kobold cave, he switched to his spear. Tunnels weren't great for wide swings, and he didn't need to go all out against kobolds anyway. He was halfway to the entrance when he felt a sharp sting in his backside.
He froze, grinding his teeth, then slowly turned, plucking the arrow from his ass. The wound healed almost instantly, the troll regeneration already at work. He held up the arrow, shaking it at the girl still perched in the tree. "Girl… did ya just shoot me in da ass?"
She crossed her arms and replied coolly, "I was aiming for the back of your head." She lost any coolness factor immediately, as she almost dropped the bow with her posture and had to scramble to keep it, face red.
Lazar snorted. "Ya got shit aim, girl. Two hours o' practice before bed tonight, yah? Can't let ya leave wit' skills like dat."
"Fuck you, you limp dicked cocksucker!" She yelled, her shrill voice echoing through the forest.
The commotion drew the attention of the kobolds near the cave entrance. Their beady eyes glinted in the dim light as they poked their heads out, hefting their dull pickaxes. Lazar sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the girl. "Girl, I dunno where ya learnin' dis language, but it ain't cute."
"From you, you ball gargling dumbass!" She shouted back, nocking another arrow.
"Why do I do dis t' meself…" He muttered, some amusement leaking through as he stabbed the first kobold to reach him in the eye with her discarded arrow. Its dying screech soothed his battle wound.
Until he suddenly got another arrow, in the other asscheek. "Girl….!" He yelled, pulling it out and throwing it at her.
"That time I aimed!" She yelled triumphantly, sticking her tongue out at him.
Lazar grunted, dispatching the next kobold with a quick jab of his spear through its throat, while crushing the face of another with a stomp. "It's just 'cause I was goin' insane talkin' ta meself, an' I wanted company," He said to no one in particular. Complaining about his life choices.
"Aren't you supposed to be good at this?" She yelled, loosing another arrow that missed its mark entirely, shooting above the kobolds, even as they scampered around him, as he crushed and stabbed away, missing the odd one or two who wailed at his legs without much success.
Lazar frowned, easily sidestepping another kobold as the herd began thinning with his latest couple of swipes. "An' you supposed t' be in stealth, hidin', yah? Quiet like." He chided.
"If they're all dead, they can't hear me!" She retorted with childlike logic.
Lazar paused, considering her words as he skewered another kobold and used his kobold on a stick to beat another's face in. "Fair 'nough," He muttered with a shrug. He wasn't worried anyway - there wasn't much that could take him out in a damn kobold cave. And if anything from the forest tried to eat her due to her racket, it would probably regret it anyway and cough her up.
The cave ahead loomed ominously, the promise of more kobolds waiting within. Lazar grinned, his spear dripping with blood as he stepped over the bodies of the fallen.
"Time t' clean house, mon." He said, his voice low and eager. Behind him, the girl's voice carried through the trees, muttering curses as she nocked yet another arrow, keeping watch for any threats.
＊＊＊
The air in the mine was thick and stale, laced with the faint tang of iron and the earthy scent of old dirt. Lazar's long ears twitched, picking up the faint scratching sounds of kobolds deeper within. The soft clinking of their tools echoed through the narrow tunnel, a telling sign that the little rat-men were skulking just out of sight.
He moved forward, the dark no hindrance to his vision, his spear gripped loosely in one hand. Lazar's footsteps were almost completely silent, his hardened leather boots brushing against the damp dirt and scattered pebbles. Every movement was lazy yet ready to burst into motion at any time, his violet eyes scanning the gloom for any sign of his feast.
"Dis place stink like rotten mojo," He muttered under his breath, wrinkling his nose. "Kobolds sure know how t' make a home, yah?"
He wasn't too concerned about stealth here. He wanted them to come to him.
A faint chittering from up ahead drew his attention. Two kobolds scurried into view, their hunched forms silhouetted against the weak glow of candles. One carried a rusty pickaxe, the other a jagged knife that looked as if it had been fashioned from shit metal.
Lazar smirked, shifting his weight slightly. He'd noticed outside the kobolds gave him +3 body each, which meant he'd definitely hit 250 points soon. He gestured to the kobolds in the universal - come at me, bro - gesture.
The first one let out a screech, charging at him with its pickaxe raised high. Lazar stepped forward smoothly, his spear lancing out to impale the creature through the chest. It let out a pitiful squeal as he pulled the weapon free, its small body crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The second kobold hesitated for a fraction of a second before lunging at him screeching about candles. Lazar sidestepped effortlessly, spinning the spear in his hands and slashing the blade across its throat. Blood sprayed the tunnel wall, and the creature collapsed, clutching at its neck as it gurgled its last breath.
"Two down," Lazar murmured, shaking the blood from his spear. "How many more o' ya crawlin' 'round dis place, I wonder?" He grinned darkly, "Dey be lots, I hope!"
He pressed onward, deeper into the twisting tunnels. The walls seemed to close in the further he went, the air growing colder and heavier. Faint whispers of movement reached his ears, and he tightened his grip on the spear, his muscles coiled like a spring.
The next attack came without warning. A pack of kobolds burst out of a side tunnel that had been hidden behind a thin layer of dirt, screeching like feral beasts at the last moment of their ambush, not too unlike the girl. He wondered how she'd take the comparison, and made a mental note to definitely tell her. There were at least five of them, their pickaxes and makeshift clubs waving in the air as they rushed him.
Lazar lowered his head, baring his tusks in a feral grin. "Come on, den," He rumbled, lowering his spear. "Let's see what ya got."
The first kobold reached him, jumping up at him with its pickaxe swinging wildly. Lazar didn't bother dodging. The weapon glanced off his shoulder, barely scratching his tough hide. He retaliated with a quick thrust of his tusks as he moved forward, skewering the creature through the torso. It screeched as he twisted the tusks, ripping it apart and sending it's carcass at its compatriots in a shower of blood.
The second and third kobolds rushed him together, one going high by jumping, while the other aimed low. Lazar avoided the swing of the upper kobold's club by the matter of the kobold getting a face full of its torn apart friend, using the time he got to drive his spear down into the one at his feet. The spear punched through its torso and spine, pinning it to the ground.
The other kobold lunged again, free of his buddies corpse, its claws raking across Lazar's arm. He barely noticed the shallow wounds as he spun his spear in an arc, slicing through the creature's midsection. It fell with a wail, clutching at its spilled guts, a boot to the head silenced it's wailing as he followed the creature all the way to the ground with the motion, stomping his skull into paste.
The remaining two kobolds hesitated, their courage faltering in the face of his brutal efficiency. Lazar didn't give them a chance to regroup. He stepped forward, his spear thrusting with deadly precision. One kobold fell with a spear through its chest, the other with its head split open by the blunt end of the shaft.
"Dat all?" He muttered, glancing around as the echoes of the battle faded. His small wounds were already knitting themselves back together, the faint sting of scratches disappearing as his troll regeneration took hold.
He continued deeper into the mine, the tunnels twisting and branching in seemingly endless patterns. Occasionally, he passed crude kobold carvings scratched into the walls - symbols of their pitiful attempts at worship, no doubt. He ignored them, his focus on the sounds of movement ahead.
The next encounter was a single kobold, armed with nothing but a jagged piece of metal. It lunged at him with a screech, its eyes wide with fear and desperation. Lazar skewered it easily, his spear punching through its chest and pinning it to the wall.
"Pathetic," He muttered, yanking the weapon free.
He supposed it was the difference between a real situation and the game. Where one could play through a whole mine of kobolds and they all survived several hits in the game - reality wasn't as kind.
As he moved deeper into the tunnels, the air grew heavier, the faint glimmer of light becoming more sporadic. The chittering of kobolds echoed from all directions, but Lazar felt no fear. Even if they came rushing through the tunnel and bit and scraped at him, they wouldn't kill him, not with what they'd shown.
"Gimme more XP!" He roared.
…
The kobolds had been trashed like dry leaves in a storm. The narrow tunnels of the mine worked against them, forcing them to attack in small clusters, bottlenecked by the cramped spaces. Lazar dispatched them with brutal efficiency, his spear darting in and out like a serpent's tongue. Occasionally, a pickaxe or club would scrape against his hide, but the shallow wounds healed almost instantly, his troll regeneration knitting his skin back together before he even noticed.
He'd only run into the one caster, but with how noticable attempting to hang back and use magic was - he'd nailed it with a thrown spear before it could even think to cast something at him, and then ripped the kobolds around him apart with his bare hands and tusks.
"Dat all ya got, rats?" He growled, his voice echoing through the cavern. Another group of five rushed him, screeching in their bizarre mix of Common and whatever language the little beasts used. Lazar didn't bother waiting for them to reach him. He lunged forward, skewering the first kobold through the gut before whipping his spear sideways to slash the next two across their necks.
The final two stumbled, their small eyes darting between their fallen comrades and the massive troll standing before them. Lazar grinned, his tusks dripping blood onto the cavern floor.
"Shoulda stayed in yer burrows," He rumbled, stabbing one in the chest while backhanding the other with his off hand with such force its head spun 180 degrees. The kobold with the chest wound crumpled to the ground, wheezing, before Lazar's foot came down with a sickening crunch.
He barely broke stride as he moved deeper into the tunnels, his violet eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The kobolds' resistance was pitiful. Out in the open, their sheer numbers might have been a problem for a less formidable opponent, but here? Here they could only come at him a handful at a time, and Lazar was far too strong for that to be a real threat.
"Humans'd have a rough time in here," He muttered to himself, kicking a kobold corpse out of his path. "Armor'd help, but dey still soft. Ain't like me." He flexed his fingers around the shaft of his spear, watching the muscles in his arms ripple. "I be tougher dan dis whole damn mine."
He might have been human before he'd become this being he was now. Yet… As much as a troll might be one of his last choices on what to be if he had a say - compared to a human - with what was coming for Azeroth… He'd live with the racial advantages.
Halfway through the slaughter, a strange sensation washed over him. It started as a faint tingling in his limbs, growing stronger with every step he took. By the time he'd dispatched another group of six kobolds, the feeling had spread through his entire body.
He could detect more musculature up and down his arms, could swing faster, stab faster, hit harder. He'd already been stockier then the average troll, now he felt even more buff.
A faint shimmer appeared in the air before him, a screen flickering into view.
Body: 250. Choose one of the following rewards:
1. Stormbreaker, the weapon of Thor.
Lazar froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Stormbreaker?" He whispered, his voice tinged with awe. He'd expected something good when he hit 250, but this? A legendary weapon right out of the gate? His hand hovered over the first option, his mind racing. What would the rewards be like for 500? 1000? 10 000?
"Dat be a weapon fit fer gods, mon," he muttered, his fingers twitching with anticipation. The idea of wielding a weapon so powerful was almost too good to pass up. Almost.
He forced himself to look at the next option, knowing it would be stupid to just immediately pick the first thing he saw.
2. Trident of Poseidon, the weapon of Poseidon.
"Huh," He grunted, his enthusiasm waning. "Ain't no ocean near here, an' I ain't plannin' t' fight Naga anytime soon. Plus, a trident? Look like I'm fightin' wit a fork." He snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, dat ain't it."
Finally, his eyes landed on the third option and he forgot all about Stormbreaker.
3. The Silver Hand, the weapon of Tyr.
The name alone sent a chill down his spine. His heart raced as memories of his previous life flooded back - of playing World of Warcraft - of roleplaying as a Paladin of the Silver Hand, so named after Tyr and his weapon. This was no ordinary artifact he was given the choice to pick. This was the Silver Hand, the weapon wielded by the titan Tyr himself, a weapon of light.
"Dat's it," Lazar said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Sorry, Thor. Dis one be callin' t' me."
He selected the third option, and in an instant, the weapon appeared before him, floating in the air. It was beautiful - a massive two-handed mace, its surface gleaming with a radiant, silvery light. Intricate carvings adorned the head, depicting scenes of justice and battle, while the haft was wrapped in some flawless white material he couldn't even identify. Even in the dim light of the mine, it shone like a beacon.
Lazar reached out, his green fingers trembling as they closed around the haft. The moment he touched it, a surge of energy coursed through him, filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in… Well, ever. It was as if the weapon itself was alive, its power humming beneath his skin.
He felt acceptance.
Tears ran down his face as the weapon rejoiced, his very soul filling with light as it shone over him, deeming him worthy.
He hefted the Silver Hand, testing its weight. Despite its massive size, it felt perfect in his grip - balanced, natural, as though it had been made for him.
… The humans were going to shit bricks over this, he knew.
It only made him want the weapon more.
"This…" He whispered, his voice barely audible. "Dis be a weapon. A real weapon."
A grin spread across his face as he swung the hammer experimentally, the air humming with the force of the motion. He could feel it, the latent power within the weapon, waiting to be unleashed. This wasn't just a tool for battle; it was a symbol, a beacon of light and justice. And against the undead that would soon plague the land?
This weapon.
It would kill.
"It gonna kill," He said, his voice low and dangerous. "Oh, it gonna kill."
His gaze flicked back to the shimmering screen still hovering before him. With the weapon chosen, it was time to switch his focus. He pressed the button to move future kills into the Magic category, his giddy excitement building as a dropdown menu appeared.
"Dis," He said, his voice tinged with awe. "Dis what I needed, mon."
He laughed maniacally as the drop down menu shone, showing everything he could choose for kills to go into to make him stronger vis-a-vis magic.
Void, Arcane, even Fel, it was all there. But he couldn't care less as he laughed and laughed and pressed down on that beautiful shiny button.
And then there was LIGHT!
＊＊＊
Author's Note:
So, I'm sure Kael'thas and company is going to take it great that an Amani troll is running around wielding the light and fighting undead in the not so distant future.
Garithos, who's such a friendly chum, is definitely going to be overjoyed.
The Paladins of the Silver Hand… Well, it depends on the Paladin I suppose.
Whoever's alive by then.
Zul'Jin too will have opinions.
Man Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas is going to be so much fun going forward. Well, except for all the dead people soon to come.
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus.
A new story! Yes, I know I have too many. This has been commissioned, so who knows when updates will happen - it's all up to the guy commissioning it.
To preface this - it will absolutely be an OP character kicks a lot of ass kind of story - as that's what's been requested.
I'll still attempt to not make it too ridiculous in the process.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
＊＊＊
Lazar's heart pounded like a war drum as he crouched beneath the dense canopy of the forests of Quel'Thalas, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves underneath the overpowering scent of centuries of blood. The towering trees, their gnarled branches intertwined, cast a perpetual twilight over the forest floor here.
This part of the Eversong Forest wasn't the golden leaves and pretty cultured nature of the elves. This was Troll territory. Amani territory.
"Dis be madness," He muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant calls of revelling trolls and drums. "How I end up here, mon? Dis be Zul'Aman, da heart of da Amani."
His long moss green ears twitched as he heard himself speak, no matter his thoughts, or how he tried differently, his speech came out the same. This isn't funny… Why here of all places? Why now?
He clenched his fists, feeling the unfamiliar strength coursing through his sinewy arms. His skin, a deep mossy forest green, was adorned with ritualistic scars and tribal loa tattoos that marked him as one of the Amani. Memories had flooded his mind just minutes ago, a chaotic blend of his past regular life and the experiences of this new body of his. He was Lazar, a young troll on the cusp of adulthood, armed with a simple hunting bow slung across his back, a crude club at his side, and a butchering knife sheathed at his hip.
Of all the places to be reborn, he thought, a shiver running down his spine. "Da Amani, known for dey cruelty and blood rituals. And me, just a grunt, easy prey for da sacrifices." He grumbled, fingering his sharp tusks, the curved thick tusks capable of goring an enemy. He had memories of doing just that. Blood splashing in his face as he howled in victory.
The realization hit him like a blow from a warhammer as he watched the distant glimpse of Zul'Aman through a break in the forest. He was deep within Amani territory, surrounded by trolls who wouldn't hesitate to offer him up to their bloodthirsty gods as he was no one special. In fact he had memories watching his mother be dragged to the sacrificial altars. He had to get out, and fast.
There was no future with the Amani. Their fate was to be continuously curb stomped. They'd only fall further into corruption and blood rituals, binding their own gods. None of that would end well for a low grunt like himself.
Moving with the stealth of a practiced hunter, Lazar navigated the underbrush, each step calculated to avoid the dry twigs and fallen leaves that could betray his presence to anyone curious to follow. The forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, their eyes gleaming like tiny stars in the darkness as he silently passed by.
"South," He decided, mumbling almost inaudibly to himself, recalling the geography of Azeroth. "Gotta head south. North be da lands of da high elves. Dey arrows be quicker than I can blink, mon."
He pressed on, the weight of his predicament bearing down on him. The Amani were notorious for their brutality, even amongst other trolls, and as a low-ranking member, a grunt really, his life held little value. The thought of becoming a sacrifice to appease some vengeful loa sent a chill through his bones.
He wasn't that thrilled about this new life of his, but he wasn't about to just give it up either. So far he'd avoided water, because seeing his own face in the reflection… Would make this all too real. He wasn't giving up… But he wasn't enthused about his existence as a troll to say the least.
He'd played alliance exclusively for his entire WoW experience, and becoming a troll was about as horrible a fate he could imagine. Except perhaps a forsaken - that was arguably worse. Although with the timeline he was in… Becoming that… Unfortunately wasn't out of the question yet.
Loa were the backbone of Trolls' powers and the reason behind the many sacrifices they tended to revel in, yet having seen the madness in trusting any sentient powers not your own in this setting… He wanted nothing to do with that.
"Loa be damned," He cursed under his breath. "I ain't messin' with no voodoo spirits. Dis' two hands be all I need." He decided for himself.
His mind raced, trying to piece together a plan as he ran. The Horde was not a thing yet, and even if he could reach them in Kalimdor by the time they assembled, would they accept an Amani troll? The Darkspear, led by Vol'jin, were somewhat honorable as far as trolls went, but the Amani had a dark reputation. It was just as likely they'd think he was Zul'Jins spy.
"Vol'jin be a good mon," He mused quietly to himself, hope flickering in his chest. "Mebbe he be giving me a chance."
Not that he desperately wanted to be part of the Horde. Both sides had their issues. But after Thrall went more Orc Jesus then he already was - deciding politics and ruling was beneath him and his cause - the revolving door of absolutely shitty warchiefs did not lead to a positive outcome in his mind.
He just didn't have that many options, because he sure as hell couldn't approach any alliance faction as he was. He knew himself enough to know he wasn't a fit for becoming a druid and joining the Cenarion Circle either. Nor was he shaman material to follow the Earthen Ring. Becoming an adventurer. A hero unit. Was probably his best bet. Give him some freedom to operate. Even while… Ugh… Under the Horde's umbrella.
He just had to survive until then and grow stronger… Which considering he was practically smack dab in the middle of the future scourge central was easier said than done.
His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the trees above. Instinctively, he froze, his hand gripping the hilt of his club. A figure dropped down, landing gracefully before him. It was Dracha, a fellow Amani troll and frequent sparring partner. Dracha's lean frame was adorned with bone jewelry, and he held a spear with casual confidence, currently not pointing at him thankfully.
Unlike Lazar's large protruding tusks, Dracha had small stubby ones, something he knew the troll was self conscious about. Something which made the other troll a vicious annoying bugger, always setting out to spite life itself. The old Lazar had attached himself just to avoid being a regular target of Dracha's temperament.
"Lazar, dat you, bruddah?" Dracha's beady eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in his gaze.
Lazar forced a grin, though his heart raced as he readied himself for quick action. "Dracha, me bruddah from anotha' motha'. I been lookin' for ya. Got somethin' special t' share."
He patted a leather pouch at his side, the contents clinking softly. In truth, it held nothing of real value - just some bone dice, a few coins and dried herbs meant for smoking - but he needed Dracha to lower his guard to make this easier on him.
He couldn't afford to draw too much attention. There would be other trolls guarding the perimeter further away. And they all had freakishly good hearing as a racial ability.
Dracha's curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped closer, peering at the pouch. "What ya got dere then, Bruddah?"
As Dracha leaned in, Lazar's grip tightened around his club. With a swift motion, he swung it upward, striking Dracha from underneath his jaw, throwing his head back, before smashing his club into the side of his head. The other troll crumpled to the ground, temporarily dazed.
With troll regeneration as it was - even if grunts didn't have it work as well as the elites - such a strike was only a momentary annoyance. What wasn't so minor, was Lazar mounting his friends chest and stabbing his butcher knife into his throat and eyes repeatedly until Dracha stopped moving.
He probably should feel bad or something. But all he felt was relief that the whole thing had been so quiet.
A sudden notification flashed before Lazar's eyes:
Body +1
"What da...?" He muttered, shaking his head to clear the strange vision. There was no time to ponder it now. It did bring him some hope that he wasn't left completely without recourse in this death world.
Although going back to that whole, don't trust a sentient power thought he had just minutes earlier… Non-sentient would be alright though. Maybe.
He quickly relieved Dracha of his spear and any supplies he carried, slinging a small satchel over his shoulder. With one last glance at his fallen comrade, Lazar resumed his journey southward, each step taking him further from the dangers of Zul'Aman and closer to an uncertain future.
The forest seemed to close in around him as he ran hunched over, ears flicking constantly as he tried to detect any possible pursuers or guards, the trees felt like they were focusing in on him, whispering bloody promises of ancient times. He moved like a shadow, his senses fully heightened, every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig setting his nerves on edge.
"Dis place be cursed," He muttered, glancing around warily. "Gotta keep movin'. Can't be lettin' dem catch me."
Hours passed, the moon climbing higher in the sky, the nocturnal wildlife going through its cycle of predator and prey around him as he ran. Lazar's muscles ached, but he pressed on, driven by the primal instinct to survive. Not sure if the Amani would follow - but sure he'd suffer mightily if they did and caught him.
As dawn approached, he stumbled upon a small clearing. A stream gurgled nearby, its clear waters reflecting the first light of day. He knelt by the bank, cupping his hands to drink, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. As a troll he had some ungodly stamina, but he still felt it when he went for hours on end.
"Need ta find shelter," He mused, scanning the area. "Can't keep runnin' forevah."
It wouldn't do to escape the Amani just to stumble into a Quel'dorei trap or even a human party on their way to one of the elven cities for trade.
His eyes settled on a large, hollowed-out space amongst a copse of trees at the edge of the clearing. It would provide some cover, at least for a few hours. He crawled inside, the earthy scent of moss and wood filling his nostrils.
As exhaustion overtook him, more mentally than physically, Lazar's thoughts drifted to the future. The world was vast, and he was but a single troll, lost and alone. But he was determined to survive, to carve out a new path, far from the blood-soaked rituals of the Amani.
Although his path would be no less blood-soaked, because that was how this world worked. Even just minding your own business and trying to eke out a peaceful existence didn't protect you from sudden old god shenanigans or randomly appearing dragon attacks, bandits, or someone summoning a demon in your neighbours basement.
"Vol'jin," He whispered to himself again, the name a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Mebbe he be givin' me a chance."
With that thought, he allowed himself to drift into a restless sleep, the sounds of the forest lulling him into uneasy dreams, even as he kept one ear open, the Amani used to sleeping lightly.
The days that followed were a blur of movement and survival. Lazar traveled by night, resting during the day to avoid possible Quel'dorei patrols or Amani hunting packs. He subsisted on wild berries and the occasional small game, his skills as a hunter serving him well, although he weirdly didn't have much of an appetite.
Each step took him further from Zul'Aman, but the weight of his memories, his bloody past, clung to him like a shadow. The Amani were cruel, they were raised that way, born that way maybe even, and he bore their marks still, both physical and emotional.
"Can't change who I was, ya know," He said one night to himself, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But I can choose who I gonna be, mon."
＊＊＊
Weeks later, Quel'Thalas, Eversong Forest.
Lazar sat cross-legged by the spring, the soft gurgling of the water the only sound in the stillness of the forest. His fingers worked absentmindedly over his tusks, tracing the rough bone and the little charms of carved wood and animal teeth tied to them. His violet eyes, one scarred with a jagged line that ran from his brow to his cheek courtesy of a poisoned Quel'dorei dagger as a child, stared into the clear water. The reflection staring back at him wasn't overly familiar - not yet, anyway.
He still held on to his humanity in a way. Even as he let his troll memories and instincts guide him through the tribulations he faced.
"Dat be me now, huh?" He muttered, his voice low, almost resigned, as he studied himself.
The troll in the water's reflection was stockier than most of his kin. His frame was wiry but solid, with broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle. His moss green skin was marked by a network of tattoos, tribal loa designs carved into his flesh, symbols of his Amani heritage. A loincloth hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for a square of padded leather strapped across his heart, its rough edges tied together with sinew. His feet were clad in worn boots, cracked and stained from countless hunts. A belt sat snug around his waist, holding a jagged knife and a few pouches of dried herbs and meager supplies.
A single strip of red hair trailed down the center of his skull, ending in a long braid tied together with bone charms. Despite their presence, they made no sound when he moved, as if even the beads respected the silence he tried to keep. Or his mother's voodoo, whatever it might have been, kept them silent.
He'd always been a brute, to his mother's disappointment. Not that she got to be disappointed long. Since the Amani cut her open to deliver her to the Loa for a minor boon.
"Can't believe dis where life be takin' me," He muttered, running his thumb over the scar on his face. "Outta one life, into dis mess. What da Loa want wit me, eh? What dey see in a grunt like Lazar?"
If there was some strange power behind his existence, surely they would have transmigrated him into someone who mattered. Someone who could change things for the Amani perhaps. Instead he was a complete nobody.
He sighed and pulled up the strange screen again that had given him that odd notification during his escape. It had taken him a while to figure out how to summon it, but once he'd been alone and away from the immediate dangers of Zul'Aman, he had taken the time to inspect what it was - and frequently checked back on it. He had tried many words until status had finally worked, and now the ethereal panel hovered before him like a ghost.
It wasn't what he had hoped for. There was no grand system to turn him into a hero, no sprawling tree of magical abilities or flashy moves. What he saw was painfully simple.
But it had its own simple charm, so he didn feel too put out.
"Every kill be gettin' me somethin'," He murmured, his teeth clicking lightly as he spoke lowly. "Dat all it be. Kill, and ya grow. Dat's it."
The categories were few, but their implications loomed large. Body was straightforward - every kill could make him stronger, faster, tougher. Likely enhancing his regeneration at some point as well. The category of Magic teased at the possibility of spells, mana, and the kind of power that could make even the loa take notice - without the blood sacrifices. Crafting seemed less thrilling but undoubtedly useful for someone scraping by in the wild - and if it was as anything like other worlds' crafting system, the high levels would be… Insane to say the least. The last option, though, made his stomach churn, as he debated it, gnawing on his lip.
??? was all it said, marked with an icon of a swirling vortex. No explanation, no details. Just a sense of foreboding.
Mystery box.
It was a struggle to not pick it.
"Dis one..." He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the mystery box. "Ain't no way ta know what it do. Could be somethin' great, or dis could make me end up like one o' dem cursed bastards soon ta be walkin' round da land."
He tapped a finger against his chin. "Not worth da risk. Least not yet. Ain't like I got da luxury to be curious, mon."
Mystery box was for those who could afford to gamble.
One day…
For now, he had chosen Body. Magic might be flashy, and crafting might be practical, but none of that would matter if he got his skull split open before he had a chance to use them. Survival came first. Strength, stamina, and agility, with a dash of possible regeneration improvement - that was what he needed now.
Too bad he could only pick one thing at a time for his kills to improve. He wouldn't have minded some sort of split.
"Ain't no point in dreamin' big if ya can't live long enough ta see it," He told himself, leaning back and letting out a slow breath.
He stared at the water again, at the reflection of the tattoos that wound across his arms and chest. They were marks of the Amani, the clan that had once been his people, marks of the Loa he'd been worshipping. Now, though, they felt like chains, a constant reminder of the brutal culture he was trying to escape. His human mind was still somewhat warring with his memories and experiences as a troll, a disassociation entirely of his own doing due to the vastly different lives.
The thought of ritually sacrificing someone like his sister… Like his mother had been sacrificed. The Loa did not hold his allegiance anymore. His outsider perspective on the young troll's life easily spotted all the cultish brainwashing that had been going on. But saying so, deciding so, didn't completely erase the feelings.
"Dese marks, dey don't mean nothin' no more," He said quietly, insistently, running a finger over one of the swirling patterns. "Ain't no goin' back. Dey'd kill me just as soon as look at me if dey knew what I be plannin'."
His hand drifted to his knife, the bone hilt worn smooth from years of use. It wasn't much, but it had saved him more than once already. He glanced down at the spear he'd taken from Dracha, its wooden shaft etched with faint carvings.
"Sorry, bruddah," He said softly, though he knew Dracha couldn't hear him. "Didn't want ta do ya like dat, but it was ya or me. An' I ain't ready ta meet da Loa just yet."
Heh, he was getting introspective again, one of the pains of being alone for weeks on end, he supposed.
The forest around him was alive with sound - the distant calls of birds, the rustling of leaves, the faint hum of insects. Despite the relative calm, Lazar's nerves were a bit frayed he could admit. He was far from safe still. He had no idea how far Amani patrols might range, not having been part of that section of the tribe, and there were other dangers in the forest besides his own people.
"Dis world be brutal, mon," He muttered to his reflection, his fingers tightening around the shaft of the spear. "But I ain't goin' down easy. Not wit dis second chance."
His mind wandered back to the screen, to the milestones that had been teased. Every 250 kills, there was a promise of something - a reward, a beacon of hope. It was a cruel system, one that forced him to survive by taking life. But it was a system he could use. There was plenty of life to take on Azeroth.
"Justified murder, dey'd call it," He said with a bitter laugh. "Dat's what dis world be runnin' on. Wars, vengeance, survival, call it self defense, mon. Always a reason ta kill."
He leaned forward, staring hard at his reflection. "But I ain't gonna be like dem, ya hear? I ain't sacrificin' bruddah's ta no loa. Ain't killin' for fun or glory. I kill ta live, so I can save em' all, and dat's it."
The words felt hollow, even to him. He could justify it all he wanted, but the fact remained: every life he took made him stronger. It was a dark truth, one he couldn't ignore. It meant he'd live a life soaked in the lifeblood of others. Not everyone would be guilty.
But every death would be worth it if he could stave off even one of the many tragedies doomed to happen.
Lazar pushed himself to his feet, the soft squelch of the wet ground under his boots grounding him in the moment. He adjusted the strap of the leather square over his chest, ensuring it was secure. Even if it looked ridiculous.
He should just be glad he wasn't a female in a chainmail bikini…
"Time ta move," He said, glancing around the clearing. "Ain't no safety here. Gotta keep movin', keep killin', keep growin'."
The spear in his hand felt heavier now, not from its weight, but from the burden it symbolized. Every swing, every stab, every life it claimed - it would all bring him closer to true survival - a true life on this murder planet. And maybe, just maybe, it would bring him closer to freedom. To be able to move freely in the world…
As he stepped into the dense foliage, the forest seemed to close around him, the shadows swallowing him whole. The spring and its fleeting moment of peace were behind him now, and the path ahead was fraught with danger.
But Lazar had never been a stranger to danger. He was an Amani troll, born into blood and raised in brutality. And now, with the strange power of this system at his back, he would forge his own path through the chaos of Azeroth.
Future knowledge would be its own boon too. Even if most every faction would hate him on sight. Making things more difficult.
"Dis world gonna regret underestimatin' Lazar," He muttered, his voice low and determined. "Loa or no loa, I be survivin'. One kill at a time."
＊＊＊
Several days later, the very south of Quel'Thalas.
The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind teased the trees. Lazar crouched low in the underbrush, his green fingers brushing lightly against the shaft of the hunting bow he'd come to rely on. His violet eyes stayed fixed on the approaching caravan. He remained perfectly still, his breath slow and steady, as the human trade group marched north. Ten carts in all, their wheels creaking softly against the dirt road.
He chewed his lip, his sharp tusks jutting upward as he observed the group. Five civilians handled the carts, simple looking folk with wide-brimmed hats and plain clothes. Eight guards surrounded them, armed with an assortment of swords, axes, and shields. Their armor was piecemeal, mostly leather with a few sections of chainmail. Only one among them had a piece of plate - a breastplate that caught the light as it filtered through the trees. Thankfully, none of them carried bows. That was the only reason Lazar dared to entertain this risky idea.
He needed more points. And he had a feeling actual armed men fighting him for their life would be worth more than animals, or his quick takedown of his sort of friend through subterfuge.
"Dis gonna be messy," He muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting to the poison-coated arrows in his quiver. "But ain't no hero yet. Gotta grow strong first, den maybe save da world later."
Amani children learned how to brew poison as a matter of course. So it hadn't been hard for him to identify several plants and put together something to give him a further edge.
His stomach churned at the thought of what he was about to do. They probably didn't deserve this. They were likely innocent of any crimes, caught in the larger wheels of a world that cared little for their lives. He'd leave the civilians alone. The guards? They'd signed up for this, knowing full well the dangers. They would defend the caravan with their lives - and he needed to take those lives if he was going to move forward.
It wasn't ideal, but they were likely doomed to die anyway as Lordaeron was soon to become plagued.
Lazar sighed, muttering softly as he nocked an arrow. "Loa forgive me. Dis be for survival."
Old habits still stuck around as much as he tried to divest himself of it. Swearing or praying to the Loa, the hardest one he wrangled with. The one true avenue where this amalgamation of the two of them truly was won by his troll part.
The lead guard raised a hand, signaling a stop. The caravan slowed as the men adjusted their weapons and scanned the trees. Lazar froze, blending into the foliage, wondering if they'd spotted him somehow. He drew his bowstring back, the poisoned tip of the arrow glinting faintly.
Then quick action was needed.
The first arrow flew true, striking a guard in the neck. He gasped, clutching at the shaft before collapsing. The poison would work quickly to kill, even if in this case it was a moot point as the guard bled out on the dirt road. Chaos erupted as the guards shouted orders, scrambling to defend the civilians. A waste, because he wasn't going after the civilians. He fired again, this time striking a man in the unarmored thigh. The second guard stumbled, falling to the ground as the poison took hold.
"Ambush!" One of them shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "To arms! Take the treeline, close the distance!"
Lazar blinked slowly, a bit surprised he'd been able to understand the man, didn't everyone speak different languages? He sure didn't have a memory of being able to understand the common tongue.
Lazar put it out of his mind as he moved swiftly, already having intuited exactly what the humans would do beforehand, slipping through the trees like a shadow. He had no intention of facing them all head-on. His Amani instincts and months of survival training in the forest as a child told him to divide and conquer. As three guards broke off to chase him, he grinned darkly.
"Dat's it, mon," He muttered. "Come an' play wit Lazar."
The remaining guards stayed near the caravan, their weapons drawn as they formed a protective circle around the civilians. Lazar climbed higher into the trees, leaping from branch to branch with ease. His newfound strength from weeks of hunting and the incremental gains of his system made him light on his feet and agile as a jungle cat.
The guards chasing him stumbled through the dense forest, their movements clumsy and loud. Lazar moved over the traps he'd prepared earlier, having layed down false trails and pitfall snares to slow them. The first guard to actually catch up, fell into a shallow pit lined with sharp stakes, his scream piercing the air.
The poison on the stakes ensured that he'd be dead within the minute, so he could move on to the next one.
"One down," Lazar muttered, loosing another arrow at a second pursuer who'd frozen upon seeing what happened to the first man. The poisoned tip struck true, sinking into the man's shoulder. He dropped his sword as the limb immediately stopped cooperating, staggering before collapsing against a tree.
The final guard paused, looking around nervously. He raised his sword, turning in circles as he tried to spot his attacker. Lazar felt annoyed in some ways that only his first trap was sprung, drawing another arrow. He waited until the guard turned his back, then fired. The man crumpled soon after, his body going limp as the poison worked its way through his system. Lazar might have been a tad mean to shoot him in the rump, but they'd annoyed him by being so… Bad at this.
The difference between actual army men and hero units - and some farm boys with swords trying their luck at being mercenaries or guards, he supposed.
"Three fer three," Lazar murmured, satisfied. "Dat be good odds." That left only three back at the caravan.
He doubled back toward the caravan after collecting his arrows from the corpses, his movements swift and silent. The remaining guards were scanning the forest for signs of him, acting nervous, no doubt having heard the scream from the first guard. Lazar crouched low, his sharp eyes picking out the weakest link - a guard near the rear of the group who had strayed too far from the others, hefting a shield as he glanced nervously around.
The caravan master and lead guard were too busy arguing with each other to notice.
With practiced ease, he notched another arrow and let it fly. It struck the man in the side of the neck, and he dropped to his knees, clutching at the deadly wound. He fired another arrow right after, hitting one of the two last guards in the torso, his leather armor not enough to prevent a scratch introducing the poison in his system.
Leaving the lead guard, who roared and rushed towards the treeline where Lazar was hiding.
Lazar didn't waste time. He burst from the underbrush, his bone club swinging in a wide arc to batter away the sword strike, his other hand holding his spear which he immediately jabbed into the guard's side. The lead guard was too slow to react, so he stabbed him again, in the armpit, and he fell with a wet gurgle.
The civilians screamed, their cries of terror echoing through the forest. Lazar ignored them, his focus on the carts. He rifled through the supplies, grabbing a rucksack and stuffing it with dried meats, bread, and a few jars of preserves. His hand lingered on a bundle of arrows, which he quickly added to his haul. He also found several books that he pilfered as they looked like some sort of magic tomes.
His eyes lit up as he spotted a decent sized steel warhammer in the carts carrying steel weaponry. He picked it up, testing its weight. It was heavier than his bone club but far more durable - and deadly. He slung it over his shoulder, satisfied with his loot.
He didn't know where he'd even spend the coin, but the filled pouch of coin he'd pilfered too should come in handy one day, surely?
The civilians cowered nearby, their eyes wide with fear, except for a young girl who was held to the ground by one of the others as she cursed impressively. Lazar scratched his chin, debating whether to speak. He wasn't going to kill them, but without guards… If they were stupid, they'd be dead meat if they continued.
Even kobolds or gnolls would take them as they were now.
He stepped toward them, his voice rumbling low. "Listen up, ya lot. Turn back. Go back south ta safety. I done got what I need, so I be feelin' generous today. Ain't gonna eat ya... Dis time."
One of the civilians whimpered, clutching her man close. Lazar's jaw tightened. He wasn't a complete monster, no matter how much the system seemed to nudge him in that direction for profit. He wouldn't harm civilians. He turned away, shaking his head.
"Get ta movin'," He called over his shoulder. "Before I be changin' me mind, ya hear?"
He grabbed a few more supplies from the carts before disappearing back into the forest. The civilians watched him go, their relief palpable, though fear still lingered in their eyes as they eyed all the dead.
Lazar moved quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the caravan as possible. He wouldn't stay at his usual cave for too much longer - it was too risky now. If adventurers or soldiers came looking, they'd search the area. He needed a new hiding spot.
It was for the best anyway, he never intended to keep to one spot. Too easy to track him down and put him with his back to the wall.
As he walked, he glanced at the shimmering screen that appeared before him. The numbers had changed - each guard had given him ten body points, bringing him closer to the next milestone. He smirked, though the expression lacked joy.
"Almost dere," He muttered. "Body be close ta 250 now. Wonder what reward dis system gonna throw at me."
His grin faded as his thoughts returned to the caravan. The sight of the civilians' terrified faces lingered in his mind. He didn't regret taking out the guards… Much. They'd signed up for the risk. But the rest? It left a sour taste in his mouth to see their fear and terror.
"Dis ain't what I wanted," He grumbled, running a hand through his braid. "Thought… Dis make me feel stronger, yah. Better. But all I feel is tired, mon."
He glanced south, toward the lands of Lordaeron. Soon, the plague would sweep through, turning everything into a nightmare. The undead would rise, and this entire region would become a battleground. Lazar sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Maybe when da undead come, I can fight dem instead," He said softly. "At least den I won't feel so bad."
For now, though, he had to keep moving, keep growing stronger. Survival was all that mattered. One day, he might become the hero he dreamed of being. But today? Today, he was just a troll, alone in a hostile world, doing whatever it took to stay alive.
＊＊＊
Hours later, Lazar's cave.
The forest's soft rustling was usually a comfort to Lazar. He sat cross-legged on a fallen log outside his temporary cave residence, his bow resting nearby and a small pot of bear stew bubbling over the fire. For the last few days, this clearing had been his refuge - a place where the dangers of Azeroth felt distant, at least for a time,
But tonight, something was off, something he couldn't put his finger on. Lazar's ears twitched as he caught a faint noise. It wasn't the usual scurrying of forest creatures. This sound was of someone trying to be sneaky, a sidestep to avoid snapping a twig, a rustle of foliage too careful to be an animal. Someone was trying to sneak into his camp. They weren't bad at it, either, but 'not bad' wasn't good enough to fool an Amani who'd been born in these forests.
"Well now," He murmured, his voice low as he rose to his feet without any further sound.
He climbed a nearby tree with the ease of a jungle cat, his muscles tensing as he pulled himself onto a thick branch. From his perch, he scanned the clearing, his violet eyes narrowing. His hand reached for his bow that he'd snapped up on his way, notching an arrow in silence. Then the figure emerged from the underbrush, and his jaw nearly dropped.
It was the girl from the caravan. The one with the filthy mouth who'd been held back by the others.
"What da hell…?" Lazar muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes to study her.
She was a wisp of a thing, barely into her teens by his guess, or more likely just approaching it. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her icy blue eyes burned with an intensity that didn't belong on a face as doll-like as hers. She moved cautiously, clutching a dagger in both hands, her gaze darting around the camp with murder in her eyes.
Lazar scratched his chin, baffled. What was she doing here? And why did she look ready to gut him? How had the other humans let her do this? Were they insane?
"So… Whatcha be doin'?" He rumbled, curious, throwing his voice to the far side of the clearing with a simple Amani trick. He might not have any mojo or be a voodoo type of guy, but there was more to the Amani than mojo.
The girl froze, her head snapping toward the wrong direction. Her dagger wavered slightly as she held it out. "Show yourself, monster!" She snarled, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
Lazar grinned, though there was no humor in it. "Nah… Don't think I gonna be doin' dat, li'l girl," He said lazily, shifting his weight on the branch. "Ya real stupid, ya know dat?"
Her glare deepened, and she turned in another direction, scanning the trees with wide, hate-filled eyes. "I'm not stupid! I tracked you, didn't I?" She snapped, her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her dagger.
Lazar tilted his head, mildly impressed despite himself, because yeah, that wasn't something he'd have bet on. Was she secretly a high elf? "Hmph. Took ya long enuff, but yah, not bad fer a human cub. Still stupid, tho', mon."
"You stole my magic books!" She shrieked, her voice cracking with pure anger. "Master Haddock said I'm useless now! He threw me out because I can't study without them!" Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, though she blinked them away furiously.
Lazar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The books. He remembered grabbing them during his raid on the caravan, thinking they might give him a head start on learning magic. It hadn't taken long to realize the flaw in his plan - knowing English didn't mean he could read Common. The books had been useless to him, but apparently, their absence had destroyed her life.
Just his luck. This just had bad Juju all over it.
"What da crap an' aspiring mage be doin' workin' fer a caravan master anyway?" He asked idly, more to keep her talking than anything. At the same time, he silently cursed the caravan master for abandoning her in what was essentially enemy territory. What kind of man left a child to fend for herself?
"They were mine!" She screamed, stomping toward the fire and kicking dirt over his cooking pot. Lucky for her, he was Amani, eating dirt wasn't anything new. "I stole those books fair and square! After I kill you and take them back, I'll go back to the caravan, and everything will be fine!"
Lazar barked a laugh, his tusks gleaming in the moonlight. "Girl, dat caravan master o' yours prolly halfway to da gates o' East Lordaeron by now. You ain't catchin' him, especially in da dark."
Kid certainly had kid logic though. Personally he wouldn't go back to someone who so easily discarded you…
Her icy eyes burned with fury as she spun toward him finally getting it right, meeting his eyes. "Then I'll run faster, avoiding animals by wearing your skin!" She snarled, clutching the dagger tightly.
Lazar sighed, rubbing his tusks in frustration. He had a murderpuppy on his hands. This was his fault, no doubt, but he wasn't about to kill some tween girl to fix it.
"Alright, den," He muttered, shaking his head. He dropped lightly from the tree, landing in a crouch behind her.
The girl spun, startled, but she was too slow. With a flick of his wrist, Lazar plucked the dagger from her hand. She stumbled back as he spun the weapon lazily between his fingers, studying her with an expression that was more curious than threatening.
"Got a bear stew on da fire," He said casually, jerking his head toward the bubbling pot. "Only got one bowl, tho' and ya kicked dat dirt in, so no complainin'."
The girl gaped at him, her chest heaving as she scrambled away. Her blue eyes darted between him and the cave, like a cornered animal looking for an escape route.
Lazar squatted by the entrance of the cave, tilting his head as he watched her. "Help yerself. I take ya back towards da gates in da mornin'."
With a furious cry, the girl rushed at him, her tiny fists hammering against his chest. Lazar didn't move, letting her vent her anger. She might as well have been punching a tree for all the damage it did. He could regenerate anyway if she somehow managed to do anything.
"Girl, ya like a li'l storm spirit, yah," He muttered, more amused than anything. "Gonna wear yerself out 'fore long."
When her punches slowed, he gently caught her wrists and held them steady. She glared up at him, her cheeks flushed with frustration.
"Ya done, mon?" He asked, his tone calm but firm.
She wrenched her hands free, stumbling back with a defiant glare. "I'll kill you," She growled, her voice trembling with anger.
Lazar sighed, running a hand through his strip of red hair and down his braid. "Sure, sure. Ya keep tellin' yerself dat, li'l murderpuppy."
The girl's face turned red with indignation, but she said nothing. She stalked to the fire, ladled some of the stew into his only bowl that sat nearby, and sat as far from him as possible, her glare never leaving his face.
Lazar leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched her carefully, noting the way her hands twitched when they strayed too close to her neck. A chain gleamed faintly beneath her shirt, and his sharp eyes caught the edge of a medallion.
"Magic bauble, huh?" He muttered, more to himself than to her. That probably explained how she understood him, despite his Zandali. For a moment, he considered taking it. But no - stealing from a kid was a line he wouldn't cross. Not today, at least.
He'd been wondering how they were able to understand each other. The effect must be pretty wide, because he'd understood the guards too, at least at the caravan site. Higher ups in the Amani knew the common tongue, mostly so they could better taunt enemies, but a lowly grunt like him had never been taught.
"Just eat, girl," He grumbled. "We deal wit dis in da mornin'."
She didn't reply, though the firelight reflected her simmering rage in her eyes. Lazar leaned back, allowing himself to relax. He really should've expected what happened next.
The bowl of stew hit him square in the face, hot stew splattering across his tusks and chest. Before he could react, the girl tackled him, her small frame colliding with his. Lazar stumbled back, more out of surprise than anything else.
"Girl, ya serious?" He growled, grabbing her wrists again to keep her from clawing at his face. Then letting out an exasperated breath as she kicked him in the junk.
Who taught this girl?
"Give me back my books!" She screamed, writhing like a wild animal.
Lazar sighed, holding her steady as she struggled. "Li'l miss, ya lucky I ain't da eatin' humans type. Now sit down an' stop actin' like a goblin on the end of a bad deal."
She froze for a moment, glaring at him with pure hatred. Then, with a huff, she tore herself free and stomped back to the fire. Lazar shook his head, wiping stew from his face.
"Dis girl gonna be da death o' me," He muttered. "I can already tell."
His main priority was definitely to dump her back with the humans. She could go be crazy with them…
His gaze fell on the mountains separating Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas, the plague…
＊＊＊
The night had fallen thick and dark, the forest around Lazar's camp alive with the sounds of chirping insects and the occasional distant howl of a wolf. The small fire crackled softly as he lay stretched out near the flames, one arm resting behind his head, the other loosely gripping his warhammer. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady, but anyone paying close attention to the signs would have noticed he wasn't quite asleep.
It was hard to sleep with so much murderous attention directed your way after all.
On the other side of the fire, the girl sat cross-legged, her icy blue eyes glaring at him with a mixture of hatred and frustration. She'd been unusually quiet for the last hour, not even muttering insults under her breath like she had before. That alone was enough to keep Lazar sure she was plotting.
And sure enough, two hours into the night, it happened.
She moved like a shadow, creeping across the camp with surprising stealth for someone so young. Lazar didn't move, didn't even twitch. He had to give her credit - for a kid it was damn impressive. Her steps were quieter now, more deliberate, though not quiet enough to get past an Amani troll raised in the wilds.
Then she ruined it for herself.
Not that she ever stood a chance.
With a high-pitched war cry of all things, the girl launched herself at him, her small frame hurtling through the air as she brought a dagger down in both hands. The blade hit against his chest with a dull thud, followed by another and another, as she laughed maniacally, stabbing in such fervent joy he was a little worried for her mental health.
Lazar sat up with a long-suffering sigh, the motion sending the girl tumbling off him and onto the ground. He plucked the dagger from his chest, examining the bent tip with a faint frown before tossing it aside.
"Girl," He rumbled, his voice exasperated, "How ya sneak through a forest, track me down, an' still be tinkin' breakin' stealth wit' a war cry be a smart idea?"
She scrambled to her feet, clutching another dagger tightly and swinging it wildly as she charged at him again. Lazar raised a hand, catching her by the forehead and holding her at bay at a distance giving her a chiding look. She roared in frustration, her feet digging into the dirt as she swung the blade at him, anywhere she could reach, which wasn't far enough to reach anything with how long his arms were.
Lazar sighed again, glancing up at the night sky as if seeking divine intervention. "Dis be da Loa punishin' me fer turnin' me back on dem, ain't it?" He muttered.
With his free hand, he plucked the dagger from her grip, twisting it easily out of her hands. He held it up, showing her the bent tip from where she'd just stabbed his arm, finally going for a target she could reach. "Girl, I'm a troll. Me skin tougher dan yer little daggers can handle. Give it up."
She stopped struggling, her shoulders slumping as she pouted angrily, her icy blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Lazar groaned inwardly. Great - now she was looking adorable, and he couldn't even yell at her for being an idiot.
He squatted down so they were eye level, gesturing with the dagger. "Look, girl. Someone yer size? Always go fer da soft bits. Eyes, throat, yah? If dey bigger dan you…" He flipped the dagger in his hand, demonstrating. "Cut da back o' da knees, get dem fallin'. Once dey down, ya stab here." He pointed to his throat. "Lodge it in deep, an' even regeneration won't help, mon. If ya got a long enough dagger, go through deys eyes, or go fer da brain." He tapped the side of his head where the skull was weakest. "Push hard enough, ya might get through."
She stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. It was clear she wasn't sure how to process being given a lesson on how to kill him. At the same time, he could see her mentally taking notes.
"Why?" She mumbled, her voice small and uncertain. She fidgeted slightly, rubbing her arm as she looked away from him.
Lazar scratched his chin with the bent dagger, his sharp tusks gleaming in the firelight. "Eh, ya ain't gonna kill me either way. But if ya run inta another troll someday, only fair ya get a fightin' chance. Good t' know, yah, mon?"
"I can definitely kill you," She grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at him with her icy blue eyes. "Just watch me!"
He ruffled her hair with a broad hand, grinning as she squawked in protest and flailed her arms at him. "Sure ya can, brat. Sure."
Lazar tossed the bent dagger over his shoulder, the blade clattering against the dirt. He stood and grabbed her by the waist, ignoring her squeal of protest as he lifted her upside down. Holding her by the ankles, he gave her a gentle shake.
Well… For a troll.
Three more daggers clattered to the ground.
Lazar stared at the weapons in deadpan disbelief before turning his gaze back to the girl. "Girl," He rumbled, "Where da hell ya even hidin' all dis? Ya got pockets I don't know 'bout?"
Typical girls and women, you never knew what they'd pull out next, and how. Like where exactly was she keeping these things?
"Put me down!" She screeched, waving her little arms uselessly, her hair all over the place.
Lazar set her down with a sigh, pocketing the daggers for himself. "Ya gonna let me sleep now, mon?" He asked, raising a brow at her, having to hide another grin at how adorably she huffed, trying to straighten out her hair.
"I promise I'll leave you alone," She grumbled, her cheeks red with indignation.
Satisfied, Lazar stretched languidly, before heading back to bed. This time, he climbed up a nearby tree to rest on a thick branch. He wasn't overly concerned about her actually hurting him, but the idea of her poking him in the eye with a sharp stick wasn't appealing either. So might as well make it a bit more unappealing to even attempt it.
He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the jungle lull him into a light doze.
That's how he learned never to trust a human's promise.
The first attempt came less than an hour later.
Lazar jolted awake as the girl scrambled up the tree after him, a sharp rock in hand. He sighed, catching her wrist before she could swing. "Girl, ya serious? A rock? What ya plannin' t' do wit dat?" He looked at her dubiously, it probably wouldn't even bruise him, she'd be better off trying to pop his eyes with her thumbs or something and really dig in there.
Her response was to climb up his arm like a monkey and kick him in the chin, making him wince, not in pain, but at how close she'd gotten to impaling herself on his tusks. "I'm resourceful!" She snapped. "I would have found a way!"
"Resourceful don't mean smart," He grumbled, grabbing the rock and tossing it to the ground. He climbed down and set her back near the fire, shaking his head. There was no point in going back up his tree, so he just rested his head against one of his satchels, using it as a pillow as he laid down at the edge of the fire.
The second attempt came barely thirty minutes later just as he had dozed off. This time, she tried to sneak up on him with a sharpened stick. Lazar caught her mid-swing not even opening his eyes, before plucking the stick from her hands and snapping it with his thumb.
"Girl," He said, now fully exasperated, "Ya tryin' t' make me regret sparin' ya?"
She glared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "One time is all I need, I'll get you."
"Sure, brat," He said, tying her wrists together with a bit of rope, hoping she'd just give it a break with the upped difficulty. "Dis not gunna be da night, mon."
The third attempt involved her trying to roll a heavy rock onto his head from a low branch. He caught it with ease, her attempt way too noisy with having to get the rock up there in the first place. He set it aside with a tired sigh as he gave her a look. She scampered off, her bindings already gone.
By the sixth attempt, Lazar had had enough. He tied her to a tree, ignoring her shrieks of indignation. "Girl, ya tryin' me patience. Time fer ya t' stay put."
Time outs worked on brats, right?
He sure as hell wasn't going to spank her, so it would have to do.
"Let me go!" She demanded, squirming against the ropes.
"Not till mornin', brat," He said, settling back near the fire. "Now go t' sleep."
The seventh attempt was her trying to chew through the ropes to get at him again, almost managing by the time the noise woke him. By that point, Lazar couldn't even be too mad. If nothing else, the kid had spirit.
She would have made a pretty good troll, if he was honest.
Probably a better one than him.
He could definitely see her do some bad voodoo.
"Pretty good fer a li'l murderpuppy," He muttered to her afterwards, shaking his head as he tightened the ropes, adding another loop around her head to prevent her from being able to bend her neck and chew anymore rope. "But dis troll still be needin' me beauty sleep."
As dawn broke, and with an amazing three hours of sleep behind him, Lazar untied the very tired looking girl and handed her a bowl of stew, shaking his head at her furious glare.
Somehow it was his fault she hadn't had any sleep.
Women!
＊＊＊
Later that day,
Lazar led the girl through the dense underbrush. Despite her endless reservoir of murderous intent, the trek had been surprisingly tolerable. She was too busy trying to keep up with his long stride and watching the dark trees around them with wary eyes to cause him any real trouble. For once, she wasn't plotting his demise - at least not actively.
"Dat's it, girl. Step light, yah?" Lazar said over his shoulder as he deftly sidestepped a thorny bush. "Watch da roots too. Ain't no fun twistin' yer ankle out here."
"I know," She muttered, irritation in her voice. Despite herself, her focus stayed on his every movement, mimicking his careful steps.
He grinned to himself. Maybe there was hope for the murderpuppy yet. Not that he could explain why he kept bothering to teach her. Something about her rough edges called to the part of him that wanted to at least leave her better off than he'd found her. Besides, it wasn't like she had anyone else to teach her after he got her dumped by her caravan.
And with the plague coming… He could at least give her some wilderness survival tricks. Maybe they'd help, maybe not. But at least he felt like he was doing something.
As they moved, Lazar paused periodically, pointing out plants and fungi and explaining uses and cautions depending on which was which. "Dis one? Don't touch it. Nasty stuff, burn ya skin like fire. Dis one here? Good fer patchin' up wounds if ya mash it up first." The girl nodded, her icy blue eyes laser-focused on his every word, her small hands brushing the leaves of the safe plants he indicated.
She was adorable when she got like this, all serious and intent, absorbing everything he said as if her life depended on it. Her usual murderous impulses seemed to evaporate during these impromptu lessons, and for a little while, she almost seemed like a normal kid.
Almost.
"Now, dis one…" Lazar pulled her aside to crouch near some faint tracks in the dirt. "See dis? Wolf tracks. Ya can tell by da size an' da way da claws dig into da dirt. No pack too, dis likely a runt. Follow da tracks slow, don't rush. If ya spook it, ya lose yer dinner."
She nodded solemnly, her small face scrunching up in concentration. "What if it hears you? Or smells you?"
"Dat's why ya move quiet-like. Slow, steady, yah?" He smirked, ruffling her hair, before smudging her face with mud with his other hand, getting an offended squeak out of her, and a death glare that was more cute than scary. "Smell like da forest too, mon. Come on, let's find dis wolf."
It didn't take long. They found the creature drinking at a small stream, its small size confirming his earlier thoughts, its ears twitching as it seemed distressed. Lazar handed the girl his bow, crouching low beside her. "Steady now. Draw it back slow… breathe… An' let it fly." He whispered into her ear. He could hear her heartbeat as it slowed down as she focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.
For the past two days of traveling he'd been slowly teaching her how to shoot. His hunting bow was small enough she could just barely use it when she used her full strength.
She wasn't great, but she was also surprisingly quick at picking it up.
But that could just be how martial the population of Azeroth was in general, he supposed.
The arrow missed by a hair, grazing the wolf's side, the girl cursing up a storm. It bolted of course, but Lazar had already expected it, and was on it in an instant, bringing it down cleanly with a throw of his spear. He motioned the girl over, beginning to show her how to skin the animal and preserve the pelt and pointing out all the uses for the innards of the animal beyond food. She watched with rapt attention, helping where she could, her small hands working with surprising precision under his guidance.
"Every kid need t' know dis," He said as they worked. "Ain't always gonna have someone else huntin' fer ya."
Probably was more a troll thing. But considering things, it could do her good too.
She nodded again, her gaze serious. For once, she didn't have a snarky comeback. It was almost nice.
He'd only had himself to talk to these past few weeks, perhaps why he tolerated her so easily, because above all, it was someone else to talk to.
…
Over the days that followed, he even taught her how to properly use those daggers she was so fond of. She'd taken to the lessons well, her intense focus making her a fast learner. Her nightly murder attempts had dwindled to a mere three, her exhaustion keeping her in check. He didn't comment on it, though her increasingly creative insults during practice amused him greatly.
He even made sure to teach her some new ones. Something to bother the humans later once she was let loose amongst her kind.
Little cute girls swearing was funny. Sue him.
Did they have lawyers in Azeroth? He tried to imagine a lawyer trying to argue something to an orc. The lawyer's head flew away shortly thereafter in his imagination, screaming about depositions.
Probably not in the Horde, he thought, scratching his head at the oddity of his thoughts sometimes.
The last night before they reached the human gatehouse between Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron, Lazar noticed movement in the distance. He froze, motioning for the girl to stop. She obeyed without question, crouching low beside him. Through the trees, a small group of kobolds shuffled by, their pickaxes glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Lazar's lips curled into a grin. "Looks like loot an' some points, mon…" He muttered to himself.
Although kobolds were unlikely to be as plentiful in regards to points as a human guard, he suspected.
"What?" The girl asked, her voice barely audible.
"Kobolds," He said, his grin widening. "Li'l rat bastards wit' crappy pickaxes. Perfect fer huntin'. Ain't no threat unless dey swarm ya." He gave her a considering look, "Me, anyway, you, just be a snack."
He crouched and motioned for her to follow him into a tree. She scrambled up beside him, clinging to a thick branch as Lazar handed her his bow and quiver. "Stay up here, girl. Watch da fun. If somethin' come after ya, shoot it like we practiced."
She glared at him, her icy blue eyes narrowed. "When you die in there, I'll come pick at your corpse," She said seriously.
Lazar snorted, shaking his head. "Girl, if I wouldn't get shot full o' arrows on sight, I'd love t' have a word wit' yer parents 'bout how dey raised ya."
Her face shifted, the glare faltering for a split second as pure, unfiltered terror flashed across her features. She shuttered it quickly, returning to her usual murderous scowl, but Lazar caught it. He frowned but decided not to press. She'd be gone by tomorrow anyway.
It probably explained why she was desperately trying to join a caravan at her age though, and had connotations he wasn't happy with.
Problem with Azeroth? It could literally be anything from just regular abusive parents - to old god cult - to crazies wanting to become one with the Murlocs. He really didn't want to know which one he was dealing with here.
Again he reminded himself, she's gone tomorrow anyway.
He dropped from the tree, fingering his warhammer for a moment, before letting it go with a grunt. As he approached the kobold cave, he switched to his spear. Tunnels weren't great for wide swings, and he didn't need to go all out against kobolds anyway. He was halfway to the entrance when he felt a sharp sting in his backside.
He froze, grinding his teeth, then slowly turned, plucking the arrow from his ass. The wound healed almost instantly, the troll regeneration already at work. He held up the arrow, shaking it at the girl still perched in the tree. "Girl… did ya just shoot me in da ass?"
She crossed her arms and replied coolly, "I was aiming for the back of your head." She lost any coolness factor immediately, as she almost dropped the bow with her posture and had to scramble to keep it, face red.
Lazar snorted. "Ya got shit aim, girl. Two hours o' practice before bed tonight, yah? Can't let ya leave wit' skills like dat."
"Fuck you, you limp dicked cocksucker!" She yelled, her shrill voice echoing through the forest.
The commotion drew the attention of the kobolds near the cave entrance. Their beady eyes glinted in the dim light as they poked their heads out, hefting their dull pickaxes. Lazar sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the girl. "Girl, I dunno where ya learnin' dis language, but it ain't cute."
"From you, you ball gargling dumbass!" She shouted back, nocking another arrow.
"Why do I do dis t' meself…" He muttered, some amusement leaking through as he stabbed the first kobold to reach him in the eye with her discarded arrow. Its dying screech soothed his battle wound.
Until he suddenly got another arrow, in the other asscheek. "Girl….!" He yelled, pulling it out and throwing it at her.
"That time I aimed!" She yelled triumphantly, sticking her tongue out at him.
Lazar grunted, dispatching the next kobold with a quick jab of his spear through its throat, while crushing the face of another with a stomp. "It's just 'cause I was goin' insane talkin' ta meself, an' I wanted company," He said to no one in particular. Complaining about his life choices.
"Aren't you supposed to be good at this?" She yelled, loosing another arrow that missed its mark entirely, shooting above the kobolds, even as they scampered around him, as he crushed and stabbed away, missing the odd one or two who wailed at his legs without much success.
Lazar frowned, easily sidestepping another kobold as the herd began thinning with his latest couple of swipes. "An' you supposed t' be in stealth, hidin', yah? Quiet like." He chided.
"If they're all dead, they can't hear me!" She retorted with childlike logic.
Lazar paused, considering her words as he skewered another kobold and used his kobold on a stick to beat another's face in. "Fair 'nough," He muttered with a shrug. He wasn't worried anyway - there wasn't much that could take him out in a damn kobold cave. And if anything from the forest tried to eat her due to her racket, it would probably regret it anyway and cough her up.
The cave ahead loomed ominously, the promise of more kobolds waiting within. Lazar grinned, his spear dripping with blood as he stepped over the bodies of the fallen.
"Time t' clean house, mon." He said, his voice low and eager. Behind him, the girl's voice carried through the trees, muttering curses as she nocked yet another arrow, keeping watch for any threats.
＊＊＊
The air in the mine was thick and stale, laced with the faint tang of iron and the earthy scent of old dirt. Lazar's long ears twitched, picking up the faint scratching sounds of kobolds deeper within. The soft clinking of their tools echoed through the narrow tunnel, a telling sign that the little rat-men were skulking just out of sight.
He moved forward, the dark no hindrance to his vision, his spear gripped loosely in one hand. Lazar's footsteps were almost completely silent, his hardened leather boots brushing against the damp dirt and scattered pebbles. Every movement was lazy yet ready to burst into motion at any time, his violet eyes scanning the gloom for any sign of his feast.
"Dis place stink like rotten mojo," He muttered under his breath, wrinkling his nose. "Kobolds sure know how t' make a home, yah?"
He wasn't too concerned about stealth here. He wanted them to come to him.
A faint chittering from up ahead drew his attention. Two kobolds scurried into view, their hunched forms silhouetted against the weak glow of candles. One carried a rusty pickaxe, the other a jagged knife that looked as if it had been fashioned from shit metal.
Lazar smirked, shifting his weight slightly. He'd noticed outside the kobolds gave him +3 body each, which meant he'd definitely hit 250 points soon. He gestured to the kobolds in the universal - come at me, bro - gesture.
The first one let out a screech, charging at him with its pickaxe raised high. Lazar stepped forward smoothly, his spear lancing out to impale the creature through the chest. It let out a pitiful squeal as he pulled the weapon free, its small body crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The second kobold hesitated for a fraction of a second before lunging at him screeching about candles. Lazar sidestepped effortlessly, spinning the spear in his hands and slashing the blade across its throat. Blood sprayed the tunnel wall, and the creature collapsed, clutching at its neck as it gurgled its last breath.
"Two down," Lazar murmured, shaking the blood from his spear. "How many more o' ya crawlin' 'round dis place, I wonder?" He grinned darkly, "Dey be lots, I hope!"
He pressed onward, deeper into the twisting tunnels. The walls seemed to close in the further he went, the air growing colder and heavier. Faint whispers of movement reached his ears, and he tightened his grip on the spear, his muscles coiled like a spring.
The next attack came without warning. A pack of kobolds burst out of a side tunnel that had been hidden behind a thin layer of dirt, screeching like feral beasts at the last moment of their ambush, not too unlike the girl. He wondered how she'd take the comparison, and made a mental note to definitely tell her. There were at least five of them, their pickaxes and makeshift clubs waving in the air as they rushed him.
Lazar lowered his head, baring his tusks in a feral grin. "Come on, den," He rumbled, lowering his spear. "Let's see what ya got."
The first kobold reached him, jumping up at him with its pickaxe swinging wildly. Lazar didn't bother dodging. The weapon glanced off his shoulder, barely scratching his tough hide. He retaliated with a quick thrust of his tusks as he moved forward, skewering the creature through the torso. It screeched as he twisted the tusks, ripping it apart and sending it's carcass at its compatriots in a shower of blood.
The second and third kobolds rushed him together, one going high by jumping, while the other aimed low. Lazar avoided the swing of the upper kobold's club by the matter of the kobold getting a face full of its torn apart friend, using the time he got to drive his spear down into the one at his feet. The spear punched through its torso and spine, pinning it to the ground.
The other kobold lunged again, free of his buddies corpse, its claws raking across Lazar's arm. He barely noticed the shallow wounds as he spun his spear in an arc, slicing through the creature's midsection. It fell with a wail, clutching at its spilled guts, a boot to the head silenced it's wailing as he followed the creature all the way to the ground with the motion, stomping his skull into paste.
The remaining two kobolds hesitated, their courage faltering in the face of his brutal efficiency. Lazar didn't give them a chance to regroup. He stepped forward, his spear thrusting with deadly precision. One kobold fell with a spear through its chest, the other with its head split open by the blunt end of the shaft.
"Dat all?" He muttered, glancing around as the echoes of the battle faded. His small wounds were already knitting themselves back together, the faint sting of scratches disappearing as his troll regeneration took hold.
He continued deeper into the mine, the tunnels twisting and branching in seemingly endless patterns. Occasionally, he passed crude kobold carvings scratched into the walls - symbols of their pitiful attempts at worship, no doubt. He ignored them, his focus on the sounds of movement ahead.
The next encounter was a single kobold, armed with nothing but a jagged piece of metal. It lunged at him with a screech, its eyes wide with fear and desperation. Lazar skewered it easily, his spear punching through its chest and pinning it to the wall.
"Pathetic," He muttered, yanking the weapon free.
He supposed it was the difference between a real situation and the game. Where one could play through a whole mine of kobolds and they all survived several hits in the game - reality wasn't as kind.
As he moved deeper into the tunnels, the air grew heavier, the faint glimmer of light becoming more sporadic. The chittering of kobolds echoed from all directions, but Lazar felt no fear. Even if they came rushing through the tunnel and bit and scraped at him, they wouldn't kill him, not with what they'd shown.
"Gimme more XP!" He roared.
…
The kobolds had been trashed like dry leaves in a storm. The narrow tunnels of the mine worked against them, forcing them to attack in small clusters, bottlenecked by the cramped spaces. Lazar dispatched them with brutal efficiency, his spear darting in and out like a serpent's tongue. Occasionally, a pickaxe or club would scrape against his hide, but the shallow wounds healed almost instantly, his troll regeneration knitting his skin back together before he even noticed.
He'd only run into the one caster, but with how noticable attempting to hang back and use magic was - he'd nailed it with a thrown spear before it could even think to cast something at him, and then ripped the kobolds around him apart with his bare hands and tusks.
"Dat all ya got, rats?" He growled, his voice echoing through the cavern. Another group of five rushed him, screeching in their bizarre mix of Common and whatever language the little beasts used. Lazar didn't bother waiting for them to reach him. He lunged forward, skewering the first kobold through the gut before whipping his spear sideways to slash the next two across their necks.
The final two stumbled, their small eyes darting between their fallen comrades and the massive troll standing before them. Lazar grinned, his tusks dripping blood onto the cavern floor.
"Shoulda stayed in yer burrows," He rumbled, stabbing one in the chest while backhanding the other with his off hand with such force its head spun 180 degrees. The kobold with the chest wound crumpled to the ground, wheezing, before Lazar's foot came down with a sickening crunch.
He barely broke stride as he moved deeper into the tunnels, his violet eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The kobolds' resistance was pitiful. Out in the open, their sheer numbers might have been a problem for a less formidable opponent, but here? Here they could only come at him a handful at a time, and Lazar was far too strong for that to be a real threat.
"Humans'd have a rough time in here," He muttered to himself, kicking a kobold corpse out of his path. "Armor'd help, but dey still soft. Ain't like me." He flexed his fingers around the shaft of his spear, watching the muscles in his arms ripple. "I be tougher dan dis whole damn mine."
He might have been human before he'd become this being he was now. Yet… As much as a troll might be one of his last choices on what to be if he had a say - compared to a human - with what was coming for Azeroth… He'd live with the racial advantages.
Halfway through the slaughter, a strange sensation washed over him. It started as a faint tingling in his limbs, growing stronger with every step he took. By the time he'd dispatched another group of six kobolds, the feeling had spread through his entire body.
He could detect more musculature up and down his arms, could swing faster, stab faster, hit harder. He'd already been stockier then the average troll, now he felt even more buff.
A faint shimmer appeared in the air before him, a screen flickering into view.
Body: 250. Choose one of the following rewards:
1. Stormbreaker, the weapon of Thor.
Lazar froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Stormbreaker?" He whispered, his voice tinged with awe. He'd expected something good when he hit 250, but this? A legendary weapon right out of the gate? His hand hovered over the first option, his mind racing. What would the rewards be like for 500? 1000? 10 000?
"Dat be a weapon fit fer gods, mon," he muttered, his fingers twitching with anticipation. The idea of wielding a weapon so powerful was almost too good to pass up. Almost.
He forced himself to look at the next option, knowing it would be stupid to just immediately pick the first thing he saw.
2. Trident of Poseidon, the weapon of Poseidon.
"Huh," He grunted, his enthusiasm waning. "Ain't no ocean near here, an' I ain't plannin' t' fight Naga anytime soon. Plus, a trident? Look like I'm fightin' wit a fork." He snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, dat ain't it."
Finally, his eyes landed on the third option and he forgot all about Stormbreaker.
3. The Silver Hand, the weapon of Tyr.
The name alone sent a chill down his spine. His heart raced as memories of his previous life flooded back - of playing World of Warcraft - of roleplaying as a Paladin of the Silver Hand, so named after Tyr and his weapon. This was no ordinary artifact he was given the choice to pick. This was the Silver Hand, the weapon wielded by the titan Tyr himself, a weapon of light.
"Dat's it," Lazar said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Sorry, Thor. Dis one be callin' t' me."
He selected the third option, and in an instant, the weapon appeared before him, floating in the air. It was beautiful - a massive two-handed mace, its surface gleaming with a radiant, silvery light. Intricate carvings adorned the head, depicting scenes of justice and battle, while the haft was wrapped in some flawless white material he couldn't even identify. Even in the dim light of the mine, it shone like a beacon.
Lazar reached out, his green fingers trembling as they closed around the haft. The moment he touched it, a surge of energy coursed through him, filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in… Well, ever. It was as if the weapon itself was alive, its power humming beneath his skin.
He felt acceptance.
Tears ran down his face as the weapon rejoiced, his very soul filling with light as it shone over him, deeming him worthy.
He hefted the Silver Hand, testing its weight. Despite its massive size, it felt perfect in his grip - balanced, natural, as though it had been made for him.
… The humans were going to shit bricks over this, he knew.
It only made him want the weapon more.
"This…" He whispered, his voice barely audible. "Dis be a weapon. A real weapon."
A grin spread across his face as he swung the hammer experimentally, the air humming with the force of the motion. He could feel it, the latent power within the weapon, waiting to be unleashed. This wasn't just a tool for battle; it was a symbol, a beacon of light and justice. And against the undead that would soon plague the land?
This weapon.
It would kill.
"It gonna kill," He said, his voice low and dangerous. "Oh, it gonna kill."
His gaze flicked back to the shimmering screen still hovering before him. With the weapon chosen, it was time to switch his focus. He pressed the button to move future kills into the Magic category, his giddy excitement building as a dropdown menu appeared.
"Dis," He said, his voice tinged with awe. "Dis what I needed, mon."
He laughed maniacally as the drop down menu shone, showing everything he could choose for kills to go into to make him stronger vis-a-vis magic.
Void, Arcane, even Fel, it was all there. But he couldn't care less as he laughed and laughed and pressed down on that beautiful shiny button.
And then there was LIGHT!
＊＊＊
Author's Note:
So, I'm sure Kael'thas and company is going to take it great that an Amani troll is running around wielding the light and fighting undead in the not so distant future.
Garithos, who's such a friendly chum, is definitely going to be overjoyed.
The Paladins of the Silver Hand… Well, it depends on the Paladin I suppose.
Whoever's alive by then.
Zul'Jin too will have opinions.
Man Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas is going to be so much fun going forward. Well, except for all the dead people soon to come.
patreon.com/JollyHippopotamus
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus.
- Location
- Slovenia
I like this! Can't wait to see what happens next.
Does the spunky girl have a name or did I just miss it?
Does the spunky girl have a name or did I just miss it?
She has a name, Lazar just hasn't asked her lol, and she isn't volunteering anything to the smelly troll.
He's under the impression he's getting rid of her after all.
Aeoniam
Tauren Historian
- Location
- Thunderbluff, Mulgore
He sounds schizophrenic with how easily he jumps to talking to himself. As expected of an Alliance player.
Jokes aside, try to minimize that. It's barely acceptable once each dozen thousand words or so.
This frequency we have here makes it look as if you're just trying to put more words where a simple timeskip would have worked just fine. Less schizophrenia, more unhinged little girl dialogue would fix it.
Jokes aside, try to minimize that. It's barely acceptable once each dozen thousand words or so.
This frequency we have here makes it look as if you're just trying to put more words where a simple timeskip would have worked just fine. Less schizophrenia, more unhinged little girl dialogue would fix it.
He won't be doing too much of that going forward. He got used to talking to himself because he spent a few weeks alone - a day or two with the girl doesn't immediately cure that little habit.
Now that he'll be around people it will slip away.
Chapter 2: The Champion gets a Sidekick.
Here's chapter 2: The Champion gets a sidekick.
Let's see what LightTroll and Murderpuppy are up to in this chapter of ScourgeBane.
Remember folks, this is heroes we're talking about.
A Champion even.
Although the line between Champion and murderhobo is quite thin - or nonexistent if you're playing Dungeons and Dragons.
With this posted, I am now one thousand words away from 2 million words between my stories. Maybe I should have padded this a little heh.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
The forest seemed to stretch endlessly before them, trees twisting toward the sky, forever locked in spring by the Quel'dorei. Lazar trudged forward, his long strides crushing errant twigs beneath his boots. Behind him, the girl - grumbling, scowling, and occasionally throwing rocks at his head just because - did her best to keep up.
Lazar wasn't paying her much mind. His focus was inward, on the swirling, radiant power coursing through him since he unlocked the Light.
It was odd. And he was finding he liked odd.
The Light shouldn't work like this. The power of the Light in Azeroth demanded faith, obsession, or absolute conviction. It responded to belief - not just in itself, but in ideals that its believers often shaped it around - righteousness, vengeance, duty. It wasn't inherently good, but it demanded dedication to be able to use it. Hence why a lot of fanatics that did a lot of plain evil shit could use it.
The thing was, although he knew the light was real, he didn't exactly believe in it in any religious manner, nor was he particularly devoted to it, obsessed, or a frothing at the mouth fanatic (Looking at you Sally Whitemane...)
For how Azeroth worked - he shouldn't be able to use the light like he was. Yet somehow, here he was, wielding it as if it were a natural extension of his will. No fanaticism. No chanting prayers. Just… Sheer ease.
As they continued to trudge through the forest heading towards the border with Lordaeron, the land which would soon enough be called the Eastern Plaguelands, Lazar played with his newfound power.
Once more, Lazar called upon the Light, letting it flow through him with an ease that still felt surreal. Warmth suffused his body, a radiant energy that buzzed beneath his skin like a thousand tiny suns. As he concentrated, the ground beneath him began to shimmer, then glow, faint at first, like sunlight catching on dew.
Within seconds, the shimmering expanded into a golden glyph of consecration, intricate and mesmerizing, spreading out in a perfect circle from where he stood. Holy ground coming into being at a simple thought of his.
The glow was harsh and undeniable, the kind of golden light that made the shadows shrink back as though unworthy to share the same space. The air around him grew warmer, charged with an almost electric hum, and the faint scent of something clean - like a breeze rolling off a mountain spring - wafted through the forest around them. Holy purity briefly reigning supreme.
The glyph extended outward, reaching the ten-foot radius he'd found was his limit with a soft but decisive pulse, as though declaring its boundary. Then, just as quickly as it had flared to life, the light at the edges began to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Within moments, the outermost symbols fizzled and faded, swallowed back into the earth as the golden glow retreated toward him, leaving the ground untouched save for a faint, lingering warmth.
The ease in how he could use it was ridiculous. And a bigger boon then the literally mythical weapon he'd received in the Silver Hand.
He'd practiced in the cave as soon as he was able to wield the light of course, eager to find out what he could do. He even cast resurrection on a kobold. And it worked! Resurrection! As a newbie lightbringer who had no idea what he was doing!
As far as he could tell, he had a limited amount of light, that only worked in a ten foot radius around himself. But he could do any 'one' technique he wished within that limit - as long as he had the power for it.
He'd covered himself in a bubble of pure light just thinking about it, an encompassing 360 degree shield. He'd practiced surrounding his new mace with an aura of holy wrath, which was as easy as wishing it so - he even lightforged a Loa damned kobold pickaxe just by picking it up and thinking of it.
Lightforged!!
He wasn't constrained by the techniques of Paladins or Priests. The light would literally do what he wished as long as it was within its power - and his. A ridiculous power. Too OP plz nerf… Is what he would say if he didn't desperately need just this for the coming scourge invasion.
So far, as far as he could tell with his practice, he didn't have enough juice to do much more than one or two techniques before needing to wait for his 'reserve' to tick back up.
It wasn't anything like what this world's setting was like, it was incredibly more versatile and powerful and would only grow more powerful with time. He had the feeling that the upgrades here once he hit 250/500/750 on the kill scale, would enhance the gas in his tank, and his reach. Which meant he might be able to cast more than one technique at once.
An image of him trolling through a battlefield, casually resurrecting people ala Anduin, while wailing away at them with mace blasts of pure light flittered through his mind. He felt absolutely giddy about the sheer potential in this. He might not even switch to any other skill for the next year at this rate!
Also, despite picking the Light immediately, even with his reservation against any mind altering powers - scourge invasion, 'nuff said - he didn't actually feel any of that. It was nothing more than a warm feeling, like taking a dip in a warm bath, to use it. His Mace gave off more of a feeling - and he believed that was the weapon itself more than the actual Light, now that he'd experienced this version of the Light.
Feeling his reserves having dipped a decent amount from the consecration, he giddily used his Mace of Justice™ to smash a tree asunder that was in his way, the light coating his mace until it shone like a miniature sun as he eradicated the foul tree that had dared to get in his way, bringing his reserves down almost to the bottom, a tiny bit left in the tank.
"Stop doing that!" The girl screeched from behind him. Another rock flew through the air, bouncing off the back of his head.
"Let a bruddah have his fun, mon." Lazar said with a broad grin, slinging the Silver Hand over his shoulder letting it attach to the magnetic clamp hooked onto the leather band across his back. The massive weapon radiated a faint silvery hue even at rest, unless he forced it inert. "Dis be a good day fer da holy mojo, yah?"
"It's not a good day! It's an insane day!" She snapped, her shrill voice cutting through the air. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you see what you're doing? You're breaking reality every time you wave that stupid mace around!"
She threw her hands in the air, then clutched at her face in frustration as she struggled to contain her emotions. "Father Rorick would die of shock if he saw this. I want to die of disgust." She complained, having been irritable ever since he'd left the cave suddenly capable of wielding the Light out of nowhere.
Lazar chuckled raspily, shaking his head. "Ya takin' dis kinda hard, girl. Ain't as bad as all dat."
"Hard?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she stomped up to him. She jabbed a finger into his gut with all the force her tiny frame could muster. "You went into a cave as a normal savage beast, and came out somehow wielding the Light with an ease I never even saw in the priests belonging to my fa-" She suddenly clicked her teeth together looking sickly, before looking away, glaring at a bush so hard he was surprised it didn't spontaneously combust. "The Light doesn't work that way!" She instead raged, her face was flushed with anger, and her voice cracked as she spat out the words. It wasn't just outrage - it was disbelief, a desperate attempt to hold on to what little sense her world still had.
Like he'd demonstrated, he could basically do whatever he wanted within his teen feet area of effect. Such a cheat power... He understood her disbelief and anger. He also hadn't missed her aborted comment. He'd already suspected of course. A girl in the tween age who could apparently read and write and was fairly well spoken - daughter of a noble, obviously.
Although her stealth abilities, affinity for daggers, and the ability to get away with the theft of magic books pointed in a very different direction. And with her obviously having run away from home, he was somewhat curious what kind of noble family she'd fled from, one that obviously had given her rogue training.
Not curious enough to ask, she'd be gone soon and he didn't need the complications.
"The Light must have glitched somehow, it just doesn't work that way…" The girl mumbled almost to herself, still looking a bit wild eyed, not taking his sudden skill all that well.
"Ya sure, mon?" Lazar asked, cocking his head. He snapped his fingers, and a burst of radiant sparkles appeared above her head, glowing faintly under the dim forest canopy. They shimmered like stars before cascading down in harmless little motes of energy.
The girl froze, staring at the sparkles with wide eyes. Then she let out a strangled noise of rage and clutched at her hair. "No!" she shrieked, spinning away from him to glare furiously at nothing. "No! I refuse! The light is not a… It's not used for petty play! This is not happening! I reject this reality!"
Lazar watched her with a bemused expression, his grin softening slightly. She was flailing now, but there was something behind her anger - something raw and fragile. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, deciding to let her vent for the moment.
She rounded on him suddenly, her voice rising again. "You don't get it! I had to study for hours. I had to rewrite prayers until my hands bled. I had to fast until I passed out!" Her hands balled into fists, trembling at her sides. "And you - some random troll - walk out of a cave and just… Poof! You're wielding the Light like it's nothing!" She gestured wildly at him, as if his very existence was offensive. "The world is broken! It's stopped making sense!"
"Fair 'nough, girl," Lazar said, ruffling her hair with a broad hand. She squawked in protest, swatting at him weakly. For a moment, he thought she might finally be calming down.
He actually felt bad for a second for upending her world view.
Then she punched him in the groin.
He should have really seen that coming.
"Loa-damned brat!" Lazar growled, not really hurt but still not enjoying the action. His violet eyes gleamed with irritation and without a word, he punted her into a nearby puddle of mud, watching her land with a wet splat. There, we're even!
The girl sat up slowly, dripping with muck. She spat out a glob of mud and glared at him with all the fury her tiny frame could muster. "You filthy -"
"Actions, dey have consequences, girl," Lazar interrupted. "'Sides, dat mud bath worth gold in Silvermoon, pure Loa-damned Eversong mud dis. Be grateful, yah, mon?"
He probably wasn't even kidding. He could definitely see the highborn having some fancy ass spas within their little jewel of a city. When you're a society of mana nutjobs, being lazy and pampered around the clock was probably a high priority.
He eyed the murder puppy thoughtfully as she rose up from the mud, should he lightforge a dagger for her? Just as a safety measure to give her a small chance for the future? It could give her a small advantage once Lordaeron descended into hell.
As she threw herself at him with a roar, flinging mud everywhere, he decided he'd wait with doing that until she couldn't stab him with one. A punch to the groin was one thing - a lightforged dagger might actually hurt.
She tackled his legs. He stumbled slightly but didn't fall, laughing as he caught her by the scruff of her shirt and hoisted her into the air, mud dripping off her.
"Ya not be good enough for dat yet, girl," He said, his grin returning as he considered something briefly. Then, with an amused shrug, he tossed her back into the mud. She landed with a loud splash, sputtering and seething.
"You're insufferable and will die by my hand, savage!" She yelled, slamming her fists into the muck. Lazar couldn't stop laughing as her action only succeeded in splashing her face with more mud. The disgusted look on her face as she got some in her mouth made his entire week.
"Come on, brat," Lazar said, turning back to the path ahead. "We got ground t' cover, yah? Forest ain't gunna walk itself, mon."
Saying that, he peered suspiciously at the forest around him, because with treants a thing - the forest literally could walk itself.
The girl dragged herself out of the mud with a muttered curse, stomping after him. Lazar's grin widened as he adjusted the Silver Hand on his back.
Nothing could ruin his mood, his power was just too awesome.
Everything was great!
＊＊＊
Four days of careful travel went by. Four days instead of one or two - mostly because Lazar had started to take it a lot more carefully the closer they got - it wasn't out of the question for the caravan master to have ensured an adventurer party went troll hunting along the route when he returned sans guards.
Although from what he could see, it was unlikely these people took security anywhere near seriously enough to go that far.
He'd brought them to within a few hundred metres of the gatehouse - a squat, weathered structure that spanned the pass between the Eastern Kingdoms' Lordaeron and the woods of eternal spring of Eversong Forest. Its defenses were decent enough at a glance, with sturdy stone walls and iron-bound gates, but to Lazar's eyes, it was painfully clear the place had seen better days. Vines crept along the crumbling masonry, and the archers' slits in the wall were in some cases blocked by the growing weeds and vines.
The garrison was slacking.
From their position concealed in the treeline, he could see the gatehouse's two posted guards sitting at a rickety wooden table just outside the gates. They weren't on alert. Instead, they leaned back lazily, playing dice and nursing what looked to be mugs of ale. Their weapons - a spear and a two handed sword - were tossed haphazardly aside at their feet.
"Lordaeron be gettin' lazy," Lazar muttered to himself, shaking his head. He turned to the girl crouched next to him, a frown tugging at his lips. "Dere ya go, girl. Back ta da humans wit' ya."
The girl glared up at him, her chilly blue eyes narrowed with some conflicting emotions. She didn't move. Instead, she shifted on her heels, her gaze darting toward the gatehouse and then back to Lazar. Her mouth opened slightly as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated.
After a moment of silence, she crossed her arms and huffed. "I want my magic books."
Lazar sighed, the sound more amused than annoyed. "Fine, fine. Ya got lucky I got no use fer 'em yet, mon." He slung his satchel around and dug out the books, passing them to her. "Here, girl. Go become dis terrifyin' mage or somethin'. Jus' do dis bruddah a favor, mon. No roastin' mah balls if ya see me again, eh?"
The girl's eyes lit up as she clutched the books to her chest, a small spark of glee momentarily breaking through her conflicted exterior. A fleeting smile crossed her face, but then it was replaced by something far more unsettling - a wicked grin. "Thanks for the idea," She chirped sweetly, and her expression promised future havoc.
Ah, such a murderpuppy. She'd fit right in with the horde. Too bad she was probably going to end up just another undead. Hopefully Sylvanas wouldn't get her hands on her in that case…
"Man, ya gonna be a scary lady, ain'tcha?" Lazar said, ruffling her hair one last time. Her response was a glare and a muttered curse under her breath as he nudged her forward toward the gatehouse.
She walked a few steps, then stopped again, glancing back at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, she squared her shoulders, drew herself up as tall as she could manage, and marched resolutely down the dirt road. Her countenance was one of someone forcing herself to not look back.
Lazar felt a little bit touched that she seemed to have liked him enough between all the murder attempts to be conflicted about leaving his side. He'd privately admit he was going to miss having someone to talk to. And she wasn't all that bad either… He was definitely somewhat conflicted about letting her go into the deathtrap that was Lordaeron.
But she was smart enough, he wasn't going to force the choice on her. If she didn't want to go, she could say so at any time.
He followed along the treeline, sticking to the shadows. He wasn't about to let her get into trouble - not after everything. He wanted to make sure she got through okay at least. He was easily able to follow her the entire way, a feeling of offense rising up in him. What kind of gatehouse or fort allowed a treeline this close? That was fort-building 101! He was practically right up against it!
He might not be human anymore, but he'd played alliance Loa-damn it! He had some pride in humanity, and it really annoyed him to see such laxity in a polity about to face all kinds of hell.
The girl reached the near vicinity of the guards. The pair of men looked up from their game, their expressions ranging from mild annoyance to something far less innocent as their gazes raked over her. Lazar's sharp ears caught their words easily as he hung around the treeline just a few dozen meters away.
"Well, if it ain't the little miss who got eaten by a troll," The shorter guard said with a sneer. His large nose, easily the most prominent feature on his face, twitched as he spoke. "Whaddya know? Still alive, mighty suspicious that, I'd say."
Lazar admitted begrudgingly that he wasn't entirely wrong. If the troll wasn't him… It would smell like some sort of trap or plot.
He wouldn't put it past the Amani to keep a victim alive, put some voodoo on them that basically made them a living bomb and set them loose to return home. Probably only the fact most Amani had the long term planning of a gnat that prevented such things.
The other guard, tall and gangly with a thin face, grinned unpleasantly. "Aye, it seems to be her. Ol' caravan master reported her dead, but she don't look too dead to me."
The girl tilted her head back imperiously, glaring at them. "Like some troll could defeat me!" She said, her tone dripping with disdain, her nose high in the air.
Lazar couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. At least she was consistent - her bratty attitude extended to everyone.
Cute.
"Well, we're glad you're alive, little miss," the tall guard said, his grin widening into something grotesque. "Ain't we?" He asked his companion.
The shorter guard with the large nose chuckled, his laughter oily and unpleasant. "Aye. Why don't ya come inside with us, girl? We'll make sure you're… Safe."
Lazar's spine stiffened, his sharp teeth grinding together. There was something in their tone - something vile. They better not be saying what he thought they were saying…
The girl took a step back, her bravado faltering for the first time. "I'd rather move along. I have a lot of ground to cover," She said, her voice uncertain.
The thin guard reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip firm. "Now, now, girl," He said, his voice low and menacing. "If you're nice about it, we won't have to break ya."
The other guard laughed again. "Not that it matters. She's reported dead anyway. No one'll care, we can just dump her in the woods after."
Lazar had heard enough. Hot burning hatred flowed through his veins. The look of fear on the girl's face… The utterly ballsy girl who'd argue and beat on a fucking forest troll... It sat ill with him.
He didn't hesitate. He drew his bow, notched an arrow, and let it fly in one smooth motion. The projectile struck the thin guard in the arm that was holding the girl, forcing him to release her with a howl of pain.
The girl didn't waste the opportunity. She drew her dagger from her belt and stabbed the man in the groin. His high-pitched screams were music to Lazar's ears. Even as he felt bad for any future paramour of hers - the girl was brutal and always seemed to go for the crotch.
The screams were cut off as she sliced his throat to prevent the noise from drawing other guards, before stabberific barbie went back to stabbing the guard in the groin over and over again with vicious glee.
The other guard would have probably killed her while she was so busy - he'd have to talk to her about battle awareness - but he was a little busy running for a horn that hung on a hook by the gatehouse walls.
The horn was obviously meant to call the rest of the garrison, who by the looks of these two, were probably lazing away somewhere inside. Useless, the lot of them.
His reason for running for the horn instead of extracting revenge on the girl?
Perhaps it was the mad forest troll that had run out of the treeline howling as he went after him with extreme prejudice.
Lazar reached the man just as his fingers brushed the horn, and despite his wish to make this a long drawn out affair. He knew he couldn't afford to actually have the garrison come running out - so he crushed the man's head like a melon with one smash of his mace, and then ran back to the girl.
Who was still furiously stabbing the first guard, her face twisted in a mix of fear and fury, the man long dead, and probably thanking the light he died quickly.
"Quick answer, girl," Lazar said, crouching next to her. "Wit' me, or ya runnin' through dat gate?"
The girl looked up at him, her hands trembling as blood dripped from the dagger. Her eyes flicked to the gatehouse briefly before settling back on him. "Fine, I'll stay." She said, her voice wavering. "But I'm in charge. You're just a savage. You need someone refined to make decisions."
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting to the blood-soaked dagger still clutched in her hand after a hundred stabs through a fuckers dick. "Refined... Sure, mon." Without waiting for an argument, he scooped her up like a sack of flour and slung her over his shoulder.
"Hey! I can walk!" She protested, squirming in his grip.
"Not waitin' fer someone t' poke dere head out," Lazar replied, jogging toward the treeline.
As they moved, a disgusted sound soon came from the girl.
"What now, mon?" Lazar asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"Worthless, cheap guards. He only had ten copper in his pouch," She complained, dropping the empty pouch to the ground with disdain.
Lazar chuckled, shaking his head. "Refined, yah? Sure ya are, brat." All that, and she also stole the man's wallet while at it - her family must have been something for sure…
A soft, mumbled "Thank you" came from over his shoulder a few minutes later.
Lazar grinned, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, having her around wasn't so bad after all.
He'd never had kids…
Maybe raising one wouldn't be so bad?
He'd just have to set some boundaries. Like… only one murder a day?
He thought about it, pursing his lips as he carried her through the forest.
Nah, one be too few, mon…
＊＊＊
The girl's silence weighed heavily on Lazar as he moved swiftly through the dense forest, covering ground as fast as possible while attempting to mask their trail. He didn't stop for eight straight hours, his long legs carrying them over uneven terrain, through streams, and past tangled thickets. Over his shoulder, the girl remained still, clutching her books as if they were the only stable thing in her life.
Which they probably were at this point, considering recent events.
Her quietness made him somewhat worried she was in shock or something. He wasn't sure why she'd chosen to come with him either, and the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. A noble-born girl - a fact she didn't exactly hide - had no place trekking through the wilderness with a troll. No warm bed, no servants, no safety. It only told him one thing - wherever she'd come from had been worse.
She'd joined that caravan for a reason, he suspected, and now was adrift and simply clinging onto the only thing that seemed a sure bet. No matter how insane that choice was.
For the moment, he didn't pry. Her choice to stay was her own, the brat was tougher than most kids her age, she'd be fine. He certainly wouldn't have handled any of this shit as a twelve year old back in his world.
His thoughts wandered to her propensity for daggers as he leapt over a fallen log, a plan forming. He'd lightforge them all, give her a bit of oomph. He'd only given her the one to take with her south, right before they'd arrived at the gatehouse, now he'd do the rest. Although idly he wondered if he could lightforge the girl herself, just like the army of light the Naruu had created.
To his shock, almost making him stumble into a tree, his power perked up at his thought. His mind was reeling, his gut twisting in disbelief. It had been idle speculation, something he hadn't meant seriously. But his power… It responded.
He could lightforge people... Like a fucking Naruu... That was... Insane.
Even now, he could feel the light stirring faintly, eager to act on his whim. But it had stopped short, like hitting a barrier he couldn't breach. The sensation left him breathless. He wasn't ready to even think about that yet. Lightforging people? Making warriors imbued with radiant power? That was a line he couldn't afford to cross.
At least not now.
It was obviously not something he was close to, the gap felt very large from what he'd felt when his power had attempted to assist him - and he'd have to be careful with that if the light could literally just jump off on an idle thought of his...
Lightforging people….
He shook the thought away, focusing on the girl's grumbling as she shifted on his shoulder. The Lightforging could wait. It wasn't like he was about to broadcast his abilities to every undead-loving creep in Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas. Arthas, Kel'Thuzad, that elf traitor fucker who's name he couldn't remember - and all the Dreadlords - were going to be enough trouble without painting a target on his back.
If he started lightforging people, Archimonde himself might decide to make a pit stop on his way to Kalimdor to stomp it out. Not an option he relished.
So that was off the table until at least Archimonde's defeat, perhaps even longer.
After miles of hard travel, Lazar finally stopped by a stream. The gentle burble of water was calming, a brief respite from the tension of the run. He crouched low, easing the girl off his shoulder and onto the ground.
"Go drink, girl," He said, gesturing toward the stream, she hadn't had anything for eight hours, and she'd had a stressful day. Even the threat of what those men laid out was enough no doubt to shock the girl. Any girl. Or guy for that matter.
She hesitated for a moment, clutching her books protectively as if she thought he might snatch them away. With a suspicious glare, she placed them carefully on a nearby rock before trudging to the stream's edge. Lazar smirked, digging into his satchel for some dried meat for her. She was going to need more meat on her bones if she wanted to survive this wild life. He made sure to not even go near her books, since she placed such importance on them.
They set up camp quietly afterwards, the girl moving as if on autopilot. She'd fallen into a routine after their time of traveling together, building the fire and setting up sleeping spots with minimal fuss. He watched her, gnawing idly on a strip of meat, already done his own tasks.
"A silver fer ya thoughts?" He said at last, breaking the silence.
She sniffed, still poking at the fire with a stick. "I'm worth at least a gold per thought," She shot back, not looking at him.
Lazar chuckled, his tusks gleaming in the firelight. "At least ya gumption ain't faltered, considerin' tings, girl." He was glad she showed some fire again.
Her expression twisted, irritation flashing across her face. "I'm not weak!" She snapped, spinning to glare at him.
He raised an eyebrow, fingering his tusks thoughtfully. "Neva said ya were, mon. If anyting, ya scary strong an' put t'gether fer ya age."
The compliment didn't seem to help. She scowled, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away. Lazar scratched his head, unsure of what to say next. She was clearly in a state, wrestling with her choice to stick with him.
The silence stretched on until he blurted, "Can ya teach me ta read Common?"
The girl blinked, visibly startled. For a moment, she stared at him, then her expression shifted entirely. A sly grin spread across her face, and her chilly eyes lit up with wicked glee.
"Hohoho!" She laughed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. "The savage can't read, huh? I suppose, with my superior intellect, I can lower myself to helping you."
The smugness was palpable, but Lazar didn't mind. It was worth it to see her perk up. "Aye, I'd 'preciate it, mon." He said with a grin, watching as her self-satisfied expression faltered. She gave him a suspicious look, clearly annoyed he wasn't rising to her bait.
"Fine," She huffed, dragging one of her books closer. "We'll start with the basics. Don't drool on the pages."
Lazar smirked, settling in across from her. "Ya da teacher, den. Hope ya ready fer da challenge, girl."
The girl rolled her eyes but opened the book with an air of authority. "This," She said, pointing to one of the letters on the page, going extremely basic, "Is A. It makes the Aa sound. Repeat after me - Aa."
Lazar grinned, leaning closer. "Ahhh," He said, drawing out the sound exaggeratedly.
The girl groaned, her face falling into her hands. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Nah, girl," Lazar said, his grin widening. "Gonna be fun." Once he stopped messing with her anyways. It might not be English, but it had some similarities at least, that with a teacher helping him, should have him pick it up fairly quickly.
They'd have to remove her magic bauble for when he would practice speaking common though - as he couldn't do it without its magic aid off and no longer aiding their speech, but this was a start - and would take the girls mind off things.
The lesson continued late into the night, the girl's haughty explanations and exaggerated exasperation filling the camp with laughter and a surprising warmth. As they worked, Lazar couldn't help but feel a small flicker of relief.
For all their bickering and banter and murder attempts, this strange partnership of theirs wasn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what both of them needed.
Every Troll needed a murderpuppy.
Way better than a pet bear or flying snake or something lame.
And every little girl needed a murderbeast to point at things that annoyed them. Right?
＊＊＊
A week later, Eversong Forest.
The forest glade they'd taken over was peaceful, the kind of serene quiet that came only with the absence of nearby predators - surprise! - they'd killed all of those. A small campfire crackled cheerfully in the center of the clearing, as they sat nearby. Lazar sat cross-legged on a patch of flattened grass, a pile of papers spread out in front of him. His tusks twitched in concentration, and his violet eyes squinted as he tried to decipher the unfamiliar script on the pages.
They'd found the papers three days ago on the corpse of a high elf. The elf had been sprawled beneath a massive tree, his fine robes pristine except for the dirt smudges where he'd collapsed. No marks, no signs of struggle. Whatever had killed him, it wasn't something that left visible traces, and it wasn't the Amani behind it. The body was too intact, untouched by the usual savagery. Some Amani trolls got really creative when it came to the elves - corpses included.
It bothered Lazar more than he wanted to admit - because it might mean something fucky was going on. People usually didn't fall over dead with no signs of the reason, not the highborn at any rate.
The girl sat across from him, cross-legged as well, her small frame hunched over one of her books. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy braid, and her icy blue eyes gleamed with determination as she mumbled indistinctly under her breath. One hand was raised in front of her, fingers twitching as if grasping for something invisible.
The firelight reflected in her eyes as she whispered faster, her focus intensifying. Lazar glanced up briefly, noting the furrow in her brow and the tight set of her lips.
"Don't hurt yaself now, girl, can smell ya brain going wonky from here." He muttered, returning to his own task, annoyance filling him at trying to decipher the language. The girl knew a little Thalassian - why she'd been allowed in that trade caravan so easily. He was attempting to pick up a little as well by reading the papers the elf had carried, the girl having taught him what little she knew.
Lazar rubbed his temples, frustrated by the elegant, flowing script on the pages. His eyes skimmed over the words, trying to piece them together, sounding them out in his head.
"Thre..." He muttered. "Thre'... Does dat say Threat?"
His attention was abruptly drawn away by a sudden surge of heat. A fireball the size of a melon erupted from the girl's hand with a loud whoosh, streaking across the clearing and smacking into a nearby tree. Lazar bolted upright, his mace instinctively in his hands before he realized the fireball fizzled out weakly against the bark, leaving only a faint scorch mark.
At least she wasn't attacking him anymore. That would have probably smarted a bit more than her punches…
The girl stared at her hand in shock for a moment before breaking into a grin. She jumped to her feet, bouncing up and down as she laughed, her excitement contagious as he shook his head with a wry grin.
"I did it! Did you see that?" She cried, spinning in place with her arms outstretched. "I made a fireball! I'm amazing!"
Lazar leaned his mace back against the ground, shaking his head in amusement. "Aye, girl. Ya made a li'l spark, yah? But ya sure ya don't wanna be a rogue instead, mon? Ya already halfway dere."
Her grin vanished, replaced by a look of pure indignation. "Never! I'll never be a rogue! Rogues are filthy cowards and brigands!"
Lazar raised an eyebrow, scratching at his tusks. "Cowards, mon? An' yet dey be useful. Sneakin', stabbin', gettin' da job done 'fore anyone even knows dey dere. Mages? Squishy. Get close an' ya toast."
The girl crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Mages can throw fireballs. Fireballs, Lazar! How cool is that? I can literally set people on fire!" She bounced in place with a disturbing gleam in her eyes, "The solution to any problem is more fire!" She exclaimed, daring him to disagree. Her expression turned disturbingly gleeful as she said it, her eyes lighting up with a dangerous enthusiasm that had Lazar leaning back slightly.
He huffed out a breath, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. "Kid," He said, his tone dry, "Ya like da flashy tings too much, mon. All spark, no substance. An' dat look in ya eyes? Scary, mon. Real scary."
This partnership only needed one flashy fucker. Him. Mostly because that meant people wanting to kill them would be stabbing the guy who could regenerate instead of the girl with squishy bits.
She ignored him, holding up her hand again. "Such power," She muttered to herself, her voice trembling with excitement. "I'll have all the power! They'll never catch me!"
Before Lazar could say anything else, she started throwing fireballs in every direction, her laughter echoing through the clearing. One after another, the small flaming orbs streaked out, hitting trees, bushes, and even the campfire itself.
"Oi!" Lazar barked, standing there in deadpan irritation as he watched the forest glade catch fire. Small patches of flame licked at the underbrush, the beginnings of a very real problem.
The girl didn't stop, her laughter growing louder as she raised both hands, flames bursting forth in wild arcs. "Ultimate power!" She shouted, her voice giddy.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, she collapsed. Her face met the dirt with an audible thud, her body going limp. "Ultimate power?" She squeaked out confusedly, somewhat muffled by the fact her lips were kissing the dirt.
Lazar froze for a moment, the firelight dancing around them, then sighed deeply. He glanced at the spreading flames, already licking at the lower branches of the surrounding trees, and began packing up their camp with practiced efficiency.
Not his trees, not his land, but unfortunately his idiot.
By the time he finished, he found himself standing over the girl, her small form sprawled in the dirt. Her cheeks were bright red, her breath coming in short, embarrassed huffs. She didn't look up as he crouched beside her, poking her shoulder with one large finger.
"Ultimate power, huh?" He said, his tone unimpressed. "Dis very impressive."
Her groan was muffled by the dirt.
"I'm never lettin' ya forget dis, girl. Not ever."
She let out a frustrated whine but didn't respond, her exhaustion clear. She'd obviously blown all her mana and probably gone a bit over what was healthy.
He wasn't a mage so he could only guess.
Lazar shook his head, glancing at the burning glade around them. The kid was reckless, dangerous, and entirely too enthusiastic about destruction - but she was a fun one.
And that was something.
"Alright, murderpuppy," He said, hefting her over his shoulder with ease. "Time ta move. Can't be leavin' a trail o' burnin' trees fer da humans t' follow, yah?"
Not to mention if any elves were around - they tended to be really upset with little things like forest fires.
Her grumbled response was unintelligible, but Lazar's grin only widened as he carried her deeper into the forest, the flames behind them not growing too dangerously.
It would probably be fine.
＊＊＊
A few days later, they found themselves arriving at a small lake, Lazar having taken them slightly northwest, away from the border of Lordaeron. He was a bit farther north then he liked, but they were still far enough away from the elves - as evident as he crouched on a tree branch, his shoulder loli sitting on his shoulder, spotting the Murloc village at the edges of the lake.
If the elves were actually paying attention this deep south, they'd have cleared the pests out. It really was no wonder they always ended up turtling behind Silvermoon's shield - they were shit at putting in the work to watch over their own domain.
The Murloc village was an opportunity though…
Lazar had killed plenty of wildlife during their travels, and the amount of Murlocs he could spot... He might actually reach the 250 benchmark in Light if he killed them all.
The wildlife didn't give nearly enough so he was still a bit away. Well… As long as the Murlocs didn't give too low of a point total per kill.
If they were equal to the kobolds it would be fine. And they were about the same level of weak yet annoying - so it should be fine. His shoulder loli was practically vibrating with excitement too.
Luckily he had almost orc-like broad shoulders instead of the usually more gangly troll kind, and the girl was tiny and light which helped - or the shoulder loli experience would have never happened.
Lazar crouched on a sturdy tree branch high above the ground, his sharp eyes scanning the scene below. Nestled along the edges of the water was the small Murloc village, its haphazardly constructed huts made of reeds, driftwood, and mud. The Murlocs themselves bustled about, their gurgling cries echoing faintly across the water.
Perched on his shoulder, the girl clung to his braid for balance, her icy blue eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Look at all of them," She whispered, her voice trembling with barely-contained glee. "Are we gonna kill them all?"
Lazar snorted, scratching his chin as he watched the scene below. There were at least two dozen Murlocs in sight, their numbers spilling from the huts and skittering along the water's edge. It wasn't a large settlement, but it was densely packed. The potential for chaos was definitely there - but manageable.
As long as he didn't discount some more popping out of the water at any time. But with the amount of huts and supplies on display there couldn't be too many hidden away.
"Aye," He murmured eventually, his tone thoughtful. "Jus' thinkin' how I wanna go 'bout it, mon."
The girl tugged on his braid, making him glance sideways at her. Her grin was all teeth and bloodlust, an expression that somehow managed to be both endearing and concerning.
It was easy for him to feel happy with murder when he literally felt himself grow more powerful for each one. Although killing might be a simpler term, since no government in Azeroth considered killing kobolds or murlocs as a crime. The girl didn't have that excuse, she was just like this.
"Just smash them!" She said, her tone exasperated. "It's not like they're hard to kill!"
Got a lot of experience with that? He wondered, skeptical, but his thoughts moved on quickly, because he had something else he was thinking about. "Dere's a method t' da madness, girl. Ain't just 'bout dem."
His gaze drifted back to the village. The Murlocs moved with their usual jerky, gangly motions, but they weren't armed for war. They carried crude fishing spears, nets, and baskets, their attention focused on their daily tasks. If there was a caster amongst them - it didn't show. Murlocs being rude enough to not easily display who to kill first by dressing them in robes.
He hadn't told the girl about his power. But now... He wondered if he should.
Not that they fully trusted one another, they had a weird partnership and kind of friendship brewing, with the girl still stabbing him on the odd occasions, but full trust was far off. She wasn't telling him her origins, and he sure as the damned Loa wasn't telling her his.
No, the reason he was pondering telling her was because he didn't want her to kill steal.
He wanted ALL the points.
He wondered if keeping her in the dark was worth the risk of losing kills. He needed all the points he could get.
Losing points just wasn't worth it, he decided, not bothering wasting time on too much thinking - it was a pretty clear cut choice.
"Girl," He said, his voice low, "If I give ya da bow, ya tink ya can go non-lethal? Jus' cripple 'em so I can finish da job?"
Her reaction was instant and visceral. She made a noise of disgust, yanking on his braid hard enough to make him wince. "No fireballs? And no murder? What's the point, then? I didn't join up with a troll to go respectable!"
Lazar snorted, suppressing a grin. "Fireballs still a no-go, brat. We ain't got enough of da forest left after yer last show, mon." He teased.
Her scowl deepened, and she crossed her arms. "It's a lake right there. Water doesn't burn!" She whined, her voice taking on the distinct tone of a sulking child.
"Dis troll not takin' da risk, mon! If anyone got da mojo ta make a lake burn, you be it," He said dryly.
The girl perked up at that, her lips curling into a smug grin. "Of course. Glad you recognize my capabilities." She preened so hard she almost fell off his shoulder, having to grab on to his head, a small flush to her cheeks as he glanced back up at her.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, da real reason ya can't kill 'em… I get more powerful wit' each kill, mon. Need ya t' leave 'em, so I get da points an' da power."
She froze for a moment, her grin fading as she mulled over his words. Then she sighed dramatically. "Is this one of your Loa things you keep muttering about?" She said, her tone tinged with jealousy. "Unfair! Power through murder. That's like the best power ever. I never get nice things."
"Sure," Lazar said, shrugging. If she wanted to jump to that conclusion, he wasn't going to correct her. It worked for him.
The girl's eyes narrowed, her expression turning calculating. "Can I pray to a Loa? Maybe I'll get my own murder power?"
Lazar groaned inwardly, already regretting everything. "Nah. Only trolls, mon."
"I'm gonna do it," She declared, her tone defiant. "If I pray to all of them, then that should give me all the murder powers, right?"
Okay, so maybe it didn't work so well for him…
Loa, if you're listening… You damn well better not!
"Don't," He said firmly, before sighing and deciding to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. "We gonna do dis or not? Ya good takin' a support role?"
She grumbled under her breath, clearly displeased, but eventually nodded. "Fine. But if this plan gets boring, I'm throwing a fireball."
"Noted, mon," He said dryly, handing her his bow and quiver.
She fiddled with the bow, her mood visibly lifting as she held a weapon in her hands. Lazar eyed the distance to the village and frowned. The trees here wouldn't give her a good vantage point, and the village itself was far enough away that her aim might suffer.
An idea struck him, and he closed his eyes, reaching for the Light. The warmth of it surged through him, eager to obey. With a thought, he directed it to anchor the girl to his shoulder, forming a gentle but unyielding connection.
The girl gasped as she felt the Light wrap around her. She shifted experimentally, finding herself securely stuck in place but still able to move her arms freely.
"...Oh... Yeah...." Her voice took on an almost purring quality as she felt herself stick and realized he'd be taking her into battle on his shoulder.
"Remembah! No killin' any of dem." He told her, the Silver hand feeling eager in his hands as he drew it. Even as he had to tamp down its light as the mace itself seemed to want to shine brightly.
Damn weapon, wait until we're smashing to give us away, he thought, a grin on his lips.
Their stealth died anyways as the girl roared out, "CHARGE!"
Lazar obliged.
＊＊＊
The charge was pure chaos.
Lazar barreled down the incline, his long legs eating up the ground as his war cry echoed across the beach. The girl whooped with joy, tightly attached to his shoulder, loosing an arrow wildly. The first shot flew wide, missing the Murlocs entirely and embedding itself in a reed hut.
"Adjust ya aim, girl!" Lazar barked, laughing as he smashed through a cluster of underbrush, a wet gargle sounding out as a confused Murloc that had apparently been napping, hidden underneath, got stomped, its throat crushed.
"I'm trying! Stop shaking me so much you brute!" The girl snapped back, her voice a mix of frustration and pure excitement. She steadied herself on his shoulder, and this time, she waited, taking proper aim, the bowstring taut in her small hands.
The second arrow found its mark, striking a Murloc in the leg. The creature let out a garbled screech as it toppled sideways into the mud.
"Better, girl!" Lazar hollered, grinning as they closed the distance to the Murloc village. The Silver Hand was in his hands and he was itching to get some points. Heh, he was starting to sound like a Trandoshan. Wrong universe but not too off base.
By the time they hit the edge of the settlement, Lazar was fully ready to get in the mix, the girl crippling another Murloc for him that he simply stomped over in his charge, his foot crushing its ribcage with a wet squelch as he went past it. He swung his massive mace in a wide arc, the gleaming weapon glowing faintly as the Light reinforced his strikes. Four chittering Murlocs were caught in the sweep as a group, their frail bodies crumpling like twigs as bones snapped and organs pulped. The force of the blow sent them flying into a pile of wooden crates, which shattered on impact.
"Dat be how ya do it!" Lazar crowed, already turning to face the next group, taking a spear to the gut which barely managed to scratch his tough hide, before he used the shaft of his mace to brutally slam the Murlocs forehead in, piercing its brain.
From her perch, the girl had a clear view of the chaos below her. She grinned wickedly, loosing arrow after arrow. The first few missed again as she adjusted to Lazar's bounding movements, but soon her shots found their rhythm. Arrows buried themselves in legs and knees, hobbling the creatures and sending them tumbling into the mud.
"Gotcha!" She yelled triumphantly as another Murloc went down, its stubby arms flailing as it tried to drag itself toward the water.
Lazar usually simply stomped over the crippled ones, either crushing them underfoot or drowning them in the mud as he forced them under with his weight.
More Murlocs began to pour out of the huts and surrounding reeds, their guttural war cries filling the air. Some came from the water itself, their slimy bodies glistening as they emerged, armed with crude spears and nets. Lazar counted at least half a dozen from the lake alone.
"More on da way, girl!" He warned, even as he grinned and slammed his mace down on top of another Murloc, pasting its head as he followed through all the way, pancaking the tiny creature as he grinned darkly at its compatriots, blood flecking his tusks.
"Good! More practice!" The girl retorted, her voice alight with bloodthirsty glee.
The first wave of lake Murlocs hurled their spears with surprising coordination at that point, the projectiles arcing through the air toward the troll and his tiny companion. Lazar's grin widened as he reached for the Light. It surged through him eagerly, wrapping them both in a shimmering bubble of golden energy. A full shield covering them from all angles.
He could have dodged, but he just wanted them to see how utterly inconsequential they were against him.
The spears clattered harmlessly against the shield, bouncing off with dull thuds, slightly smoldering. The girl whooped in delight, leaning forward on Lazar's shoulder to get a better angle for her shots. She picked off the advancing Murlocs one by one, each arrow finding a leg or a groin, (really girl?) leaving them writhing in the mud.
"Keep at it, girl!" Lazar called out. The Light shield allowed him to move freely instead of remaining constrained, the bubble simply following him. He closed the distance to the nearest Murloc, his massive mace swinging downward with devastating force. The creature's head caved in with a wet crunch, and he caught another as it attempted to get past him to stab him with its spear, sweeping his mace aside to crush its ribs as it wailed at him.
By then the shield ended, but it didn't matter. Using the Light here was simply overkill as it was. These weapons they had weren't enough to pierce him fully, not after his body had leveled up. He'd imagine if he leveled body up high enough, only legendary weapons could do harm - something to ponder once he leveled Light up high enough.
More Murlocs swarmed in, chittering and screeching as they tried to overwhelm him. Lazar spun his mace in a wide arc, using its sheer mass to keep them at bay. The girl's arrows continued to rain down, her accuracy improving with every shot. Although she'd be running out any second with how eager of a shot she was…
The duo worked in tandem, a whirlwind of destruction and precision. Lazar's mace struck with bone-shattering power, while the girl's arrows ensured the enemies were hobbled and easy prey. The ground around them became a battlefield of writhing, gurgling Murlocs, their greenish blood staining the mud.
One particularly bold Murloc leapt at Lazar, brandishing a rusted sword. He caught it mid-air with a backhanded swing of his mace, sending the creature into a nearby hut, its chest concaved in. The flimsy structure collapsed under the impact, burying the Murloc beneath a pile of reeds and splinters.
Another Murloc tried a jump, showing that the things didn't pick up on clues very quickly. Lazar spun around and used his mace like a baseball bat, slamming into the midsection of the Murloc, before it went flying across the lake, blood trailing the figure before it went out of sight, a splash heard moments later.
"Dat one learned ta fly, yah?" Lazar joked, earning a snort from the girl.
"You're ridiculous!" She giggled back, her tone showcasing her amusement. "7 out of 10, not enough distance!"
Tch, everyone's a critic.
The fight, if it could be called that, continued, each Murloc that appeared meeting the same fate. Lazar's swings were methodical, each one aimed to maximize damage in as efficient a way possible. The girl, meanwhile, had run out of arrows, and was now simply yelling insults at the dying Murlocs.
She was creative, he'd give her that. If the Murlocs were not busy dying in agony, they'd be absolutely burned by her words.
Then, just as the battle was all but won, a sneaky Murloc emerged from the shadows behind them. It moved with uncharacteristic stealth for its kind. Before Lazar could react, the creature darted in and slashed at the back of his leg, severing his hamstring, the blade of superior quality compared to the rest, and able to cut through his thick hide.
A growl of pain escaped Lazar's lips as he staggered, his massive frame nearly toppling. The girl screamed his name, her voice high-pitched with alarm. "Lazar!" She cried out, grasping his head.
"Dis be nothin' 'm fine, girl," He grunted, he didn't even need the light, his own regeneration already working on it. He could feel the torn muscle knitting itself back together, though the process left a dull ache. He reached down, his massive hand closing around the squirming Murloc that was still stabbing frantically at his legs.
A rogue Murloc… His eyes flickered to the high quality blade it wielded. Now that was odd…
"Ya an ugly fucker, ain'tcha, mon?" Lazar said, lifting the creature into the air by its head.
There were no other Murlocs alive as far as he could tell, no movements he could see, so he had time.
The girl, already over her earlier brief panic, snorted in amusement. "Look who's talking," She quipped, her fear melting into relief.
Lazar scowled, his tusks twitching. "Hey, fer a troll, 'm a great catch, mon!" He shot back, his tone offended.
At least he thought so, he had big tusks, and he had more muscles now then the average troll… That was hot, right?
"Sure, you're a real heartbreaker." The girl said with a wicked grin. "That's why you're alone in the woods with someone not your species and bullying Murlocs..."
The burn was severe. Lazar stared at her for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly before he shook his head in disbelief. "Ya breakin' mah heart, girl," He said dramatically, before crushing the Murlocs head in his hand. The creature went limp, its body dropping to the ground with a wet thud.
The battle was over. The village lay in ruins, the Murlocs all dead. Lazar straightened, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the carnage.
He twitched a little in annoyance as he checked his system. One point away from 250 Light! One point! Fucking cock tease Murlocs!
"Ooh, this one's alive still!" The girl said, sadistic glee in her voice as she pointed at a Murloc with an arrow in its groin trying to crawl to the water.
Lazar practically flew over there as he smashed his mace down.
250 Light.
He shivered as he could feel a strengthened connection to the Light. Just like how his body had grown stronger when he'd hit 250, irregardless of his other reward.
Two choices were laid out before him.
Beating Heart of a Champion
Your heart beats with the thrum of Light. One time, and one time only, upon death, the Light immediately restores you in perfect health, the boon ending in that moment.
This… It was pure bullshit. He'd have to wait until he reached 500 in any skill to see if these were just the beginner set to help a brother out at the start. Because if these things scaled higher? How Loa damned high would they go at 10 000?
It would be really hard to not pick this. One instant do over. Death rewound. And most importantly… In perfect health. So he'd be back in tip top shape even if he died to an old god tentacle fucking his skull.
A Champion's Love Affair with Lady Luck.
Transform a tenth of your power in the Light permanently into a hidden reserve inaccessible to you until the time is upon you, and get a permanent boon from Lady Luck in return. Forevermore, when your Light begins to wane, your will weakening, your luck exponentially increases in return.
… Now he was conflicted. Insta not dead - or luck powers that make sure he doesn't die in the first place?
This one was permanent too, unlike the first one.
Fuck…
If he was understanding this correctly, when he was using up his Light, weakening, that tenth of his power he'd locked away would return with a vengeance as a luck based power, turning things around…
A tenth though… Right now. That was nothing. Five years from now…
This was not as easy a choice as the Silver Hand was.
"I'm going to stab you in the dick if you keep ignoring me!" The girl said right in his ear, and he was drawn away from his thoughts.
He'd choose later… He'd have to think about it.
He plopped her off his shoulder, dumping her on her ass in the mud, as she glared at him.
"Go grab all dem arrows, girl. Den we be settin' up camp, eatin', an' cleanin' up, yah?"
"Fiiiine." She grumbled, setting off, taking some glee in stepping on the corpses around them as she hunted down all the arrows she'd used.
Was he making her worse? Or was she always like this? He wondered.
＊＊＊
The campfire crackled softly as Lazar leaned back against a tree trunk, the comforting warmth of the flames warding off the creeping chill of the evening. Just a few hundred feet away, the ruined Murloc village still smoldered faintly, its once-busy occupants now reduced to nothing but memories - and dinner.
The girl stood by the lake's edge, her tiny figure outlined by the fading light. She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm taking a bath," She said firmly, as if daring him to argue. "I'm not a savage, like you…"
"Ain't stoppin' ya," Lazar replied, his voice mild. He laughed inwardly, amused but careful to keep it hidden. She was as savage as they came. Far more savage than him in many ways.
"Don't you dare peek," She continued, wagging a finger at him. "I know what you're thinking, you beast, this hallowed vision is not for you!"
He just gave her a casual wave as he turned his attention back to the fire. He had no intention to peek, he held no such interest.
The girl stomped off toward the lake, muttering something about trolls and savages under her breath. Lazar shook his head and chuckled softly, his long fingers carefully rotating the Murloc impaled on its spear. It sizzled and popped over the fire, the smell faintly fishy but not entirely unpleasant.
Murlocs were kind of like fish, right? He wasn't sure if they were edible, but he figured he'd find out soon enough. He planned to try it first - no need for the girl to keel over if it turned out to be poisonous.
He could probably heal her just fine with the Light. Although he'd never hear the end of it if she died of food poisoning and he had to resurrect her.
Her distrust about him staying close was amusing. She seemed to think his insistence was lecherous, not understanding he was more concerned about her toes becoming a snack for some predator. Her fireballs wouldn't do much good if something dragged her underwater, after all. Luckily, his sharp ears would give him warning if anything in the lake decided to try its luck.
Eventually, the girl returned, her dark hair damp, a look of contentment on her features. She practically radiated smug satisfaction, having scrubbed off the grime of battle and travel.
"Much better," She said, plopping onto a rock near the fire. Her eyes caught sight of the roasting Murloc, and her expression shifted to curiosity. "Are we really going to eat... A Murloc?"
Lazar smirked. "Aye. Thought ya'd turn up ya nose, girl." He poked the Murloc with a clawed finger, checking to see if it was done. Still a bit raw in the middle, at least the skin was crisping up nicely.
Instead of the disgust he'd expected, her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Turn up my nose? Are you kidding?" She leaned closer, practically salivating. "Not only did we crush them, we're eating them? This is amazing! I'm so badass!" She cackled gleefully, rubbing her hands together like a goblin counting a hoard of gold.
Lazar gave her a lingering look, raising an eyebrow - he'd better nip this in the bud right now. "Listen, girl, I ain't eatin' no elf or human. An' neither are you. We draw da line somewhere."
She pouted dramatically, her lower lip jutting out. "But what if elf tastes as good as they look?" She asked, her wide, innocent eyes batting up at him.
Innocent. Hah!
His expression turned flat. "Eat 'em da normal way, mon."
Shit, he'd have to learn a whole new way to do that, his tusks could impale an unlucky girl if he wasn't careful. Troll issues.
Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned. Her nose wrinkled, and she recoiled in horror and disgust. "Ew, no!"
He snorted, shaking his head. "Dat be ya line, huh? Dine on ya enemies, yum. Eat 'em out, yuck?"
"Gross," She muttered, crossing her arms. "Murder is cool, not… That other stuff."
Lazar decided to let the conversation die, focusing on the Murloc as he poked it again. "Keep an eye on dis, girl. No lettin' it burn, aye? I'm gunna wash."
The girl's nose wrinkled in distaste, and she waved him off. "Fine. But I want the eyes," She said, pointing at the roasting Murloc with a gleam in her eyes.
Lazar paused, looking at her sidelong. "...Sure. Knock yaself out, mon." Girl just got weirder every day…
He stood, unfastening his loincloth and tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't exactly in pristine condition after all the fighting and traveling, and the smell wasn't improving. He'd have to scrub it out in the lake while he bathed.
"Hey!" The girl yelped, her hands clamped over her eyes. "Don't be a brute! Do that somewhere else! Don't hurt a maiden's eyes!"
Lazar glanced back at her, one eyebrow quirked. "Work better if ya don't have ya fingers splayed wide when ya hidin' ya face an' eyesight, girl." His tone was dry, but he couldn't hide the amused smirk as he noticed her sneaking peeks.
She spluttered, her cheeks turning red as she clenched her fingers tighter over her face. "Just go!" She shouted.
Chuckling to himself, Lazar jogged off toward the water, the girl's indignant muttering fading behind him. He hadn't thought much of it, really. Trolls weren't exactly shy about such things and a lot of his natural reactions and habits were more Troll than human.
He hadn't exactly hidden the calls of nature on their travels either, but he supposed she hadn't been paying much attention to that. He made a mental note to be more mindful. He had no interest in her that way, and he sure as hell didn't want her developing some kind of awkward crush.
Ever.
The cool water was a welcome relief as he waded in, the grime of the day washing away in lazy swirls. He scrubbed his skin with rough handfuls of sand, using it to scour the blood and sweat from his muscles. His loincloth got the same treatment, though he wasn't sure how much longer it would last before he'd need a replacement.
Armor, he thought. Gonna need some real armor soon.
The thought lingered as he finished up, wringing the loincloth out and slinging it over his shoulder. He'd have to rely on his natural toughness for now, but against proper enemies, he'd need more than just his hide.
Right before he returned to camp, he put the loincloth back on, even if it was still wet - no need to set off any more weird stuff.
When he returned to camp, the smell of the roasting Murloc filled the air. The girl was still perched on her rock, her eyes glued to the cooking creature like a hawk watching prey.
"Is it done yet?" She asked eagerly, bouncing slightly in place.
Lazar poked it again, nodding in satisfaction. "Close 'nough, girl. Ya ready ta eat da fruits o' war?"
She grinned wickedly, practically snatching the Murlocs eyes off the roasted corpse as soon as he handed it to her. "Victory never tasted so good," She said, biting into the things with obvious relish, Lazar wincing as they made a popping sound.
Lazar sat down across from her, tearing off a piece for himself. It wasn't half bad - fishy, but edible. He watched her as she devoured the Murloc with all the enthusiasm of someone with a belly twice her size, her small fingers digging into the charred meat, having finished the eyes.
"Ya somethin' else, girl," He muttered, shaking his head.
"And don't you forget it," She replied, flashing him a toothy grin before going back to her meal, juices running down her jaw.
She sure as hell didn't eat like a nobleborn.
"If dere be more like ya in Lordaeron, dat be one frightenin' land, mon." He said, shaking his head.
She frowned at him, "I'm not from Lordaeron." She said with some very clear distaste to her voice, "Why would you think that?"
"Not Lordaeron, den? Closest place, girl, can ya blame me? So, what ya be, eh? Gilnean?" He asked, eyeing her carefully, she was crazy enough to be one of those. Thankfully this was way before they all became furries.
She gave him a look of such disgust he almost thought her Murloc was going to be coming back up. "Gilnean? You make me sick! I'm not talking about this anymore, I'll die just from being compared to those rubes."
She tore off a strip of meat with her teeth, chewing on it while glaring at him, before pointing at him accusingly, "And why do you never use my name, huh! Savage, Beast, Gilnean lover!"
One of those things wasn't like the other, he thought wryly as he scratched his head, "Ya neva actually told me ya name, ya know dat, mon?"
She blushed, but kept up her glare, if anything it intensified. "I am a lady, it is up to you to ask!" She sniffed, before looking at him expectantly.
He laughed, "I be fine callin' ya girl or brat, mon." He couldn't let her get away with thinking she could dictate too much to him. He was humoring her most of the time - but he wasn't going to start taking orders from his tagalong.
"Jadzia! My name is Jadzia!" She bit out, frustrated, her tiny hands clenched into fists.
"Dat be a good, strong name, suits ya well, it do." He said after a moment's thought.
Her face transformed, all the anger and frustration melting away as she absolutely beamed at him, radiant at the very minor compliment.
"You can call me Lady Jadzia, you may bow now." She said regally, her attitude swiftly changing back to its primary brat setting.
He didn't feel that punting her in the lake was the wrong move.
Once she swam back,
She disagreed.
＊＊＊
Somewhere, sometime.
"Ah, how interestin'! De girl be wantin' ta pray ta de Loa, eh?"
A deep laugh rumbled, echoing through the space, a faint sound of beating drums in the background, a constant thrum of power heady in the air.
"Ha! If de lil' troll ain't showin' proper respect ta de Loa, ta me, maybe dere somethin' ta dis... branchin' out, mon…"
"She be a kindred spirit, I tink. Wonder now, what sorta sacrifices she might be offerin', hmm?"
All that could be seen in the darkness was a wide toothy grin.
"Dere be blood on da horizon, mon!"
＊＊＊
Author's Note:
Hey ho, commissioner loved the first chapter, so here we get another as he didn't want to wait at all on moar.
The girl™ has a name. Although she didn't share her last name, nor her nationality.
Unfortunately for those wanting to guess, her hate of Gilneans really doesn't narrow it down at all.
She did not have a healthy home life, obviously.
Lazar is still somewhat taking all this like a game - he's in a regenerating troll body with the power of the Light - he'd have acted much differently as a regular human.
The time for fun and games though won't last forever…
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus
Let's see what LightTroll and Murderpuppy are up to in this chapter of ScourgeBane.
Remember folks, this is heroes we're talking about.
A Champion even.
Although the line between Champion and murderhobo is quite thin - or nonexistent if you're playing Dungeons and Dragons.
With this posted, I am now one thousand words away from 2 million words between my stories. Maybe I should have padded this a little heh.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
The forest seemed to stretch endlessly before them, trees twisting toward the sky, forever locked in spring by the Quel'dorei. Lazar trudged forward, his long strides crushing errant twigs beneath his boots. Behind him, the girl - grumbling, scowling, and occasionally throwing rocks at his head just because - did her best to keep up.
Lazar wasn't paying her much mind. His focus was inward, on the swirling, radiant power coursing through him since he unlocked the Light.
It was odd. And he was finding he liked odd.
The Light shouldn't work like this. The power of the Light in Azeroth demanded faith, obsession, or absolute conviction. It responded to belief - not just in itself, but in ideals that its believers often shaped it around - righteousness, vengeance, duty. It wasn't inherently good, but it demanded dedication to be able to use it. Hence why a lot of fanatics that did a lot of plain evil shit could use it.
The thing was, although he knew the light was real, he didn't exactly believe in it in any religious manner, nor was he particularly devoted to it, obsessed, or a frothing at the mouth fanatic (Looking at you Sally Whitemane...)
For how Azeroth worked - he shouldn't be able to use the light like he was. Yet somehow, here he was, wielding it as if it were a natural extension of his will. No fanaticism. No chanting prayers. Just… Sheer ease.
As they continued to trudge through the forest heading towards the border with Lordaeron, the land which would soon enough be called the Eastern Plaguelands, Lazar played with his newfound power.
Once more, Lazar called upon the Light, letting it flow through him with an ease that still felt surreal. Warmth suffused his body, a radiant energy that buzzed beneath his skin like a thousand tiny suns. As he concentrated, the ground beneath him began to shimmer, then glow, faint at first, like sunlight catching on dew.
Within seconds, the shimmering expanded into a golden glyph of consecration, intricate and mesmerizing, spreading out in a perfect circle from where he stood. Holy ground coming into being at a simple thought of his.
The glow was harsh and undeniable, the kind of golden light that made the shadows shrink back as though unworthy to share the same space. The air around him grew warmer, charged with an almost electric hum, and the faint scent of something clean - like a breeze rolling off a mountain spring - wafted through the forest around them. Holy purity briefly reigning supreme.
The glyph extended outward, reaching the ten-foot radius he'd found was his limit with a soft but decisive pulse, as though declaring its boundary. Then, just as quickly as it had flared to life, the light at the edges began to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Within moments, the outermost symbols fizzled and faded, swallowed back into the earth as the golden glow retreated toward him, leaving the ground untouched save for a faint, lingering warmth.
The ease in how he could use it was ridiculous. And a bigger boon then the literally mythical weapon he'd received in the Silver Hand.
He'd practiced in the cave as soon as he was able to wield the light of course, eager to find out what he could do. He even cast resurrection on a kobold. And it worked! Resurrection! As a newbie lightbringer who had no idea what he was doing!
As far as he could tell, he had a limited amount of light, that only worked in a ten foot radius around himself. But he could do any 'one' technique he wished within that limit - as long as he had the power for it.
He'd covered himself in a bubble of pure light just thinking about it, an encompassing 360 degree shield. He'd practiced surrounding his new mace with an aura of holy wrath, which was as easy as wishing it so - he even lightforged a Loa damned kobold pickaxe just by picking it up and thinking of it.
Lightforged!!
He wasn't constrained by the techniques of Paladins or Priests. The light would literally do what he wished as long as it was within its power - and his. A ridiculous power. Too OP plz nerf… Is what he would say if he didn't desperately need just this for the coming scourge invasion.
So far, as far as he could tell with his practice, he didn't have enough juice to do much more than one or two techniques before needing to wait for his 'reserve' to tick back up.
It wasn't anything like what this world's setting was like, it was incredibly more versatile and powerful and would only grow more powerful with time. He had the feeling that the upgrades here once he hit 250/500/750 on the kill scale, would enhance the gas in his tank, and his reach. Which meant he might be able to cast more than one technique at once.
An image of him trolling through a battlefield, casually resurrecting people ala Anduin, while wailing away at them with mace blasts of pure light flittered through his mind. He felt absolutely giddy about the sheer potential in this. He might not even switch to any other skill for the next year at this rate!
Also, despite picking the Light immediately, even with his reservation against any mind altering powers - scourge invasion, 'nuff said - he didn't actually feel any of that. It was nothing more than a warm feeling, like taking a dip in a warm bath, to use it. His Mace gave off more of a feeling - and he believed that was the weapon itself more than the actual Light, now that he'd experienced this version of the Light.
Feeling his reserves having dipped a decent amount from the consecration, he giddily used his Mace of Justice™ to smash a tree asunder that was in his way, the light coating his mace until it shone like a miniature sun as he eradicated the foul tree that had dared to get in his way, bringing his reserves down almost to the bottom, a tiny bit left in the tank.
"Stop doing that!" The girl screeched from behind him. Another rock flew through the air, bouncing off the back of his head.
"Let a bruddah have his fun, mon." Lazar said with a broad grin, slinging the Silver Hand over his shoulder letting it attach to the magnetic clamp hooked onto the leather band across his back. The massive weapon radiated a faint silvery hue even at rest, unless he forced it inert. "Dis be a good day fer da holy mojo, yah?"
"It's not a good day! It's an insane day!" She snapped, her shrill voice cutting through the air. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you see what you're doing? You're breaking reality every time you wave that stupid mace around!"
She threw her hands in the air, then clutched at her face in frustration as she struggled to contain her emotions. "Father Rorick would die of shock if he saw this. I want to die of disgust." She complained, having been irritable ever since he'd left the cave suddenly capable of wielding the Light out of nowhere.
Lazar chuckled raspily, shaking his head. "Ya takin' dis kinda hard, girl. Ain't as bad as all dat."
"Hard?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she stomped up to him. She jabbed a finger into his gut with all the force her tiny frame could muster. "You went into a cave as a normal savage beast, and came out somehow wielding the Light with an ease I never even saw in the priests belonging to my fa-" She suddenly clicked her teeth together looking sickly, before looking away, glaring at a bush so hard he was surprised it didn't spontaneously combust. "The Light doesn't work that way!" She instead raged, her face was flushed with anger, and her voice cracked as she spat out the words. It wasn't just outrage - it was disbelief, a desperate attempt to hold on to what little sense her world still had.
Like he'd demonstrated, he could basically do whatever he wanted within his teen feet area of effect. Such a cheat power... He understood her disbelief and anger. He also hadn't missed her aborted comment. He'd already suspected of course. A girl in the tween age who could apparently read and write and was fairly well spoken - daughter of a noble, obviously.
Although her stealth abilities, affinity for daggers, and the ability to get away with the theft of magic books pointed in a very different direction. And with her obviously having run away from home, he was somewhat curious what kind of noble family she'd fled from, one that obviously had given her rogue training.
Not curious enough to ask, she'd be gone soon and he didn't need the complications.
"The Light must have glitched somehow, it just doesn't work that way…" The girl mumbled almost to herself, still looking a bit wild eyed, not taking his sudden skill all that well.
"Ya sure, mon?" Lazar asked, cocking his head. He snapped his fingers, and a burst of radiant sparkles appeared above her head, glowing faintly under the dim forest canopy. They shimmered like stars before cascading down in harmless little motes of energy.
The girl froze, staring at the sparkles with wide eyes. Then she let out a strangled noise of rage and clutched at her hair. "No!" she shrieked, spinning away from him to glare furiously at nothing. "No! I refuse! The light is not a… It's not used for petty play! This is not happening! I reject this reality!"
Lazar watched her with a bemused expression, his grin softening slightly. She was flailing now, but there was something behind her anger - something raw and fragile. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, deciding to let her vent for the moment.
She rounded on him suddenly, her voice rising again. "You don't get it! I had to study for hours. I had to rewrite prayers until my hands bled. I had to fast until I passed out!" Her hands balled into fists, trembling at her sides. "And you - some random troll - walk out of a cave and just… Poof! You're wielding the Light like it's nothing!" She gestured wildly at him, as if his very existence was offensive. "The world is broken! It's stopped making sense!"
"Fair 'nough, girl," Lazar said, ruffling her hair with a broad hand. She squawked in protest, swatting at him weakly. For a moment, he thought she might finally be calming down.
He actually felt bad for a second for upending her world view.
Then she punched him in the groin.
He should have really seen that coming.
"Loa-damned brat!" Lazar growled, not really hurt but still not enjoying the action. His violet eyes gleamed with irritation and without a word, he punted her into a nearby puddle of mud, watching her land with a wet splat. There, we're even!
The girl sat up slowly, dripping with muck. She spat out a glob of mud and glared at him with all the fury her tiny frame could muster. "You filthy -"
"Actions, dey have consequences, girl," Lazar interrupted. "'Sides, dat mud bath worth gold in Silvermoon, pure Loa-damned Eversong mud dis. Be grateful, yah, mon?"
He probably wasn't even kidding. He could definitely see the highborn having some fancy ass spas within their little jewel of a city. When you're a society of mana nutjobs, being lazy and pampered around the clock was probably a high priority.
He eyed the murder puppy thoughtfully as she rose up from the mud, should he lightforge a dagger for her? Just as a safety measure to give her a small chance for the future? It could give her a small advantage once Lordaeron descended into hell.
As she threw herself at him with a roar, flinging mud everywhere, he decided he'd wait with doing that until she couldn't stab him with one. A punch to the groin was one thing - a lightforged dagger might actually hurt.
She tackled his legs. He stumbled slightly but didn't fall, laughing as he caught her by the scruff of her shirt and hoisted her into the air, mud dripping off her.
"Ya not be good enough for dat yet, girl," He said, his grin returning as he considered something briefly. Then, with an amused shrug, he tossed her back into the mud. She landed with a loud splash, sputtering and seething.
"You're insufferable and will die by my hand, savage!" She yelled, slamming her fists into the muck. Lazar couldn't stop laughing as her action only succeeded in splashing her face with more mud. The disgusted look on her face as she got some in her mouth made his entire week.
"Come on, brat," Lazar said, turning back to the path ahead. "We got ground t' cover, yah? Forest ain't gunna walk itself, mon."
Saying that, he peered suspiciously at the forest around him, because with treants a thing - the forest literally could walk itself.
The girl dragged herself out of the mud with a muttered curse, stomping after him. Lazar's grin widened as he adjusted the Silver Hand on his back.
Nothing could ruin his mood, his power was just too awesome.
Everything was great!
＊＊＊
Four days of careful travel went by. Four days instead of one or two - mostly because Lazar had started to take it a lot more carefully the closer they got - it wasn't out of the question for the caravan master to have ensured an adventurer party went troll hunting along the route when he returned sans guards.
Although from what he could see, it was unlikely these people took security anywhere near seriously enough to go that far.
He'd brought them to within a few hundred metres of the gatehouse - a squat, weathered structure that spanned the pass between the Eastern Kingdoms' Lordaeron and the woods of eternal spring of Eversong Forest. Its defenses were decent enough at a glance, with sturdy stone walls and iron-bound gates, but to Lazar's eyes, it was painfully clear the place had seen better days. Vines crept along the crumbling masonry, and the archers' slits in the wall were in some cases blocked by the growing weeds and vines.
The garrison was slacking.
From their position concealed in the treeline, he could see the gatehouse's two posted guards sitting at a rickety wooden table just outside the gates. They weren't on alert. Instead, they leaned back lazily, playing dice and nursing what looked to be mugs of ale. Their weapons - a spear and a two handed sword - were tossed haphazardly aside at their feet.
"Lordaeron be gettin' lazy," Lazar muttered to himself, shaking his head. He turned to the girl crouched next to him, a frown tugging at his lips. "Dere ya go, girl. Back ta da humans wit' ya."
The girl glared up at him, her chilly blue eyes narrowed with some conflicting emotions. She didn't move. Instead, she shifted on her heels, her gaze darting toward the gatehouse and then back to Lazar. Her mouth opened slightly as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated.
After a moment of silence, she crossed her arms and huffed. "I want my magic books."
Lazar sighed, the sound more amused than annoyed. "Fine, fine. Ya got lucky I got no use fer 'em yet, mon." He slung his satchel around and dug out the books, passing them to her. "Here, girl. Go become dis terrifyin' mage or somethin'. Jus' do dis bruddah a favor, mon. No roastin' mah balls if ya see me again, eh?"
The girl's eyes lit up as she clutched the books to her chest, a small spark of glee momentarily breaking through her conflicted exterior. A fleeting smile crossed her face, but then it was replaced by something far more unsettling - a wicked grin. "Thanks for the idea," She chirped sweetly, and her expression promised future havoc.
Ah, such a murderpuppy. She'd fit right in with the horde. Too bad she was probably going to end up just another undead. Hopefully Sylvanas wouldn't get her hands on her in that case…
"Man, ya gonna be a scary lady, ain'tcha?" Lazar said, ruffling her hair one last time. Her response was a glare and a muttered curse under her breath as he nudged her forward toward the gatehouse.
She walked a few steps, then stopped again, glancing back at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, she squared her shoulders, drew herself up as tall as she could manage, and marched resolutely down the dirt road. Her countenance was one of someone forcing herself to not look back.
Lazar felt a little bit touched that she seemed to have liked him enough between all the murder attempts to be conflicted about leaving his side. He'd privately admit he was going to miss having someone to talk to. And she wasn't all that bad either… He was definitely somewhat conflicted about letting her go into the deathtrap that was Lordaeron.
But she was smart enough, he wasn't going to force the choice on her. If she didn't want to go, she could say so at any time.
He followed along the treeline, sticking to the shadows. He wasn't about to let her get into trouble - not after everything. He wanted to make sure she got through okay at least. He was easily able to follow her the entire way, a feeling of offense rising up in him. What kind of gatehouse or fort allowed a treeline this close? That was fort-building 101! He was practically right up against it!
He might not be human anymore, but he'd played alliance Loa-damn it! He had some pride in humanity, and it really annoyed him to see such laxity in a polity about to face all kinds of hell.
The girl reached the near vicinity of the guards. The pair of men looked up from their game, their expressions ranging from mild annoyance to something far less innocent as their gazes raked over her. Lazar's sharp ears caught their words easily as he hung around the treeline just a few dozen meters away.
"Well, if it ain't the little miss who got eaten by a troll," The shorter guard said with a sneer. His large nose, easily the most prominent feature on his face, twitched as he spoke. "Whaddya know? Still alive, mighty suspicious that, I'd say."
Lazar admitted begrudgingly that he wasn't entirely wrong. If the troll wasn't him… It would smell like some sort of trap or plot.
He wouldn't put it past the Amani to keep a victim alive, put some voodoo on them that basically made them a living bomb and set them loose to return home. Probably only the fact most Amani had the long term planning of a gnat that prevented such things.
The other guard, tall and gangly with a thin face, grinned unpleasantly. "Aye, it seems to be her. Ol' caravan master reported her dead, but she don't look too dead to me."
The girl tilted her head back imperiously, glaring at them. "Like some troll could defeat me!" She said, her tone dripping with disdain, her nose high in the air.
Lazar couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. At least she was consistent - her bratty attitude extended to everyone.
Cute.
"Well, we're glad you're alive, little miss," the tall guard said, his grin widening into something grotesque. "Ain't we?" He asked his companion.
The shorter guard with the large nose chuckled, his laughter oily and unpleasant. "Aye. Why don't ya come inside with us, girl? We'll make sure you're… Safe."
Lazar's spine stiffened, his sharp teeth grinding together. There was something in their tone - something vile. They better not be saying what he thought they were saying…
The girl took a step back, her bravado faltering for the first time. "I'd rather move along. I have a lot of ground to cover," She said, her voice uncertain.
The thin guard reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip firm. "Now, now, girl," He said, his voice low and menacing. "If you're nice about it, we won't have to break ya."
The other guard laughed again. "Not that it matters. She's reported dead anyway. No one'll care, we can just dump her in the woods after."
Lazar had heard enough. Hot burning hatred flowed through his veins. The look of fear on the girl's face… The utterly ballsy girl who'd argue and beat on a fucking forest troll... It sat ill with him.
He didn't hesitate. He drew his bow, notched an arrow, and let it fly in one smooth motion. The projectile struck the thin guard in the arm that was holding the girl, forcing him to release her with a howl of pain.
The girl didn't waste the opportunity. She drew her dagger from her belt and stabbed the man in the groin. His high-pitched screams were music to Lazar's ears. Even as he felt bad for any future paramour of hers - the girl was brutal and always seemed to go for the crotch.
The screams were cut off as she sliced his throat to prevent the noise from drawing other guards, before stabberific barbie went back to stabbing the guard in the groin over and over again with vicious glee.
The other guard would have probably killed her while she was so busy - he'd have to talk to her about battle awareness - but he was a little busy running for a horn that hung on a hook by the gatehouse walls.
The horn was obviously meant to call the rest of the garrison, who by the looks of these two, were probably lazing away somewhere inside. Useless, the lot of them.
His reason for running for the horn instead of extracting revenge on the girl?
Perhaps it was the mad forest troll that had run out of the treeline howling as he went after him with extreme prejudice.
Lazar reached the man just as his fingers brushed the horn, and despite his wish to make this a long drawn out affair. He knew he couldn't afford to actually have the garrison come running out - so he crushed the man's head like a melon with one smash of his mace, and then ran back to the girl.
Who was still furiously stabbing the first guard, her face twisted in a mix of fear and fury, the man long dead, and probably thanking the light he died quickly.
"Quick answer, girl," Lazar said, crouching next to her. "Wit' me, or ya runnin' through dat gate?"
The girl looked up at him, her hands trembling as blood dripped from the dagger. Her eyes flicked to the gatehouse briefly before settling back on him. "Fine, I'll stay." She said, her voice wavering. "But I'm in charge. You're just a savage. You need someone refined to make decisions."
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting to the blood-soaked dagger still clutched in her hand after a hundred stabs through a fuckers dick. "Refined... Sure, mon." Without waiting for an argument, he scooped her up like a sack of flour and slung her over his shoulder.
"Hey! I can walk!" She protested, squirming in his grip.
"Not waitin' fer someone t' poke dere head out," Lazar replied, jogging toward the treeline.
As they moved, a disgusted sound soon came from the girl.
"What now, mon?" Lazar asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"Worthless, cheap guards. He only had ten copper in his pouch," She complained, dropping the empty pouch to the ground with disdain.
Lazar chuckled, shaking his head. "Refined, yah? Sure ya are, brat." All that, and she also stole the man's wallet while at it - her family must have been something for sure…
A soft, mumbled "Thank you" came from over his shoulder a few minutes later.
Lazar grinned, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, having her around wasn't so bad after all.
He'd never had kids…
Maybe raising one wouldn't be so bad?
He'd just have to set some boundaries. Like… only one murder a day?
He thought about it, pursing his lips as he carried her through the forest.
Nah, one be too few, mon…
＊＊＊
The girl's silence weighed heavily on Lazar as he moved swiftly through the dense forest, covering ground as fast as possible while attempting to mask their trail. He didn't stop for eight straight hours, his long legs carrying them over uneven terrain, through streams, and past tangled thickets. Over his shoulder, the girl remained still, clutching her books as if they were the only stable thing in her life.
Which they probably were at this point, considering recent events.
Her quietness made him somewhat worried she was in shock or something. He wasn't sure why she'd chosen to come with him either, and the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. A noble-born girl - a fact she didn't exactly hide - had no place trekking through the wilderness with a troll. No warm bed, no servants, no safety. It only told him one thing - wherever she'd come from had been worse.
She'd joined that caravan for a reason, he suspected, and now was adrift and simply clinging onto the only thing that seemed a sure bet. No matter how insane that choice was.
For the moment, he didn't pry. Her choice to stay was her own, the brat was tougher than most kids her age, she'd be fine. He certainly wouldn't have handled any of this shit as a twelve year old back in his world.
His thoughts wandered to her propensity for daggers as he leapt over a fallen log, a plan forming. He'd lightforge them all, give her a bit of oomph. He'd only given her the one to take with her south, right before they'd arrived at the gatehouse, now he'd do the rest. Although idly he wondered if he could lightforge the girl herself, just like the army of light the Naruu had created.
To his shock, almost making him stumble into a tree, his power perked up at his thought. His mind was reeling, his gut twisting in disbelief. It had been idle speculation, something he hadn't meant seriously. But his power… It responded.
He could lightforge people... Like a fucking Naruu... That was... Insane.
Even now, he could feel the light stirring faintly, eager to act on his whim. But it had stopped short, like hitting a barrier he couldn't breach. The sensation left him breathless. He wasn't ready to even think about that yet. Lightforging people? Making warriors imbued with radiant power? That was a line he couldn't afford to cross.
At least not now.
It was obviously not something he was close to, the gap felt very large from what he'd felt when his power had attempted to assist him - and he'd have to be careful with that if the light could literally just jump off on an idle thought of his...
Lightforging people….
He shook the thought away, focusing on the girl's grumbling as she shifted on his shoulder. The Lightforging could wait. It wasn't like he was about to broadcast his abilities to every undead-loving creep in Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas. Arthas, Kel'Thuzad, that elf traitor fucker who's name he couldn't remember - and all the Dreadlords - were going to be enough trouble without painting a target on his back.
If he started lightforging people, Archimonde himself might decide to make a pit stop on his way to Kalimdor to stomp it out. Not an option he relished.
So that was off the table until at least Archimonde's defeat, perhaps even longer.
After miles of hard travel, Lazar finally stopped by a stream. The gentle burble of water was calming, a brief respite from the tension of the run. He crouched low, easing the girl off his shoulder and onto the ground.
"Go drink, girl," He said, gesturing toward the stream, she hadn't had anything for eight hours, and she'd had a stressful day. Even the threat of what those men laid out was enough no doubt to shock the girl. Any girl. Or guy for that matter.
She hesitated for a moment, clutching her books protectively as if she thought he might snatch them away. With a suspicious glare, she placed them carefully on a nearby rock before trudging to the stream's edge. Lazar smirked, digging into his satchel for some dried meat for her. She was going to need more meat on her bones if she wanted to survive this wild life. He made sure to not even go near her books, since she placed such importance on them.
They set up camp quietly afterwards, the girl moving as if on autopilot. She'd fallen into a routine after their time of traveling together, building the fire and setting up sleeping spots with minimal fuss. He watched her, gnawing idly on a strip of meat, already done his own tasks.
"A silver fer ya thoughts?" He said at last, breaking the silence.
She sniffed, still poking at the fire with a stick. "I'm worth at least a gold per thought," She shot back, not looking at him.
Lazar chuckled, his tusks gleaming in the firelight. "At least ya gumption ain't faltered, considerin' tings, girl." He was glad she showed some fire again.
Her expression twisted, irritation flashing across her face. "I'm not weak!" She snapped, spinning to glare at him.
He raised an eyebrow, fingering his tusks thoughtfully. "Neva said ya were, mon. If anyting, ya scary strong an' put t'gether fer ya age."
The compliment didn't seem to help. She scowled, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away. Lazar scratched his head, unsure of what to say next. She was clearly in a state, wrestling with her choice to stick with him.
The silence stretched on until he blurted, "Can ya teach me ta read Common?"
The girl blinked, visibly startled. For a moment, she stared at him, then her expression shifted entirely. A sly grin spread across her face, and her chilly eyes lit up with wicked glee.
"Hohoho!" She laughed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. "The savage can't read, huh? I suppose, with my superior intellect, I can lower myself to helping you."
The smugness was palpable, but Lazar didn't mind. It was worth it to see her perk up. "Aye, I'd 'preciate it, mon." He said with a grin, watching as her self-satisfied expression faltered. She gave him a suspicious look, clearly annoyed he wasn't rising to her bait.
"Fine," She huffed, dragging one of her books closer. "We'll start with the basics. Don't drool on the pages."
Lazar smirked, settling in across from her. "Ya da teacher, den. Hope ya ready fer da challenge, girl."
The girl rolled her eyes but opened the book with an air of authority. "This," She said, pointing to one of the letters on the page, going extremely basic, "Is A. It makes the Aa sound. Repeat after me - Aa."
Lazar grinned, leaning closer. "Ahhh," He said, drawing out the sound exaggeratedly.
The girl groaned, her face falling into her hands. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Nah, girl," Lazar said, his grin widening. "Gonna be fun." Once he stopped messing with her anyways. It might not be English, but it had some similarities at least, that with a teacher helping him, should have him pick it up fairly quickly.
They'd have to remove her magic bauble for when he would practice speaking common though - as he couldn't do it without its magic aid off and no longer aiding their speech, but this was a start - and would take the girls mind off things.
The lesson continued late into the night, the girl's haughty explanations and exaggerated exasperation filling the camp with laughter and a surprising warmth. As they worked, Lazar couldn't help but feel a small flicker of relief.
For all their bickering and banter and murder attempts, this strange partnership of theirs wasn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what both of them needed.
Every Troll needed a murderpuppy.
Way better than a pet bear or flying snake or something lame.
And every little girl needed a murderbeast to point at things that annoyed them. Right?
＊＊＊
A week later, Eversong Forest.
The forest glade they'd taken over was peaceful, the kind of serene quiet that came only with the absence of nearby predators - surprise! - they'd killed all of those. A small campfire crackled cheerfully in the center of the clearing, as they sat nearby. Lazar sat cross-legged on a patch of flattened grass, a pile of papers spread out in front of him. His tusks twitched in concentration, and his violet eyes squinted as he tried to decipher the unfamiliar script on the pages.
They'd found the papers three days ago on the corpse of a high elf. The elf had been sprawled beneath a massive tree, his fine robes pristine except for the dirt smudges where he'd collapsed. No marks, no signs of struggle. Whatever had killed him, it wasn't something that left visible traces, and it wasn't the Amani behind it. The body was too intact, untouched by the usual savagery. Some Amani trolls got really creative when it came to the elves - corpses included.
It bothered Lazar more than he wanted to admit - because it might mean something fucky was going on. People usually didn't fall over dead with no signs of the reason, not the highborn at any rate.
The girl sat across from him, cross-legged as well, her small frame hunched over one of her books. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy braid, and her icy blue eyes gleamed with determination as she mumbled indistinctly under her breath. One hand was raised in front of her, fingers twitching as if grasping for something invisible.
The firelight reflected in her eyes as she whispered faster, her focus intensifying. Lazar glanced up briefly, noting the furrow in her brow and the tight set of her lips.
"Don't hurt yaself now, girl, can smell ya brain going wonky from here." He muttered, returning to his own task, annoyance filling him at trying to decipher the language. The girl knew a little Thalassian - why she'd been allowed in that trade caravan so easily. He was attempting to pick up a little as well by reading the papers the elf had carried, the girl having taught him what little she knew.
Lazar rubbed his temples, frustrated by the elegant, flowing script on the pages. His eyes skimmed over the words, trying to piece them together, sounding them out in his head.
"Thre..." He muttered. "Thre'... Does dat say Threat?"
His attention was abruptly drawn away by a sudden surge of heat. A fireball the size of a melon erupted from the girl's hand with a loud whoosh, streaking across the clearing and smacking into a nearby tree. Lazar bolted upright, his mace instinctively in his hands before he realized the fireball fizzled out weakly against the bark, leaving only a faint scorch mark.
At least she wasn't attacking him anymore. That would have probably smarted a bit more than her punches…
The girl stared at her hand in shock for a moment before breaking into a grin. She jumped to her feet, bouncing up and down as she laughed, her excitement contagious as he shook his head with a wry grin.
"I did it! Did you see that?" She cried, spinning in place with her arms outstretched. "I made a fireball! I'm amazing!"
Lazar leaned his mace back against the ground, shaking his head in amusement. "Aye, girl. Ya made a li'l spark, yah? But ya sure ya don't wanna be a rogue instead, mon? Ya already halfway dere."
Her grin vanished, replaced by a look of pure indignation. "Never! I'll never be a rogue! Rogues are filthy cowards and brigands!"
Lazar raised an eyebrow, scratching at his tusks. "Cowards, mon? An' yet dey be useful. Sneakin', stabbin', gettin' da job done 'fore anyone even knows dey dere. Mages? Squishy. Get close an' ya toast."
The girl crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Mages can throw fireballs. Fireballs, Lazar! How cool is that? I can literally set people on fire!" She bounced in place with a disturbing gleam in her eyes, "The solution to any problem is more fire!" She exclaimed, daring him to disagree. Her expression turned disturbingly gleeful as she said it, her eyes lighting up with a dangerous enthusiasm that had Lazar leaning back slightly.
He huffed out a breath, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. "Kid," He said, his tone dry, "Ya like da flashy tings too much, mon. All spark, no substance. An' dat look in ya eyes? Scary, mon. Real scary."
This partnership only needed one flashy fucker. Him. Mostly because that meant people wanting to kill them would be stabbing the guy who could regenerate instead of the girl with squishy bits.
She ignored him, holding up her hand again. "Such power," She muttered to herself, her voice trembling with excitement. "I'll have all the power! They'll never catch me!"
Before Lazar could say anything else, she started throwing fireballs in every direction, her laughter echoing through the clearing. One after another, the small flaming orbs streaked out, hitting trees, bushes, and even the campfire itself.
"Oi!" Lazar barked, standing there in deadpan irritation as he watched the forest glade catch fire. Small patches of flame licked at the underbrush, the beginnings of a very real problem.
The girl didn't stop, her laughter growing louder as she raised both hands, flames bursting forth in wild arcs. "Ultimate power!" She shouted, her voice giddy.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, she collapsed. Her face met the dirt with an audible thud, her body going limp. "Ultimate power?" She squeaked out confusedly, somewhat muffled by the fact her lips were kissing the dirt.
Lazar froze for a moment, the firelight dancing around them, then sighed deeply. He glanced at the spreading flames, already licking at the lower branches of the surrounding trees, and began packing up their camp with practiced efficiency.
Not his trees, not his land, but unfortunately his idiot.
By the time he finished, he found himself standing over the girl, her small form sprawled in the dirt. Her cheeks were bright red, her breath coming in short, embarrassed huffs. She didn't look up as he crouched beside her, poking her shoulder with one large finger.
"Ultimate power, huh?" He said, his tone unimpressed. "Dis very impressive."
Her groan was muffled by the dirt.
"I'm never lettin' ya forget dis, girl. Not ever."
She let out a frustrated whine but didn't respond, her exhaustion clear. She'd obviously blown all her mana and probably gone a bit over what was healthy.
He wasn't a mage so he could only guess.
Lazar shook his head, glancing at the burning glade around them. The kid was reckless, dangerous, and entirely too enthusiastic about destruction - but she was a fun one.
And that was something.
"Alright, murderpuppy," He said, hefting her over his shoulder with ease. "Time ta move. Can't be leavin' a trail o' burnin' trees fer da humans t' follow, yah?"
Not to mention if any elves were around - they tended to be really upset with little things like forest fires.
Her grumbled response was unintelligible, but Lazar's grin only widened as he carried her deeper into the forest, the flames behind them not growing too dangerously.
It would probably be fine.
＊＊＊
A few days later, they found themselves arriving at a small lake, Lazar having taken them slightly northwest, away from the border of Lordaeron. He was a bit farther north then he liked, but they were still far enough away from the elves - as evident as he crouched on a tree branch, his shoulder loli sitting on his shoulder, spotting the Murloc village at the edges of the lake.
If the elves were actually paying attention this deep south, they'd have cleared the pests out. It really was no wonder they always ended up turtling behind Silvermoon's shield - they were shit at putting in the work to watch over their own domain.
The Murloc village was an opportunity though…
Lazar had killed plenty of wildlife during their travels, and the amount of Murlocs he could spot... He might actually reach the 250 benchmark in Light if he killed them all.
The wildlife didn't give nearly enough so he was still a bit away. Well… As long as the Murlocs didn't give too low of a point total per kill.
If they were equal to the kobolds it would be fine. And they were about the same level of weak yet annoying - so it should be fine. His shoulder loli was practically vibrating with excitement too.
Luckily he had almost orc-like broad shoulders instead of the usually more gangly troll kind, and the girl was tiny and light which helped - or the shoulder loli experience would have never happened.
Lazar crouched on a sturdy tree branch high above the ground, his sharp eyes scanning the scene below. Nestled along the edges of the water was the small Murloc village, its haphazardly constructed huts made of reeds, driftwood, and mud. The Murlocs themselves bustled about, their gurgling cries echoing faintly across the water.
Perched on his shoulder, the girl clung to his braid for balance, her icy blue eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Look at all of them," She whispered, her voice trembling with barely-contained glee. "Are we gonna kill them all?"
Lazar snorted, scratching his chin as he watched the scene below. There were at least two dozen Murlocs in sight, their numbers spilling from the huts and skittering along the water's edge. It wasn't a large settlement, but it was densely packed. The potential for chaos was definitely there - but manageable.
As long as he didn't discount some more popping out of the water at any time. But with the amount of huts and supplies on display there couldn't be too many hidden away.
"Aye," He murmured eventually, his tone thoughtful. "Jus' thinkin' how I wanna go 'bout it, mon."
The girl tugged on his braid, making him glance sideways at her. Her grin was all teeth and bloodlust, an expression that somehow managed to be both endearing and concerning.
It was easy for him to feel happy with murder when he literally felt himself grow more powerful for each one. Although killing might be a simpler term, since no government in Azeroth considered killing kobolds or murlocs as a crime. The girl didn't have that excuse, she was just like this.
"Just smash them!" She said, her tone exasperated. "It's not like they're hard to kill!"
Got a lot of experience with that? He wondered, skeptical, but his thoughts moved on quickly, because he had something else he was thinking about. "Dere's a method t' da madness, girl. Ain't just 'bout dem."
His gaze drifted back to the village. The Murlocs moved with their usual jerky, gangly motions, but they weren't armed for war. They carried crude fishing spears, nets, and baskets, their attention focused on their daily tasks. If there was a caster amongst them - it didn't show. Murlocs being rude enough to not easily display who to kill first by dressing them in robes.
He hadn't told the girl about his power. But now... He wondered if he should.
Not that they fully trusted one another, they had a weird partnership and kind of friendship brewing, with the girl still stabbing him on the odd occasions, but full trust was far off. She wasn't telling him her origins, and he sure as the damned Loa wasn't telling her his.
No, the reason he was pondering telling her was because he didn't want her to kill steal.
He wanted ALL the points.
He wondered if keeping her in the dark was worth the risk of losing kills. He needed all the points he could get.
Losing points just wasn't worth it, he decided, not bothering wasting time on too much thinking - it was a pretty clear cut choice.
"Girl," He said, his voice low, "If I give ya da bow, ya tink ya can go non-lethal? Jus' cripple 'em so I can finish da job?"
Her reaction was instant and visceral. She made a noise of disgust, yanking on his braid hard enough to make him wince. "No fireballs? And no murder? What's the point, then? I didn't join up with a troll to go respectable!"
Lazar snorted, suppressing a grin. "Fireballs still a no-go, brat. We ain't got enough of da forest left after yer last show, mon." He teased.
Her scowl deepened, and she crossed her arms. "It's a lake right there. Water doesn't burn!" She whined, her voice taking on the distinct tone of a sulking child.
"Dis troll not takin' da risk, mon! If anyone got da mojo ta make a lake burn, you be it," He said dryly.
The girl perked up at that, her lips curling into a smug grin. "Of course. Glad you recognize my capabilities." She preened so hard she almost fell off his shoulder, having to grab on to his head, a small flush to her cheeks as he glanced back up at her.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, da real reason ya can't kill 'em… I get more powerful wit' each kill, mon. Need ya t' leave 'em, so I get da points an' da power."
She froze for a moment, her grin fading as she mulled over his words. Then she sighed dramatically. "Is this one of your Loa things you keep muttering about?" She said, her tone tinged with jealousy. "Unfair! Power through murder. That's like the best power ever. I never get nice things."
"Sure," Lazar said, shrugging. If she wanted to jump to that conclusion, he wasn't going to correct her. It worked for him.
The girl's eyes narrowed, her expression turning calculating. "Can I pray to a Loa? Maybe I'll get my own murder power?"
Lazar groaned inwardly, already regretting everything. "Nah. Only trolls, mon."
"I'm gonna do it," She declared, her tone defiant. "If I pray to all of them, then that should give me all the murder powers, right?"
Okay, so maybe it didn't work so well for him…
Loa, if you're listening… You damn well better not!
"Don't," He said firmly, before sighing and deciding to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. "We gonna do dis or not? Ya good takin' a support role?"
She grumbled under her breath, clearly displeased, but eventually nodded. "Fine. But if this plan gets boring, I'm throwing a fireball."
"Noted, mon," He said dryly, handing her his bow and quiver.
She fiddled with the bow, her mood visibly lifting as she held a weapon in her hands. Lazar eyed the distance to the village and frowned. The trees here wouldn't give her a good vantage point, and the village itself was far enough away that her aim might suffer.
An idea struck him, and he closed his eyes, reaching for the Light. The warmth of it surged through him, eager to obey. With a thought, he directed it to anchor the girl to his shoulder, forming a gentle but unyielding connection.
The girl gasped as she felt the Light wrap around her. She shifted experimentally, finding herself securely stuck in place but still able to move her arms freely.
"...Oh... Yeah...." Her voice took on an almost purring quality as she felt herself stick and realized he'd be taking her into battle on his shoulder.
"Remembah! No killin' any of dem." He told her, the Silver hand feeling eager in his hands as he drew it. Even as he had to tamp down its light as the mace itself seemed to want to shine brightly.
Damn weapon, wait until we're smashing to give us away, he thought, a grin on his lips.
Their stealth died anyways as the girl roared out, "CHARGE!"
Lazar obliged.
＊＊＊
The charge was pure chaos.
Lazar barreled down the incline, his long legs eating up the ground as his war cry echoed across the beach. The girl whooped with joy, tightly attached to his shoulder, loosing an arrow wildly. The first shot flew wide, missing the Murlocs entirely and embedding itself in a reed hut.
"Adjust ya aim, girl!" Lazar barked, laughing as he smashed through a cluster of underbrush, a wet gargle sounding out as a confused Murloc that had apparently been napping, hidden underneath, got stomped, its throat crushed.
"I'm trying! Stop shaking me so much you brute!" The girl snapped back, her voice a mix of frustration and pure excitement. She steadied herself on his shoulder, and this time, she waited, taking proper aim, the bowstring taut in her small hands.
The second arrow found its mark, striking a Murloc in the leg. The creature let out a garbled screech as it toppled sideways into the mud.
"Better, girl!" Lazar hollered, grinning as they closed the distance to the Murloc village. The Silver Hand was in his hands and he was itching to get some points. Heh, he was starting to sound like a Trandoshan. Wrong universe but not too off base.
By the time they hit the edge of the settlement, Lazar was fully ready to get in the mix, the girl crippling another Murloc for him that he simply stomped over in his charge, his foot crushing its ribcage with a wet squelch as he went past it. He swung his massive mace in a wide arc, the gleaming weapon glowing faintly as the Light reinforced his strikes. Four chittering Murlocs were caught in the sweep as a group, their frail bodies crumpling like twigs as bones snapped and organs pulped. The force of the blow sent them flying into a pile of wooden crates, which shattered on impact.
"Dat be how ya do it!" Lazar crowed, already turning to face the next group, taking a spear to the gut which barely managed to scratch his tough hide, before he used the shaft of his mace to brutally slam the Murlocs forehead in, piercing its brain.
From her perch, the girl had a clear view of the chaos below her. She grinned wickedly, loosing arrow after arrow. The first few missed again as she adjusted to Lazar's bounding movements, but soon her shots found their rhythm. Arrows buried themselves in legs and knees, hobbling the creatures and sending them tumbling into the mud.
"Gotcha!" She yelled triumphantly as another Murloc went down, its stubby arms flailing as it tried to drag itself toward the water.
Lazar usually simply stomped over the crippled ones, either crushing them underfoot or drowning them in the mud as he forced them under with his weight.
More Murlocs began to pour out of the huts and surrounding reeds, their guttural war cries filling the air. Some came from the water itself, their slimy bodies glistening as they emerged, armed with crude spears and nets. Lazar counted at least half a dozen from the lake alone.
"More on da way, girl!" He warned, even as he grinned and slammed his mace down on top of another Murloc, pasting its head as he followed through all the way, pancaking the tiny creature as he grinned darkly at its compatriots, blood flecking his tusks.
"Good! More practice!" The girl retorted, her voice alight with bloodthirsty glee.
The first wave of lake Murlocs hurled their spears with surprising coordination at that point, the projectiles arcing through the air toward the troll and his tiny companion. Lazar's grin widened as he reached for the Light. It surged through him eagerly, wrapping them both in a shimmering bubble of golden energy. A full shield covering them from all angles.
He could have dodged, but he just wanted them to see how utterly inconsequential they were against him.
The spears clattered harmlessly against the shield, bouncing off with dull thuds, slightly smoldering. The girl whooped in delight, leaning forward on Lazar's shoulder to get a better angle for her shots. She picked off the advancing Murlocs one by one, each arrow finding a leg or a groin, (really girl?) leaving them writhing in the mud.
"Keep at it, girl!" Lazar called out. The Light shield allowed him to move freely instead of remaining constrained, the bubble simply following him. He closed the distance to the nearest Murloc, his massive mace swinging downward with devastating force. The creature's head caved in with a wet crunch, and he caught another as it attempted to get past him to stab him with its spear, sweeping his mace aside to crush its ribs as it wailed at him.
By then the shield ended, but it didn't matter. Using the Light here was simply overkill as it was. These weapons they had weren't enough to pierce him fully, not after his body had leveled up. He'd imagine if he leveled body up high enough, only legendary weapons could do harm - something to ponder once he leveled Light up high enough.
More Murlocs swarmed in, chittering and screeching as they tried to overwhelm him. Lazar spun his mace in a wide arc, using its sheer mass to keep them at bay. The girl's arrows continued to rain down, her accuracy improving with every shot. Although she'd be running out any second with how eager of a shot she was…
The duo worked in tandem, a whirlwind of destruction and precision. Lazar's mace struck with bone-shattering power, while the girl's arrows ensured the enemies were hobbled and easy prey. The ground around them became a battlefield of writhing, gurgling Murlocs, their greenish blood staining the mud.
One particularly bold Murloc leapt at Lazar, brandishing a rusted sword. He caught it mid-air with a backhanded swing of his mace, sending the creature into a nearby hut, its chest concaved in. The flimsy structure collapsed under the impact, burying the Murloc beneath a pile of reeds and splinters.
Another Murloc tried a jump, showing that the things didn't pick up on clues very quickly. Lazar spun around and used his mace like a baseball bat, slamming into the midsection of the Murloc, before it went flying across the lake, blood trailing the figure before it went out of sight, a splash heard moments later.
"Dat one learned ta fly, yah?" Lazar joked, earning a snort from the girl.
"You're ridiculous!" She giggled back, her tone showcasing her amusement. "7 out of 10, not enough distance!"
Tch, everyone's a critic.
The fight, if it could be called that, continued, each Murloc that appeared meeting the same fate. Lazar's swings were methodical, each one aimed to maximize damage in as efficient a way possible. The girl, meanwhile, had run out of arrows, and was now simply yelling insults at the dying Murlocs.
She was creative, he'd give her that. If the Murlocs were not busy dying in agony, they'd be absolutely burned by her words.
Then, just as the battle was all but won, a sneaky Murloc emerged from the shadows behind them. It moved with uncharacteristic stealth for its kind. Before Lazar could react, the creature darted in and slashed at the back of his leg, severing his hamstring, the blade of superior quality compared to the rest, and able to cut through his thick hide.
A growl of pain escaped Lazar's lips as he staggered, his massive frame nearly toppling. The girl screamed his name, her voice high-pitched with alarm. "Lazar!" She cried out, grasping his head.
"Dis be nothin' 'm fine, girl," He grunted, he didn't even need the light, his own regeneration already working on it. He could feel the torn muscle knitting itself back together, though the process left a dull ache. He reached down, his massive hand closing around the squirming Murloc that was still stabbing frantically at his legs.
A rogue Murloc… His eyes flickered to the high quality blade it wielded. Now that was odd…
"Ya an ugly fucker, ain'tcha, mon?" Lazar said, lifting the creature into the air by its head.
There were no other Murlocs alive as far as he could tell, no movements he could see, so he had time.
The girl, already over her earlier brief panic, snorted in amusement. "Look who's talking," She quipped, her fear melting into relief.
Lazar scowled, his tusks twitching. "Hey, fer a troll, 'm a great catch, mon!" He shot back, his tone offended.
At least he thought so, he had big tusks, and he had more muscles now then the average troll… That was hot, right?
"Sure, you're a real heartbreaker." The girl said with a wicked grin. "That's why you're alone in the woods with someone not your species and bullying Murlocs..."
The burn was severe. Lazar stared at her for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly before he shook his head in disbelief. "Ya breakin' mah heart, girl," He said dramatically, before crushing the Murlocs head in his hand. The creature went limp, its body dropping to the ground with a wet thud.
The battle was over. The village lay in ruins, the Murlocs all dead. Lazar straightened, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the carnage.
He twitched a little in annoyance as he checked his system. One point away from 250 Light! One point! Fucking cock tease Murlocs!
"Ooh, this one's alive still!" The girl said, sadistic glee in her voice as she pointed at a Murloc with an arrow in its groin trying to crawl to the water.
Lazar practically flew over there as he smashed his mace down.
250 Light.
He shivered as he could feel a strengthened connection to the Light. Just like how his body had grown stronger when he'd hit 250, irregardless of his other reward.
Two choices were laid out before him.
Beating Heart of a Champion
Your heart beats with the thrum of Light. One time, and one time only, upon death, the Light immediately restores you in perfect health, the boon ending in that moment.
This… It was pure bullshit. He'd have to wait until he reached 500 in any skill to see if these were just the beginner set to help a brother out at the start. Because if these things scaled higher? How Loa damned high would they go at 10 000?
It would be really hard to not pick this. One instant do over. Death rewound. And most importantly… In perfect health. So he'd be back in tip top shape even if he died to an old god tentacle fucking his skull.
A Champion's Love Affair with Lady Luck.
Transform a tenth of your power in the Light permanently into a hidden reserve inaccessible to you until the time is upon you, and get a permanent boon from Lady Luck in return. Forevermore, when your Light begins to wane, your will weakening, your luck exponentially increases in return.
… Now he was conflicted. Insta not dead - or luck powers that make sure he doesn't die in the first place?
This one was permanent too, unlike the first one.
Fuck…
If he was understanding this correctly, when he was using up his Light, weakening, that tenth of his power he'd locked away would return with a vengeance as a luck based power, turning things around…
A tenth though… Right now. That was nothing. Five years from now…
This was not as easy a choice as the Silver Hand was.
"I'm going to stab you in the dick if you keep ignoring me!" The girl said right in his ear, and he was drawn away from his thoughts.
He'd choose later… He'd have to think about it.
He plopped her off his shoulder, dumping her on her ass in the mud, as she glared at him.
"Go grab all dem arrows, girl. Den we be settin' up camp, eatin', an' cleanin' up, yah?"
"Fiiiine." She grumbled, setting off, taking some glee in stepping on the corpses around them as she hunted down all the arrows she'd used.
Was he making her worse? Or was she always like this? He wondered.
＊＊＊
The campfire crackled softly as Lazar leaned back against a tree trunk, the comforting warmth of the flames warding off the creeping chill of the evening. Just a few hundred feet away, the ruined Murloc village still smoldered faintly, its once-busy occupants now reduced to nothing but memories - and dinner.
The girl stood by the lake's edge, her tiny figure outlined by the fading light. She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm taking a bath," She said firmly, as if daring him to argue. "I'm not a savage, like you…"
"Ain't stoppin' ya," Lazar replied, his voice mild. He laughed inwardly, amused but careful to keep it hidden. She was as savage as they came. Far more savage than him in many ways.
"Don't you dare peek," She continued, wagging a finger at him. "I know what you're thinking, you beast, this hallowed vision is not for you!"
He just gave her a casual wave as he turned his attention back to the fire. He had no intention to peek, he held no such interest.
The girl stomped off toward the lake, muttering something about trolls and savages under her breath. Lazar shook his head and chuckled softly, his long fingers carefully rotating the Murloc impaled on its spear. It sizzled and popped over the fire, the smell faintly fishy but not entirely unpleasant.
Murlocs were kind of like fish, right? He wasn't sure if they were edible, but he figured he'd find out soon enough. He planned to try it first - no need for the girl to keel over if it turned out to be poisonous.
He could probably heal her just fine with the Light. Although he'd never hear the end of it if she died of food poisoning and he had to resurrect her.
Her distrust about him staying close was amusing. She seemed to think his insistence was lecherous, not understanding he was more concerned about her toes becoming a snack for some predator. Her fireballs wouldn't do much good if something dragged her underwater, after all. Luckily, his sharp ears would give him warning if anything in the lake decided to try its luck.
Eventually, the girl returned, her dark hair damp, a look of contentment on her features. She practically radiated smug satisfaction, having scrubbed off the grime of battle and travel.
"Much better," She said, plopping onto a rock near the fire. Her eyes caught sight of the roasting Murloc, and her expression shifted to curiosity. "Are we really going to eat... A Murloc?"
Lazar smirked. "Aye. Thought ya'd turn up ya nose, girl." He poked the Murloc with a clawed finger, checking to see if it was done. Still a bit raw in the middle, at least the skin was crisping up nicely.
Instead of the disgust he'd expected, her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Turn up my nose? Are you kidding?" She leaned closer, practically salivating. "Not only did we crush them, we're eating them? This is amazing! I'm so badass!" She cackled gleefully, rubbing her hands together like a goblin counting a hoard of gold.
Lazar gave her a lingering look, raising an eyebrow - he'd better nip this in the bud right now. "Listen, girl, I ain't eatin' no elf or human. An' neither are you. We draw da line somewhere."
She pouted dramatically, her lower lip jutting out. "But what if elf tastes as good as they look?" She asked, her wide, innocent eyes batting up at him.
Innocent. Hah!
His expression turned flat. "Eat 'em da normal way, mon."
Shit, he'd have to learn a whole new way to do that, his tusks could impale an unlucky girl if he wasn't careful. Troll issues.
Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned. Her nose wrinkled, and she recoiled in horror and disgust. "Ew, no!"
He snorted, shaking his head. "Dat be ya line, huh? Dine on ya enemies, yum. Eat 'em out, yuck?"
"Gross," She muttered, crossing her arms. "Murder is cool, not… That other stuff."
Lazar decided to let the conversation die, focusing on the Murloc as he poked it again. "Keep an eye on dis, girl. No lettin' it burn, aye? I'm gunna wash."
The girl's nose wrinkled in distaste, and she waved him off. "Fine. But I want the eyes," She said, pointing at the roasting Murloc with a gleam in her eyes.
Lazar paused, looking at her sidelong. "...Sure. Knock yaself out, mon." Girl just got weirder every day…
He stood, unfastening his loincloth and tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't exactly in pristine condition after all the fighting and traveling, and the smell wasn't improving. He'd have to scrub it out in the lake while he bathed.
"Hey!" The girl yelped, her hands clamped over her eyes. "Don't be a brute! Do that somewhere else! Don't hurt a maiden's eyes!"
Lazar glanced back at her, one eyebrow quirked. "Work better if ya don't have ya fingers splayed wide when ya hidin' ya face an' eyesight, girl." His tone was dry, but he couldn't hide the amused smirk as he noticed her sneaking peeks.
She spluttered, her cheeks turning red as she clenched her fingers tighter over her face. "Just go!" She shouted.
Chuckling to himself, Lazar jogged off toward the water, the girl's indignant muttering fading behind him. He hadn't thought much of it, really. Trolls weren't exactly shy about such things and a lot of his natural reactions and habits were more Troll than human.
He hadn't exactly hidden the calls of nature on their travels either, but he supposed she hadn't been paying much attention to that. He made a mental note to be more mindful. He had no interest in her that way, and he sure as hell didn't want her developing some kind of awkward crush.
Ever.
The cool water was a welcome relief as he waded in, the grime of the day washing away in lazy swirls. He scrubbed his skin with rough handfuls of sand, using it to scour the blood and sweat from his muscles. His loincloth got the same treatment, though he wasn't sure how much longer it would last before he'd need a replacement.
Armor, he thought. Gonna need some real armor soon.
The thought lingered as he finished up, wringing the loincloth out and slinging it over his shoulder. He'd have to rely on his natural toughness for now, but against proper enemies, he'd need more than just his hide.
Right before he returned to camp, he put the loincloth back on, even if it was still wet - no need to set off any more weird stuff.
When he returned to camp, the smell of the roasting Murloc filled the air. The girl was still perched on her rock, her eyes glued to the cooking creature like a hawk watching prey.
"Is it done yet?" She asked eagerly, bouncing slightly in place.
Lazar poked it again, nodding in satisfaction. "Close 'nough, girl. Ya ready ta eat da fruits o' war?"
She grinned wickedly, practically snatching the Murlocs eyes off the roasted corpse as soon as he handed it to her. "Victory never tasted so good," She said, biting into the things with obvious relish, Lazar wincing as they made a popping sound.
Lazar sat down across from her, tearing off a piece for himself. It wasn't half bad - fishy, but edible. He watched her as she devoured the Murloc with all the enthusiasm of someone with a belly twice her size, her small fingers digging into the charred meat, having finished the eyes.
"Ya somethin' else, girl," He muttered, shaking his head.
"And don't you forget it," She replied, flashing him a toothy grin before going back to her meal, juices running down her jaw.
She sure as hell didn't eat like a nobleborn.
"If dere be more like ya in Lordaeron, dat be one frightenin' land, mon." He said, shaking his head.
She frowned at him, "I'm not from Lordaeron." She said with some very clear distaste to her voice, "Why would you think that?"
"Not Lordaeron, den? Closest place, girl, can ya blame me? So, what ya be, eh? Gilnean?" He asked, eyeing her carefully, she was crazy enough to be one of those. Thankfully this was way before they all became furries.
She gave him a look of such disgust he almost thought her Murloc was going to be coming back up. "Gilnean? You make me sick! I'm not talking about this anymore, I'll die just from being compared to those rubes."
She tore off a strip of meat with her teeth, chewing on it while glaring at him, before pointing at him accusingly, "And why do you never use my name, huh! Savage, Beast, Gilnean lover!"
One of those things wasn't like the other, he thought wryly as he scratched his head, "Ya neva actually told me ya name, ya know dat, mon?"
She blushed, but kept up her glare, if anything it intensified. "I am a lady, it is up to you to ask!" She sniffed, before looking at him expectantly.
He laughed, "I be fine callin' ya girl or brat, mon." He couldn't let her get away with thinking she could dictate too much to him. He was humoring her most of the time - but he wasn't going to start taking orders from his tagalong.
"Jadzia! My name is Jadzia!" She bit out, frustrated, her tiny hands clenched into fists.
"Dat be a good, strong name, suits ya well, it do." He said after a moment's thought.
Her face transformed, all the anger and frustration melting away as she absolutely beamed at him, radiant at the very minor compliment.
"You can call me Lady Jadzia, you may bow now." She said regally, her attitude swiftly changing back to its primary brat setting.
He didn't feel that punting her in the lake was the wrong move.
Once she swam back,
She disagreed.
＊＊＊
Somewhere, sometime.
"Ah, how interestin'! De girl be wantin' ta pray ta de Loa, eh?"
A deep laugh rumbled, echoing through the space, a faint sound of beating drums in the background, a constant thrum of power heady in the air.
"Ha! If de lil' troll ain't showin' proper respect ta de Loa, ta me, maybe dere somethin' ta dis... branchin' out, mon…"
"She be a kindred spirit, I tink. Wonder now, what sorta sacrifices she might be offerin', hmm?"
All that could be seen in the darkness was a wide toothy grin.
"Dere be blood on da horizon, mon!"
＊＊＊
Author's Note:
Hey ho, commissioner loved the first chapter, so here we get another as he didn't want to wait at all on moar.
The girl™ has a name. Although she didn't share her last name, nor her nationality.
Unfortunately for those wanting to guess, her hate of Gilneans really doesn't narrow it down at all.
She did not have a healthy home life, obviously.
Lazar is still somewhat taking all this like a game - he's in a regenerating troll body with the power of the Light - he'd have acted much differently as a regular human.
The time for fun and games though won't last forever…
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus
verycoolname
Not actually cool
The Loas taking a liking to Jadzia is going to be the source of so many shenanigans and I am here for it.
Chapter 3: A Champion is... Invisible?
New
Here's chapter 3: A Champion is… Invisible?
Here we go, the continued adventures of Troll and girl. With an addition coming along.
You wouldn't be able to guess who if you tried a thousand times.
Well, maybe if you're a degenerate from QQ.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
The fire crackled softly against the trees that surrounded their small camp. The cool air of the evening carried the faint scent of pine and the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil, a pleasant backdrop to the warmth of the fire. Lazar sat cross-legged on a fallen log, a chunk of wood in one hand and a knife in the other. His long, deft fingers worked methodically, carving slivers of wood from the block with slow, deliberate movements.
Across from him, Jadzia was hunched over a fresh kill, a small rabbit she had expertly trapped earlier in the day. Her small hands moved with practiced precision, her sharp knife gliding effortlessly along the animal's hide, peeling it back to reveal the meat beneath. She worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and the faint scrape of metal on wood or flesh.
Finally, curiosity got the better of her. She glanced up from her work, her icy blue eyes glinting in the firelight. "You know," She said, her tone casual but tinged with genuine interest, "I didn't think you'd be the type to… Whittle."
Lazar glanced up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Why not, girl? Ya tink I be too savage for dis, yah?" His knife moved steadily, carving an elegant curve into the wood. "Dis troll can't be having hobbies, mon?"
Jadzia shrugged, returning her attention to the rabbit. "I just didn't picture it, that's all. You're always smashing things or stabbing something, or yelling at things. I figured you'd be too... I don't know, active, for something like this."
It was a pastime from his old life, not that he could explain that to the girl, it helped calm him, to do something with his hands, when his kind was running a hundred miles per hour.
"Dis be good for anyone, girl, keep da mind quiet like." Lazar replied, chuckling softly. He turned the piece of wood in his hand, inspecting his progress. It was beginning to take shape - a small bird, its wings held tightly to its body like it was deep in slumber in its nest. "When ya livin' in da jungle, dere be plenty time ta sit an' carve, keep da hands busy, yah? Be peaceful, it do."
She paused mid-cut, raising an eyebrow at him. "Peaceful, huh? I didn't think you even knew what that word meant."
She wasn't jesting either, her face fully serious as she looked up at him.
He laughed, a low, raspy sound that rumbled in his chest. "Peaceful don't hafta mean boring, girl. Sometimes ya need somethin' dat clear da mind. Dis be dat for me."
Jadzia tilted her head, considering his words. Her hands resumed their work, the rabbit's skin peeling away cleanly under her blade. "So, what do you do with them? The things you carve, I mean?"
"Sometimes I keep 'em," Lazar said, shrugging one massive shoulder. "Other times, I leave 'em behind. Maybe someone find 'em an' smile, yah? Dat be enough."
Of course it would be quite different here. Back home, he'd found some amusement just leaving a carving around, Imagining what kind of person would find it. Here? Would leaving something behind he'd poured his soul into - metaphorically - still hold a connection to him others could use? He wasn't sure.
Jadzia's lips quirked upward in a small, thoughtful smile. "Huh. That's… Actually kind of nice. I didn't expect you to be sentimental."
Lazar's grin widened, his tusks gleaming faintly in the firelight as he leaned closer to the fire, and the girl, "Dere be plenty ya don't know 'bout me, girl."
"Oh, I'm sure," Jadzia replied, her tone dry. She set the now-skinless rabbit aside, pulling out a small cloth to clean her blade. "You're like one big mystery wrapped in muscles and tusks."
"An' you be da picture of simplicity, eh?" Lazar shot back, his grin turning teasing, even as he eyed her speculatively.
He knew there must be something odd in her background, he just wasn't sure pushing for it was worth the hassle, emotionally.
Jadzia snorted, tossing the filthy cloth - a remnant of the dead elf's robe - onto the ground beside her. "Oh, absolutely. I'm an open book. Easy to read. Nothing weird or complicated here."
She didn't even try to sound honest, a satirical and slightly bitter smile on her face.
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his hands still busy with the carving. "Dat why ya runnin' 'round da forest wit' a troll, stabbin' Murlocs an' stealin' books, eh? Cuz dis not be complicated, mon?"
She rolled her eyes, leaning back against a nearby rock. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little weird in a very unspecified way. But you're the one who's literally glowing half the time, so I think you win this round."
Lazar chuckled again, shaking his head. "Fair 'nough, girl. Fair 'nough." He held up the carving, examining it in the firelight. The bird was nearly complete, its wings delicate and detailed, as though it could wake from sleep and take flight any moment. Satisfied, he set it aside and reached for another piece of wood.
Jadzia watched him for a moment, a question forming on her lips. "So... What got you into it?" She asked finally, scooting closer. "The carving, I mean. Did someone teach you, or did you just pick it up?"
Lazar's hands paused briefly, his gaze flicking to the fire. "Picked it up, I did, mon." He said after a moment. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "Back in da jungle, sometimes ya need somethin' ta do when da day be done, yah? Nothin' ta fight, nothin' ta hunt. Jus' da quiet."
It was a lie, but not too dissimilar to the real thing. All the mental stuff in his old world, all the social stuff that was now a constant with the hyper connected society - he'd just wanted something to distract his mind and keep his hands busy, so on a whim, he'd started, and it had just…
Become almost a crutch, of sorts.
Jadzia nodded slowly, her expression lit up with interest. "Makes sense, I guess. Better than sitting around doing nothing." She hesitated, then added, "It's nice, though. That you have something like that."
Lazar glanced at her, his violet eyes glinting with curiosity. "What 'bout you, girl? Ya got anythin' like it, mon?"
Jadzia blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her tunic. "I mean… I guess. I used to read a lot. Before... Everything." She got a far away look, "That way I could look like I was studying, and place myself in the story, travel the world…"
"Books, eh?" Lazar said, his tone light. "Dat why ya keep stealin' 'em?"
She scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. "I don't steal them. I... Acquire them. And yes, I like story books. They're interesting. They teach you things even if you don't realize it until much later."
He could emphasize, he'd certainly been heavily into stories, hopefully she wouldn't find herself thrust into a fictional one like he had - not anymore then she already was involved in this storybook universe anyway.
Lazar's grin returned. "So, ya be a bookworm, then?"
He wasn't sure if that phrase existed here, although from the look on her face, she got the gist.
"Maybe," Jadzia admitted eventually, her voice defensive. "But it's not like I had a lot of options. Books were... A way out, I guess. A way to learn about the world without actually being in it any longer."
Lazar tilted his head, studying her. "Dat why ya ran, eh? Ta see da world fer yaself?"
She stiffened, her gaze dropping to the ground. For a moment, she didn't answer, her fingers twisting the fabric of her tunic. Finally, she shrugged. "Something like that," She muttered, her voice barely audible.
Lazar didn't press her, sensing that the topic was a sensitive one. Instead, he picked up his carving again, the soft scrape of his knife filling the silence.
After a few moments, Jadzia spoke again, her tone more lighthearted as she tried to pivot away from herself. "What about you? Got any favorite books, oh wise and mystical barbarian?"
He laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "Books an' me, we still gettin' ta know each other here, yah? But I be likin' da ones ya been teachin' me ta read, mon. Dem stories 'bout knights an' dragons, dey fun." He teased.
He was as much of a bookworm as her, but he couldn't say as much, as he was just now learning to read common, and could hardly claim he had access to many books with the Amani.
Jadzia smirked. "Figures. Big, dumb troll likes big, dumb heroes." She taunted.
"Careful, girl," Lazar said, faux scowling. "Big, dumb troll might decide ya dinner instead, mon."
She snorted, tossing a small rock at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest. "You wouldn't dare. Who else is going to skin the rabbits for you? Dig the space for the waste for camp? Stab you when you're being stupid?"
"Dis be a fair point," Lazar conceded, chuckling.
The two fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them. Lazar continued to carve, his hands moving with practiced ease, while Jadzia began preparing the rabbit for cooking, her movements quick and efficient.
"Can… Can you teach me?" She asked hesitantly after a while, glancing at his carving.
Lazar smiled faintly, "Dis I can do, aye."
It became their new ritual every night. After everything else, they'd pull out their knives, and he would teach her how to carve.
It was… Nice.
In the heart of Eversong Woods, the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the towering trees, dappling the ground with patterns that shifted as the breeze played among the leaves. The forest hummed with life - birds chirped, unseen creatures rustled in the underbrush, and the distant babble of a stream completed the serene tableau. Yet, amidst this tranquility, four figures moved with purpose, their presence at odds with the peaceful surroundings.
Chromie, the ever-enthusiastic Bronze Dragon in her preferred gnomish visage, was at the head of the group, her usual sprightly demeanor shadowed by uncharacteristic frustration. Behind her trailed three others, their mortal guises barely concealing the immense power they carried. Each woman bore the unique marks of her dragonflight:
Tyrygosa of the Blue Dragonflight moved ahead in her elven visage, her striking purple hair flowing like a cascade of water down her back. Her attire, if anything, showed her lack of familiarity with mortals, her 'armor' more akin to lingerie as she gazed across the forest, arcane calculations done on the fly as she double and triple checked they were in the supposed 'right' area.
Chromie had badgered her immensely, and eventually bribed her to get her here, and she still felt she got underpaid with how much of a hassle this was turning out to be.
Merithra of the Green Dragonflight appeared almost at one with the woods, her emerald tresses streaked with gold, entwined with thin vines that seemed to grow naturally among her hair in her night elven form. Her pale eyes reflected the vastness of the Emerald Dream, though at present, they were narrowed in irritation.
The daughter of Ysera, the Aspect of the Dream, had trusted Chromie's word, needing nothing else to offer her assistance.
Yet it seemed Chromie was chasing something more fleeting even then dreams, for she had not been able to grasp anything of what Chromie so desperately sought.
All while refusing to share everything about what, exactly, they sought.
Bringing up the rear was Keristrasza of the Red Dragonflight, in the guise of a human mortal. Her crimson locks fell in loose waves down her back, and her piercing eyes took in everything with a quiet intensity as her lips were pulled into an ever present scowl.
She really regretted wearing robes, this forest wasn't made for this - but Chromie had promised - in and out she'd said. Bah! Dawned Bronze, she should have known better.
The group had been scouring the forest for days, their progress painstakingly slow. Each hour seemed to deepen the tension between them, the weight of their task made heavier by the lack of tangible results. Or a real reason for why they were doing this!
Chromie stopped abruptly, spinning on her heel to face the others. "I'm telling you, it's here," She said, her voice unusually sharp, no doubt feeling how their eyes pierced her back. "The ripples are undeniable. Something in this forest is causing disturbances in the timeways!"
Merithra crossed her arms, leaning against a tree, sighing wearily. "You've been saying that for days, Chromie," She drawled, her tone heavy with skepticism. "And yet, we've found nothing. Perhaps it's time to admit that whatever is causing these ripples isn't something we can find by wandering aimlessly through the woods."
"You don't understand," Chromie snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "The Bronze can feel it. It's there, but we can't see it. It's as though it's deliberately hidden from us!"
Which they could all agree was worrying, hence why they hadn't all already left, but that was all the information Chromie was giving them.
Tyrygosa, crouching beside a patch of flowers that seemed to shimmer faintly with arcane energy, glanced up with a faint look of interest. "If it's truly hidden from the Bronze, it must be some truly remarkable magic. Imagine the skill required to create such a veil. It's… Inspiring, really." Her eyes gleamed with a spark of curiosity. "Perhaps it's worth studying just for that, before they are removed, of course."
Merithra groaned, pushing herself off the tree and brushing leaves from her clothes. "Oh, of course," She muttered. "Let's all marvel at the mystery and ignore the fact that I could have searched for answers in the Dream. Instead, I'm stuck traipsing through this forest. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to keep the elves from noticing us?"
Tyrygosa straightened, fixing Merithra with a pointed look. "You're the one keeping the elves away? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that Chromie and I were the ones maintaining the cloaking spells. You've contributed nothing but words on dreams."
"Perhaps if you stopped gawking at flowers and actually helped -"
"Ladies!" Keristrasza's voice cut through the brewing argument like a blade, her tone firm but weary. "Enough. Our task is already challenging enough without this petty bickering. Focus on the mission." She twisted her neck slightly, muttering under her breath, "No matter how pointless."
She personally believed Chromie had just gotten this whole thing wrong and refused to admit it.
Merithra and Tyrygosa exchanged heated glances but fell silent. Chromie let out a breath, grateful for Keristrasza's intervention, and turned her attention back to the forest.
For a while, the group moved in tense silence, each dragon consumed by her own thoughts. The forest, as always, revealed nothing of the anomaly they sought.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting shadows across the woods, Keristrasza's keen eyes caught movement in the distance. A troll, tall and imposing, moved quietly through the underbrush. His long limbs carried him with ease, his steps careful and deliberate despite his size.
Keristrasza's initial reaction was one of indifference. Trolls were not uncommon in these parts; the forest bordered Amani territory, after all. Her attention shifted back to her companions, who had once again started bickering.
"We've wasted enough time," Merithra said, her voice tight. "If even Nozdormu can't discern what's causing this, what hope do we have?"
"I didn't hear you offering solutions when this task was brought to us, you accepted to be here like we all did." Tyrygosa shot back. "Oh wait, you were probably napping in the Dream when anything important was discussed..."
Keristrasza sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the argument escalated. This is why we generally stick to our own flights…
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something odd, the Troll again, a human girl, small and slight, trailing the troll. She moved with a clumsy stealth, decent for a mortal - her cautious steps giving her away as inexperienced visavi someone of her own skill.
Keristrasza raised an eyebrow. The girl's presence was unusual - humans didn't often venture this far into the woods alone, especially not ones foolish enough to chase after a troll to kill it.
For what other reason could there be for the girl stealthily following the Troll?
For a moment, Keristrasza considered intervening. The girl seemed fragile, her small form almost lost among the towering trees and dense foliage. But as Keristrasza focused, she felt something faint but unmistakable radiating from the girl's direction just as she was almost upon the Troll. It wasn't the powerful aura of a seasoned spellcaster or a paladin, but it was there - a flicker of potential, like the faint glow of a candle in the dark.
"She'll be fine," Keristrasza murmured to herself, dismissing her concern. If the girl possessed even a hint of the Light, she would be more than capable of handling herself. And if she wasn't, well…
Mortals had a knack for making foolish decisions, and it wasn't Keristrasza's place to intervene in every one of them.
A mortal little girl and a Troll certainly wasn't what they were looking for. The magus capable of hiding from Chromie would likely be a highborn of significant age, hiding behind wards somewhere in this forest.
She did not even for a moment entertain the thought the Troll wielded the Light.
As that would have been preposterous.
"Keristrasza, are you even listening?" Merithra's sharp tone broke her thoughts.
The red dragon turned her gaze back to the group, her expression calm. "I am. And I suggest you save your energy for something more productive than arguing." She hadn't been, but she was equally sure nothing important had been said.
Chromie, standing a few paces ahead, turned to face them, her small hands planted firmly on her hips. "She's right," The gnome said. "We have a job to do. Whatever anomaly is causing these ripples in time is here, and we will find it, no matter how long it takes."
Merithra rolled her eyes but said nothing. Tyrygosa smirked faintly, the tension between them easing - if only slightly.
As the group pressed onward, Keristrasza sighed deeply. She made a mental reminder to herself.
Next time Chromie needed something.
She'd tell her she was washing her hair or something.
A few days later,
The forest had settled into a quiet lull, the kind of peace that came when the night had claimed the day but predators had not yet stirred. Lazar leaned against a fallen log, his sharp ears twitching at the occasional rustle in the underbrush. Jadzia, her small form curled near the fire, hummed softly to herself, inspecting her latest attempt at a carving. Lazily cutting grooves in it.
Lazar was halfway through chastising her for her lazy fingers when the sound of faint stomping reached his ears. He stiffened, his keen senses picking up the odd cadence. It wasn't heavy like an orc or deliberate softness like an elf. It was... Irritated, almost petulant, a sharp, repetitive crunch of boots on leaves and reminded him of Jadzia if he was totally honest, it had the same sound. He frowned, gripping the Silver Hand resting beside him.
To his approving gaze, Jadzia had immediately scampered near him at the sight of him reaching for his weapon.
The noise grew closer until the source emerged from the treeline, and Lazar's blood ran cold.
"Loa above..." He breathed, almost swallowing his tongue as a tiny, gnomish figure marched into the clearing, muttering under her breath and looking thoroughly put out. Her golden hair was tied into twin ponytails, and her diminutive form radiated an aura of power that was wholly at odds with her size.
Chromie. The Bronze Dragon in gnome form. One of the stewards of time. A living, walking embodiment of cosmic meddling.
And here he was, inserted in the timestream, bound to mess with stuff…
This wasn't good.
He'd really been trying to not think of the Bronze dragonflight…
Lazar reacted immediately, shoving Jadzia behind him with a hand so firm she let out a squawk of protest. "Stay dere," He hissed, his voice low and urgent. "Don't move, don't breathe too loud. Dat's a dragon, mon."
"What?" Jadzia peeked around his arm, her blue eyes wide and skeptical. "She's tinier than me! That's a dragon?"
Lazar gave her a look that could have curdled milk. "Dat be Chromie, girl. Dis don't just be a dragon - dis be a Bronze. She mess wit' time itself. She blink, an' ya whole life might be erased, ya hear me? Do. Not. Move."
If anything, he'd make sure she erased only him, the girl could be put back in her caravan surely… Time rolled back to normal.
But Chromie didn't acknowledge them at all. She didn't even glance in their direction. Instead, she stomped right through their campfire, her boots disturbing the flames without so much as a flicker of reaction from her that she was walking through it.
"What da fuck…" Lazar muttered under his breath, his mind scrambling for an explanation. Chromie stopped a few feet away, her hands on her hips as she stared up through the canopy of trees, seemingly enjoying the air and some peace and quiet.
"Why isn't she doing anything?" Jadzia whispered, her voice barely audible. "She's standing right there!"
"She can't see us, mon" Lazar said slowly, realization dawning on him. "She... She don't even know we be here, praise the loa."
He, in principle, didn't pray to the loa, but on this occasion, he'd pray to almost anyone if it worked.
Jadzia squinted at him, her expression dubious. "You're saying this terrifying, time dragon can't see us? That's convenient."
Her tone of voice said she clearly doubted his assertion of dragonhood about their tiny guest.
Lazar didn't answer immediately. He was too focused on Chromie, the impossibility of their situation gnawing at his mind. He had no idea how or why they were hidden from her. The Light? The system? Dumb luck? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to risk testing it. Not unless -
"Oi!" Jadzia hissed. "What are you doing?"
Lazar had stepped forward cautiously, the Silver Hand left behind as he closed the distance between him and Chromie. His mind screamed at him to stop, but curiosity won out. Slowly, carefully, he extended a finger and poked the gnome squarely in the shoulder before hopping back as if expecting a lightning bolt.
Chromie twitched, her hand rising to swat at her shoulder like she'd felt a mosquito. "Ugh, bugs," She muttered, her tone annoyed but otherwise unconcerned.
"She can't see us, mon" Lazar whispered, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief. "Dis be crazy, dis dragon not be able ta see us at all."
Jadzia, naturally, took that as permission to act. She slipped out from behind Lazar, moving with a speed and stealth that surprised even him. By the time he lunged to grab her, she was already out of reach, standing directly behind Chromie with an impish grin.
"Girl, no!" Lazar hissed, but Jadzia ignored him entirely.
She worked quickly, her nimble fingers slipping into Chromie's pockets and emerging with various items. Coins, a small hourglass filled with shimmering sand, and a dagger that seemed to flicker in and out of existence, as if it were only partially tethered to reality.
By the time Lazar caught up to her, Jadzia was back in the camp, her spoils spread out on the ground before her.
"Mine," She declared, clutching the shimmering dagger possessively as she glared up at Lazar.
Lazar stared at her, his jaw hanging open. "Girl, ya just robbed a dragon. A time dragon. Are ya mad, mon?"
She could keep the knife either way. He sure as the damned Loa didn't want to get stabbed by it trying to remove it. He glanced worriedly at Chromie, but she still seemed completely oblivious.
"She can't see us!" Jadzia retorted, her tone defensive. "And look at this stuff! It's amazing!" She held up the dagger, turning it in the firelight. "This thing's practically magic!"
"Practically? Dat ting is pure magic," Lazar growled, kneeling beside her. He pointed at the hourglass, having his suspicions. "Dat be mine, girl. You can keep da knife, but ya don't stab nothin' important 'til ya know what it does, yah?" Especially me, he thought.
Jadzia narrowed her eyes, clutching the dagger tighter. "What do you want the hourglass for?"
Lazar shrugged, his tone dry. "Cuz I don't trust ya not ta break reality wit' dat ting. Hourglass safer wit' me."
Jadzia considered this, her glare softening into a begrudging pout. "Fine. But the dagger's mine. And if it does break reality, at least it'll be whatever I need breaking at the time."
Impeccable logic as always, he thought, eying her fondly. And with only a little fear.
"Interesting. Right, mon." Lazar shook his head, muttering something under his breath about insane humans.
Before they could argue further, Chromie stirred, her hands patting at her pockets absentmindedly. "Huh," She murmured, her brow furrowing. "Guess I forgot my knife. Silly me. I was sure I had it with me."
Jadzia froze, clutching the shimmering blade tightly, her eyes wide.
Chromie glanced around the clearing, her gaze passing right over Lazar and Jadzia without so much as a flicker of recognition. "Oh well," She said with a shrug, rooting around in her other pockets for a moment before sighing. "Probably left it in the Caverns of Time. Again."
She turned and wandered back toward the treeline, her muttering fading into the distance as she disappeared into the forest.
For a long moment, neither Lazar nor Jadzia spoke. The fire crackled softly between them, its warm light flickering over their stunned faces.
Finally, Jadzia broke the silence. "So... That went well."
Lazar stared at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Girl, I swear, ya gonna be de death o' me."
She smirked, twirling the dagger in her hand. "I could take you." She agrees smugly. "Also, no way that was a dragon, you're full of it."
Lazar groaned, sinking back against the log and covering his face with his hands. "Loa help me, mon," He muttered. "Dis girl be more trouble dan she worth."
Jadzia grinned, clearly pleased with herself as she inspected her new prize. "Admit it," She said, her tone teasing. "You're impressed at my skill, panache and beauty."
Lazar peeked at her from between his fingers, his tusks twitching in a reluctant smile. "Ain't da word I'd use, girl." He cocked his head, "Ya even know dis word mean? Panache, mon?"
She blushed and looked away, clutching her new knife tightly to her chest.
The next morning they, by mutual consent, decided to head far away from the area.
Lazar also decided to always be far away from anything Jadzia was stabbing.
Her tests on random trees and animals showed two separate random effects. Anything she stabbed, the area either aged rapidly, or went in the other direction.
Lazar now knew what it looked like when a squirrel had one leg turn into infancy, while another part aged to dust. While it was still alive.
Why the fuck, did Chromie have something like that?
He almost wished she had been there to erase him.
Jadzia cackled quietly as a tree began teetering, its base turned into a young, barely blooming tree, while its ancient heavy remainder started falling.
Maybe the knife only has so many charges? He thought hopefully, as he grabbed the girl and jumped away from the falling tree.
A week later,
Lazar and Jadzia trudged through the undergrowth of the forest, having put a lot of distance between them and the area Chromie had been in. The girl trailed behind him, her movements quiet but not entirely silent still, her newfound shimmering dagger twirling idly in her hands. Lazar kept his eyes forward, his sharp ears twitching at the faint rustles of movement ahead. The forest felt... Off. Too quiet.
"Keep close, girl," Lazar said in a low tone, his violet eyes scanning the path ahead. "Somethin' don't be feelin' right, yah?"
Jadzia raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding her dagger into its makeshift sheath. She quickened her pace to walk closer behind him, her small form almost disappearing behind his broad frame as she did her best to use his bulk to hide, her use not as a frontal fighter.
It didn't take long for Lazar's unease to bear fruit. The shadows ahead shifted, revealing four tall figures stepping out from the trees. Their skin, a deep bluish-green, was adorned with tribal markings, and their builds were lean but powerful. Each carried weapons - axes, spears, and clubs - crudely fashioned but no less deadly. Their tusked faces split into sneering grins as they took in the sight of Lazar and Jadzia.
"Amani," Lazar muttered under his breath to Jadzia, gripping the Silver Hand tighter as he hefted the two handed mace before him.
The lead troll, taller and broader than the others, stepped forward, a wickedly barbed spear resting over his shoulder. His piercing yellow eyes locked onto Lazar with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Well, well. Look what da Loa dragged inta our woods, mon." He said, his voice a low growl. "A bruddah far from home... An' wit' a li'l human pet, no less."
Lazar forced a grin, stepping forward to put himself firmly between the Amani and Jadzia. "Aye, bruddah," He said, his tone light but wary. "I be wanderin', yah? Dis land ain't claimed, so no trouble wit' me passin' through."
He really doubted there would be no trouble. He knew the Amani.
Besides, he'd been lagging on points, animals not giving a ton, even though he'd killed a massive amount during their travels, so in a way… He wasn't too sad to be running into them.
He would have preferred to have had the advantage of Jadzia sitting in a tree or something though…
The lead Amani snorted, his sharp teeth glinting as he laughed. "No trouble, eh? Ya trespassin' on our ground, bruddah. Trouble already found ya."
Behind him, one of the other trolls hefted a massive axe, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jadzia. "An' da girl? She dinner or dessert?" He asked mockingly.
Jadzia stiffened behind Lazar, her fingers twitching toward her dagger. Lazar extended a hand to keep her still, his posture remaining deceptively calm.
"She be mine," Lazar said evenly, his grip tightening on the Silver Hand. "An' I ain't lookin' ta share, yah?"
The lead troll tilted his head, his grin widening. "Oh, we don't gotta fight, mon. Share da girl, an' ya can walk away. No harm, no foul." He jabbed the butt of his spear into the ground for emphasis. "We even let ya keep dat shiny mace."
Lazar's grin faded, his expression hardening. "Nah, mon. Ya ain't touchin' her."
This was always going to be a fight. But now? Now he was going to enjoy killing them.
The air grew tense, the space between them heavy with unspoken threat. The Amani exchanged glances, their grins turning sharp and predatory.
"Shame," The leader said, his voice low and dangerous. "Coulda been easy, mon."
With a guttural war cry, the Amani charged.
Lazar moved first, the Silver Hand blazing with golden light as he swung it upward in a wide arc. The leader's spear crashed into the glowing mace with a deafening clang, sparks flying as the force of the blow sent the larger troll stumbling back. Even as Lazar called on the Light and a bright flash caught two of the trolls right in the face, as they stumbled back, giving them a moment's reprieve.
Jadzia darted to the side, her small frame moving with surprising agility as she avoided the swing of an axe aimed at her from the only troll not engaged or blind. The shimmering dagger in her hand flickered like a mirage as she slashed at her attacker, the blade phasing in and out of reality as it left a shallow cut on the troll's forearm.
The troll snarled, swiping at her with his other hand. "Come here, lil' whelp!"
"Not a chance!" Jadzia shot back, ducking under his swing and darting behind Lazar. She peeked out from behind him, her blue eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and determination.
The Troll began screaming, freaking out, as his arm visibly changed around the cut, his forearm suddenly becoming the size of a toddler. Jadzia nailing him with a fireball to the face to keep him distracted further.
Lazar was already in motion, his mace swinging in a deadly arc. The Silver Hand connected with the side of one of the half blind troll's head, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the clearing as the Amani crumpled to the ground his entire skull mulch, nothing to regenerate from.
"Dat all ya got, bruddahs?" Lazar taunted, his tusks glinting as he grinned fiercely. The Light surged through him, a radiant glow surrounding his massive frame as he pressed the attack.
The lead troll roared, lunging at Lazar with his spear. The two clashed, the spear's barbed tip scraping against Lazar's thick hide but failing to pierce deeply as he filled himself with the Light. Lazar retaliated with a brutal upward swing, his mace crashing into the troll's chest and sending him sprawling with a crushed rib cage, but it was already visible healing.
"Jadzia, keep movin'!" Lazar barked, his violet eyes darting to the girl as she scrambled away from the last attacker. The troll chasing her swung a club with bone-rattling force, but she ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow, Lazar stretching a hand out, a smite making the Troll howl as its skin seared off.
The temporal dagger flashed in her hand as she lashed out, aiming for the troll's thigh. The blade seemed to hum, its edges warping as it sliced cleanly through flesh and muscle, leaving a wound that shimmered strangely. The troll howled in pain, stumbling as he clutched his leg. His eyes went wide with fear as most of his thigh crumbled to dust.
In the Trolls' distraction, it couldn't avoid her sinking her knife through his eye and into his brain, whatever effect the knife gave off - the Troll didn't regenerate, and fell over dead.
"Love this knife," Jadzia muttered, her lips curling into a grin. "Mine."
"Focus, girl!" Lazar called out, slamming the Silver Hand into a troll's side - the first Troll she had cut, who was now back in action. The impact sent the Amani flying into a tree, his body hitting the trunk with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground for a moment, before standing back up, visibly healing.
The leader had recovered as well, his spear twirling in his hands as he circled Lazar. "Ya tink ya tough, mon? Ya just a traitor. A bruddah who don't know his place!"
Lazar snorted, his grin sharp and savage. "Dis bruddah know exactly where he belong - an' it ain't wit' ya lot."
With a roar, the leader charged again, his spear thrusting toward Lazar's chest. Lazar sidestepped, deflecting the attack with his mace before swinging downward in a powerful arc. The Silver Hand crashed into the ground where the troll had been, sending up a shockwave of Light that rippled outward, forcing the Amani to stagger back, his skin sizzling.
Jadzia used the distraction to rapid launch fireballs at the other Troll, who kept swearing at her as he failed to get close, his healing not fast enough to tank several fireballs in a row, forcing him to dodge.
"I don't think he likes me," Jadzia quipped, dancing away from the troll's wild attacks whenever he could close distance.
"Dat be da point, girl!" Lazar shot back, slamming his mace into the leader's chest again. The troll's ribs buckled under the impact, and he fell to his knees, coughing blood, Lazar pivoting and swiping the Troll attacking Jadzia in the side of the head, the Light empowering the strike, his skull popping like a balloon.
There was no healing from that.
"Ew." Jadzia wrinkled her nose at the mess, having been in the splash zone.
"Ya want more, bruddah?" Lazar growled, his glowing eyes narrowing. The Light radiated off him in waves, casting an intimidating aura that made the Amani leader hesitate.
He sneered but attempted to back away. "Dis ain't over, traitor." He threatened.
"Bet it is, mon." Lazar replied, his tone cold. He launched himself forward, even as the troll scrambled to get back, the mace shining so clearly with the Light, both their eyes became useless.
With a final crunch, the skull of the Amani leader gave way, the rest of his body following as Lazar roared, slamming the mace down with full power crushing the corpse of the troll into the ground.
The clearing fell silent, save for the crackle of the fires raging where Jadzia had missed a few shots, and the ragged breaths of Jadzia as she stared wildly around her.
Jadzia leaned against a tree, her chest heaving as she clutched the shimmering dagger. "Well… That was fun." She said, still running on adrenaline apparently, but thankfully not injured.
She'd done well. Lazar hadn't stepped in too much, because he hadn't felt she needed it much. He could have used the Light more offensively to deal with the group, but this had turned out better this way.
He was a hair's breadth away from leveling Light too with these deaths. Even if Jadzia stole one.
Still, he couldn't let her believe this was always this easy, so Lazar shot her a withering glare, his tusks twitching as he grumbled at her. "Girl, ya definition o' fun be broke." He paused, "Just like mine, mon."He grinned, unable to truly act mad with her.
She grinned, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. "We kicked ass, didn't we?"
Lazar shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "Dat we did, girl. Dat we did."
The clearing had settled into an eerie silence as Lazar and Jadzia began rummaging through the belongings of the fallen Amani hunters. Jadzia was muttering about how their coins weren't worth much, while Lazar carefully shifted the body of the Amani leader, hoping to find something of interest. The faint smell of blood mingled with the earthy aroma of damp leaves and rotting wood.
And then, without warning, the sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the quiet.
Lazar barely had time to react before something slammed into his head. The impact sent him staggering back, his foot having slipped on a patch of wet, decaying leaves changing where it hit. He went down hard, landing on his back with a grunt as Jadzia spun around, her eyes wide with panic.
"Lazar!" She screamed, rushing toward him.
"'M fine, girl," Lazar growled, reaching up to touch the object protruding from his skull. His fingers brushed against the wooden shaft of an arrow, and he grimaced. It had sunk deep into his thick hide, but the bone of his skull had stopped it short of anything vital.
Lucky. Too lucky.
As Jadzia knelt beside him, frantically checking his wound, Lazar's mind raced. His Light reserves were low from the fight, but not empty, but close enough apparently that his boon of luck had clearly kicked in. He'd picked it over the ability to cheat death outright, and now it seemed that choice had saved his life. An inch to the right, and the arrow would've pierced his eye straight into his brain which could have possibly ended him.
"Dis nothin', girl," Lazar said, his voice steady despite the pain. He yanked the arrow free with a grunt, tossing it aside. "We got company." He said, even as he knocked another arrow out of the sky with the spear laying next to the dead Amani leader that he'd picked up.
Jadzia's eyes darted to the trees, and her hands began to glow with fiery energy. "You call this nothing?" She hissed, her voice shaking. "They tried to kill you! Whoever these twats are!"
"Dey try, but dey fail, yah?" Lazar said, pushing himself to his feet. "Focus, girl. We ain't gonna die here, but best to stay calm, mon."
Before either of them could say more, another arrow whistled through the air, narrowly missing Lazar's shoulder. It thudded into a tree behind him, and Jadzia screamed, her panic boiling over into action.
"Burn, you bastards!" She yelled, hurling a fireball into the dense foliage. The ball of flame exploded against a tree, sending sparks and smoke into the air. Then she fired again, and again, intent on smoking out their adversaries.
From within the shadows, there was a strangled scream, and a voice cursing in Thalassian. Another arrow flew out, this one skimming past Jadzia's head and singeing a lock of her hair. She shrieked, firing another volley of fireballs wildly into the forest.
The barrage flushed their attackers into view. Two highborne elves stepped into the clearing, their once-immaculate robes and armor marred by soot and ash. One of them, a tall elf with sharp features and a longbow in his hands, sneered at Lazar as he notched another arrow. The other, his face partially obscured by horrific burns, glared at Jadzia as water magic swirled around his fingers, running down his face. Her wild volley was obviously somewhat successful.
Another arrow flew for him, and Lazar enveloped himself and Jadzia in a shield of Light.
"Abomination," The bowman spat, his words recognizable now that he was in range of Jadzia's talisman, his eyes narrowing as he took aim at Lazar, but held back, knowing it wouldn't pierce the Light.
Lazar's tusks twitched as he bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Don't worry, mon," He rumbled, his voice dripping with mockery. "I be comin' up wit' a cute pet name for ya too - when I break ya underneath me."
Jadzia glanced at him, her face scrunching in disgust. "Ew. That sounds creepy."
The burned elf snarled, his gaze snapping to Jadzia. "You, human girl. Get away from it."
Jadzia bristled, stepping closer to Lazar. "It? He has a name!" She snapped, raising her hands to hurl another fireball.
The bowman sneered, notching another arrow. "Don't bother, Haliron," He said to his companion, his tone dripping with disdain. "She's already tainted."
Haliron scowled, his hands tightening around the swirling orb of water magic. "Sir, we should report back to Windrunner Spire. A troll wielding the Light… This is unheard of."
"Report back?" The bowman scoffed, his eyes gleaming with malice. "No. We bring back its corpse. For study."
"That be ya last mistake, elf," Lazar growled, stepping forward. His hands glowed with golden light as he called upon his power, the Silver Hand in his grasp igniting with a radiant aura. The warmth of the Light surged through him, driving away his exhaustion and steadying his resolve.
The bowman loosed his arrow, the projectile streaking toward Lazar like a bolt of lightning, magic swirling around it. Lazar swung his mace in a wide arc, the glowing weapon intercepting the arrow mid-flight. The force of the blow shattered the arrow into splinters, the pieces falling harmlessly to the ground even as the force of his swing sent a wave of Light forward.
Haliron let out a guttural yell, unleashing a torrent of water magic at Lazar. The stream hit the Light shield Lazar had summoned around himself and Jadzia, dispersing into harmless droplets as it met the barrier's radiant glow. The elves froze for a moment, their eyes wide with shock.
"What… What are you?" Haliron stammered, his voice shaking. "Even if you wield the Light, it shouldn't be this strong!"
"A pain in ya arse, mon," Lazar shot back, his grin widening. He surged forward, the Silver Hand raised high. The bowman scrambled to retreat, but Lazar closed the distance with terrifying speed. His mace came down in a devastating arc, slamming into the ground as the bowman barely dodged to the side. The impact sent a shockwave of Light rippling outward, knocking both elves off their feet.
Jadzia took the opportunity to hurl another fireball, this one aimed squarely at Haliron. The blast caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling with a scream. He rolled frantically on the ground, dousing the flames with a wave of water magic, but not before they left blistering burns across his torso.
The bowman recovered quickly, his hands moving with practiced precision as he notched another arrow. He aimed for Jadzia, his eyes narrowing. "Tainted girl, this is mercy," He said coldly.
Lazar seized the moment, closing in on the archer with a roar. The Silver Hand swung upward, its radiant glow illuminating the clearing. The bowman tried to block with his bow, but the enchanted weapon shattered under the mace's force. The elf cried out, stumbling back as Lazar pressed the attack.
"Ya wanted dis fight, elf," Lazar snarled, his violet eyes blazing. "Now ya gonna finish it!"
Haliron, meanwhile, had recovered enough to launch another spell. Shards of ice formed in the air around him, spinning like deadly knives before flying toward Lazar. The troll ignored it, his Light shield on and moving with him and Jadzia, intercepting the projectiles. The shards shattered against the barrier, their fragments falling harmlessly to the ground.
He wouldn't be able to do anything fancy with the Light, keeping this shield up, but it was proving useful against the level of magic facing them.
"Jadzia!" Lazar barked, his voice echoing through the clearing. "Keep dat burnin' elf busy!"
"On it!" She called back, standing by his back. Firing fireballs anytime the elf moved, even darting out of the protection of the shield to taunt him.
Haliron countered with a burst of water magic, forcing her back to the shield. "Stay still, you little wretch!" He hissed, his burned face twisted with rage.
Jadzia grinned, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. "Where's the fun in that?"
Meanwhile, Lazar delivered a bone-crushing blow to the bowman's side, sending the elf flying into a tree. The elf crumpled to the ground, coughing blood as he tried to rise. Lazar stood over him, the Silver Hand glowing with an almost blinding light.
"For study, yah?" Lazar said, his voice low and menacing. "Let me show ya da lesson for da day for yah study!"
With one final swing, the Silver Hand connected with the bowman's head, the impact crushing it into mush, the elf's body slumping down.
Haliron saw his comrade fall, screaming, "Lirath! The Windrunners will take your head for this!" His resolve faltered and he turned to flee, but Jadzia was faster. Her dagger flew across the clearing, the strange blade sticking in his back, the area crumbling to dust. The elf stumbled, his escape thwarted as he fell with a scream of agony.
Lazar approached, his towering form casting a long shadow over the wounded elf. "Ya done, mon," He said, his voice cold. "Ain't no runnin' now."
Haliron looked up at him, fear flickering in his eyes. "You… Abomination…" he spat, his voice weak. "Sylvanas will kill you for this!"
Lazar raised the Silver Hand, its radiant glow filling the clearing. "Ya had ya chance, elf."
The mace came down, ending the fight, and his life.
Lazar's thoughts were troubled, as he thought over what he'd heard. The clues all pointing to something impossible.
The Windrunners' younger brother died in the second war. This ranger couldn't be him, right?
Right?
The forest fell silent once more, the tension dissipating like smoke in the wind. Jadzia leaned against a tree, panting as she wiped sweat from her brow. "That was… Unfair, two battles in a row!" She whined.
Lazar grunted, resting the Silver Hand on his shoulder. "Dat what ya get wit' highborne, girl. Always tinkin' dey better, got ta butt in everywhere."
Jadzia sheathed her dagger, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, they're not better when they're face down in the dirt."
Lazar chuckled, shaking his head as he scanned the clearing, making sure no other surprises were lurking in the trees. His gaze lingered on the motionless forms of the two elves, "Dey tink da Light somethin' only fer da holy an' da noble. Ain't ready ta see a troll swingin' it."
Jadzia tilted her head, looking at him thoughtfully. "You really don't think they're ever going to get used to you, huh?"
Lazar gave her a crooked grin, "Not likely, girl. Dey see what dey wanna see - an' I ain't about ta make it easier fer 'em."
He was only a point away from leveling too, tch, damn elves couldn't even do that for him.
He knelt by the bodies, searching through the elves' belongings for anything useful. Jadzia sidled up beside him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she poked at one of the corpses with her boot.
"They had magic," She said, her tone casual but tinged with a question. "Powerful magic. And you still took them down easily." Her tone turning wondrous, "I helped take them down easily…"
Lazar shrugged, pulling a small pouch from the bowman's belt. He opened it, revealing a handful of coins and a strange crystalline shard that pulsed faintly with arcane energy. "Magic don't mean much if ya don't know how ta fight proper like, girl. Dey weren't ready fer me." He gave her a glance, "Fer us, mon."
He'd hoped to find something identifying, but he supposed he really didn't want to know anyway if he just killed Sylvanas Windrunner's darling little brother.
Jadzia crouched beside him, snatching the crystal from his hand and holding it up to the fading light. "What's this?" She asked, squinting at it.
"Don't know," Lazar admitted, his tone wary. "But if it came from them, best ya don't play wit' it too much."
She rolled her eyes, tucking the crystal into her pouch. "You're no fun, it's loot!"
Lazar ignored her, moving to the second elf. Haliron's robes were soaked with blood, the burns on his face still raw and angry. Lazar rifled through the pockets, pulling out a small, intricately carved wooden box. He opened it carefully, revealing a handful of vials filled with shimmering blue liquid.
"Mana potions," Lazar muttered, setting the box aside. "Might come in handy, mom."
Jadzia was already inspecting the bowman's discarded weapons, her fingers tracing the delicate runes etched into the shattered remains of his bow. "You think they were hunting us specifically?" She asked, her voice quieter now.
Lazar paused, considering her words. "Could be," He said finally. "Or could be dey just didn't like seein' a troll an' a human in da same group, be more likely, mon."
Jadzia frowned, her gaze shifting to the surrounding trees. "Well, if there are more of them out there, we're going to need to be ready."
"Always, girl," Lazar said, standing and stretching his shoulders. He winced slightly, his earlier injury still aching despite the Light's soothing presence. He hadn't been able to afford a healing spell with how much he was using the shield.
"Let me see that," Jadzia said, motioning to his head. She stepped closer, her small hands surprisingly gentle as she inspected the spot where the arrow had struck. "You're lucky, you know. Another inch, and you'd be dead."
"Luck's been good ta me so far," Lazar said with a grin. "Be even better if ya don't stab me while ya pokin' 'round."
She rolled her eyes, pulling her hands back. "You're fine. Thick skull and all."
Lazar laughed, shaking his head. "Dat I be, girl. Dat I be."
The two of them stood in the clearing for a moment, the tension from the fight slowly ebbing away. The forest was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.
Jadzia looked up at him, her blue eyes thoughtful. "You know," She said, "for a big, scary troll, you're not so bad, I kind of like this… Us."
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his grin turning sly. "An' for a tiny, stabby human, ya not too bad yaself."
She smirked, crossing her arms. "Don't get used to the compliments."
"Wouldn't dream of it, girl," Lazar said, his tone teasing.
As they gathered the spoils of the fight and prepared to move on, Lazar glanced back at the fallen elves one last time. Their presence was a reminder of the dangers lurking in Eversong Woods, but it was also proof that he and Jadzia could hold their own.
"Come on, girl," Lazar said, slinging the Silver Hand over his shoulder. "We got a long way ta go, an' I ain't lookin' ta fight every elf in da forest."
Jadzia nodded, falling into step beside him. "Fine by me. But next time? Try not to get shot in the head."
A wolf appeared not too far away, no doubt drawn to them by the blood. Lazar immediately drew his bow and aimed, excitement brewing as he saw his last point pause and sniff the air, the arrow flying through, piercing the wolf through the eye.
A searing warmth shot through Lazar's chest, followed by the unmistakable thrum of power. He stood upright, muscles tensed as the sensation grew, his entire being resonating with the Light. He'd felt something similar when he hit the 250 benchmark, but this was more intense, a tidal wave of energy flooding his body as he hit the 500 benchmark in Light.
Jadzia glanced up at him, immediately catching on that something was happening. "Uh, you're glowing again. Are you dying, or…?"
Don't have to sound so damn cheerful, girl…
Lazar didn't respond to her, focusing on the strange sensation and seeing if he could parse some new information from this system that really didn't tell him much. The air around him seemed to shimmer, golden motes of light gathering in front of him. The energy coalesced into a blinding sphere, the brightness forcing him to shield his eyes.
When the light dimmed, he lowered his hand cautiously. Floating in front of him was…
"A fairy?" He muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
The tiny figure hovered effortlessly in the air, radiating a soft, golden glow. She was diminutive, no taller than Lazar's hand, with delicate wings that shimmered like sunlit glass. Her features were strikingly beautiful, with golden hair tied up in an elaborate bun and an impish smile on her glowing face.
Fucking Tinkerbell, Lazar thought, his disbelief mounting. What the hell kind of reward was this?
It hadn't given me an option this time, he thought, the fairy arriving as a fait accompli.
He hated how he literally had no information, and couldn't know if this was the normal, or the previous process of giving him options was normal.
For all he knew, it went three options the first time, two options the second time he 'leveled' and one option the third time.
This thing needed a tutorial.
The fairy darted closer, her giggle a chiming sound that rang through the clearing. She spun in midair, leaving trails of light behind her as she twirled around his head, flashing her tiny panties in her way too short dress.
"What da hells…?" Lazar muttered, expressing his disbelief again, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at Jadzia to see what she thought.
The girl was wide-eyed, staring at the fairy with equal parts fascination and wariness. "Is this… Normal for you?" She asked, her voice heavy with skepticism, even as her eyes sparkled with delight as Tinkerbell did a fly by right by her face, waving at her enthusiastically.
"Dis not be even close ta normal, girl," Lazar replied, frowning as he waved a hand at the interface now hovering in his vision. He scanned the new entry in his system, his expression growing more incredulous by the second.
Tinkerbell Companion
A Tinkerbell steeped in the Light, this sapient companion can act semi-independently, with access to your reserves to fire Light attacks or heal from a distance. Includes the ability to detonate everything within fifty yards in merciful Light as a Light Bomb for healing or destruction. Upon her destruction upon detonation or other means, she will return after 12 hours.
Lazar blinked at the words, rereading them twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "A bomb, mon" He said flatly. "She's a tiny, gigglin', light-powered bomb."
Jadzia's mouth fell open. "Wait, what?"
If anything, her fascination with the fairy grew, as she stared at her almost hungrily.
Lazar gestured toward the fairy, who was now perched on his shoulder, humming a cheerful tune. "Dat's what she is, girl. A bomb dat laughs an' sparkles, mon."
Jadzia squinted at the fairy, her interest mounting. Slowly, she reached out a finger, inviting Tink for a visit. The fairy immediately flying over and setting down, "I can't wait to see you blow up!" She said in fascination.
The fairy giggled again, her laugh a bell-like sound that seemed far too happy for what was essentially an eternal kamikaze pilot. She grabbed Jadzia's finger with both hands, playfully tugging at it like a child demanding more attention.
"This…" Jadzia said slowly, looking between Lazar and the fairy, "Is the weirdest magic I've ever seen. Magic doesn't work like this. It shouldn't work like this." Her grin grew manic, "I fucking love it!"
Tinkerbell giggled and flew up to kiss Jadzia on the nose, both of them breaking out in giggles.
"You tellin' me, girl," Lazar said, scratching his head. "Dis be the kinda thing ya dream up when ya hit da drink too hard, yah?" He eyed the two of them and let out a huff.
It was probably good for the girl to have female friends, right?
Even if it was a suicidal fairy…
What the fuck was this life even?
Jadzia poked the fairy, acting more forcefully this time. The tiny creature pouted, fluttering her wings in indignation before sticking her tongue out at the girl.
"She's… Really alive?" Jadzia asked, her voice tinged with excited disbelief.
Lazar shrugged, still trying to process what he was seeing. "Seems so, mon. Dunno how dis be workin'. Ain't no one's mojo I ever heard of, mon. S'ppose dis could be summoning."
That was the excuse he'd have to use, wasn't it?
"Wait," Jadzia said, holding up a hand. "And she can blow up? Like… Boom? Kill everyone? Without dying?"
"Dat's what I be understandin'," Lazar replied, gesturing vaguely at the fairy. "She take mah Light an' go boom. Clears out everytin' in fifty yards. Dis fairy den be returning back in twelve hours."
The girl's face twisted in a mix of horror and fascination. "That's insane. Who makes something like this?"
"Apparently, mah patrons, girl." Lazar leaned closer to the fairy, who beamed up at him with a face full of mischief. "You able ta speak, mon?"
The fairy cocked her head, her tiny voice chiming like a bell. "Tink! Tink!" She repeated, clapping her hands enthusiastically.
"Great," Lazar muttered, rubbing his temples. "Dat's all I need. A hyperactive, light-powered sidekick wit' no sense or da ability ta speak."
Jadzia leaned forward, peering at the fairy with a mix of curiosity and childish glee. "You know what? She's kind of adorable. I mean, in a really creepy, magical sort of way."
The second part of her statement rushed out, as if to make up for saying something so girly as, adorable.
Tink responded by darting toward Jadzia, zipping around her head in playful loops. The girl flinched, swatting at the air as Tink laughed and wove effortlessly around her hands, shooting tiny harmless sparks of Light at her.
"Hey!" Jadzia snapped, glaring at the fairy. "I'm not a toy! I'll stab you!" She brandished Chromie's knife threateningly.
Tink giggled again, then flew back to Lazar's shoulder, settling there with an innocent expression.
Lazar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dis… dis gonna be a problem."
He'd never be able to even pretend to fly under the radar wherever he went with this pest constantly following him.
"Only gonna be a problem if she doesn't realize her position in the group." Jadzia shot back, still glaring at Tink.
For a moment, the clearing was silent except for Tink's faint humming. Lazar looked up to the sky, exhaling deeply as he tried to make sense of the situation with his system.
"I don't get it," Jadzia said finally, breaking the silence as she brought her attention away from Tink. "Your power… It doesn't make sense. Magic has rules. Structure. Even from gods and entities. This? It's like someone threw all the rules out the window and said, "Let's make it weird.'"
Lazar snorted, his lips curling into a wry grin. "Tell me somethin' I don't know, girl."
Tink fluttered upward, circling Lazar's head before landing lightly on his nose. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she posed for him.
Lazar crossed his eyes to look at her, deadpan. "Ya got a lotta nerve, ya know dat?"
Tink just giggled, patting his nose before taking off again, her wings leaving a faint trail of light in the air.
Jadzia watched her go, shaking her head. "It doesn't make any sense," She muttered, but the grin that snuck on her face told him she didn't mind overly much.
"We move on, girl, dat all we can do, mon." He said, wondering with some trepidation what the next level would hold.
In Lordaeron, Stratholme, burned.
Author's Note:
Commissioner said I want fucking Tinkerbell in the story. So… Made it work, Tinkerbell and the Troll, I can already see where this is going… Considering the Commissioner came to me from QQ…
For the Bronze Dragonflight, yep, they can literally not see him, or anything he's tied to or considers his.
Sucks to suck.
Fuck you dragons. Useless fucks.
Stratholme is happening, so gives Lazar about six months to git gud before things really go to shit.
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus
Here we go, the continued adventures of Troll and girl. With an addition coming along.
You wouldn't be able to guess who if you tried a thousand times.
Well, maybe if you're a degenerate from QQ.
Standard disclaimer - WoW belongs to Blizzard, it is not mine, I am simply worshipping it from afar. Less worship after they did Vol'Jin dirty…
The fire crackled softly against the trees that surrounded their small camp. The cool air of the evening carried the faint scent of pine and the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil, a pleasant backdrop to the warmth of the fire. Lazar sat cross-legged on a fallen log, a chunk of wood in one hand and a knife in the other. His long, deft fingers worked methodically, carving slivers of wood from the block with slow, deliberate movements.
Across from him, Jadzia was hunched over a fresh kill, a small rabbit she had expertly trapped earlier in the day. Her small hands moved with practiced precision, her sharp knife gliding effortlessly along the animal's hide, peeling it back to reveal the meat beneath. She worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and the faint scrape of metal on wood or flesh.
Finally, curiosity got the better of her. She glanced up from her work, her icy blue eyes glinting in the firelight. "You know," She said, her tone casual but tinged with genuine interest, "I didn't think you'd be the type to… Whittle."
Lazar glanced up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Why not, girl? Ya tink I be too savage for dis, yah?" His knife moved steadily, carving an elegant curve into the wood. "Dis troll can't be having hobbies, mon?"
Jadzia shrugged, returning her attention to the rabbit. "I just didn't picture it, that's all. You're always smashing things or stabbing something, or yelling at things. I figured you'd be too... I don't know, active, for something like this."
It was a pastime from his old life, not that he could explain that to the girl, it helped calm him, to do something with his hands, when his kind was running a hundred miles per hour.
"Dis be good for anyone, girl, keep da mind quiet like." Lazar replied, chuckling softly. He turned the piece of wood in his hand, inspecting his progress. It was beginning to take shape - a small bird, its wings held tightly to its body like it was deep in slumber in its nest. "When ya livin' in da jungle, dere be plenty time ta sit an' carve, keep da hands busy, yah? Be peaceful, it do."
She paused mid-cut, raising an eyebrow at him. "Peaceful, huh? I didn't think you even knew what that word meant."
She wasn't jesting either, her face fully serious as she looked up at him.
He laughed, a low, raspy sound that rumbled in his chest. "Peaceful don't hafta mean boring, girl. Sometimes ya need somethin' dat clear da mind. Dis be dat for me."
Jadzia tilted her head, considering his words. Her hands resumed their work, the rabbit's skin peeling away cleanly under her blade. "So, what do you do with them? The things you carve, I mean?"
"Sometimes I keep 'em," Lazar said, shrugging one massive shoulder. "Other times, I leave 'em behind. Maybe someone find 'em an' smile, yah? Dat be enough."
Of course it would be quite different here. Back home, he'd found some amusement just leaving a carving around, Imagining what kind of person would find it. Here? Would leaving something behind he'd poured his soul into - metaphorically - still hold a connection to him others could use? He wasn't sure.
Jadzia's lips quirked upward in a small, thoughtful smile. "Huh. That's… Actually kind of nice. I didn't expect you to be sentimental."
Lazar's grin widened, his tusks gleaming faintly in the firelight as he leaned closer to the fire, and the girl, "Dere be plenty ya don't know 'bout me, girl."
"Oh, I'm sure," Jadzia replied, her tone dry. She set the now-skinless rabbit aside, pulling out a small cloth to clean her blade. "You're like one big mystery wrapped in muscles and tusks."
"An' you be da picture of simplicity, eh?" Lazar shot back, his grin turning teasing, even as he eyed her speculatively.
He knew there must be something odd in her background, he just wasn't sure pushing for it was worth the hassle, emotionally.
Jadzia snorted, tossing the filthy cloth - a remnant of the dead elf's robe - onto the ground beside her. "Oh, absolutely. I'm an open book. Easy to read. Nothing weird or complicated here."
She didn't even try to sound honest, a satirical and slightly bitter smile on her face.
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his hands still busy with the carving. "Dat why ya runnin' 'round da forest wit' a troll, stabbin' Murlocs an' stealin' books, eh? Cuz dis not be complicated, mon?"
She rolled her eyes, leaning back against a nearby rock. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little weird in a very unspecified way. But you're the one who's literally glowing half the time, so I think you win this round."
Lazar chuckled again, shaking his head. "Fair 'nough, girl. Fair 'nough." He held up the carving, examining it in the firelight. The bird was nearly complete, its wings delicate and detailed, as though it could wake from sleep and take flight any moment. Satisfied, he set it aside and reached for another piece of wood.
Jadzia watched him for a moment, a question forming on her lips. "So... What got you into it?" She asked finally, scooting closer. "The carving, I mean. Did someone teach you, or did you just pick it up?"
Lazar's hands paused briefly, his gaze flicking to the fire. "Picked it up, I did, mon." He said after a moment. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "Back in da jungle, sometimes ya need somethin' ta do when da day be done, yah? Nothin' ta fight, nothin' ta hunt. Jus' da quiet."
It was a lie, but not too dissimilar to the real thing. All the mental stuff in his old world, all the social stuff that was now a constant with the hyper connected society - he'd just wanted something to distract his mind and keep his hands busy, so on a whim, he'd started, and it had just…
Become almost a crutch, of sorts.
Jadzia nodded slowly, her expression lit up with interest. "Makes sense, I guess. Better than sitting around doing nothing." She hesitated, then added, "It's nice, though. That you have something like that."
Lazar glanced at her, his violet eyes glinting with curiosity. "What 'bout you, girl? Ya got anythin' like it, mon?"
Jadzia blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her tunic. "I mean… I guess. I used to read a lot. Before... Everything." She got a far away look, "That way I could look like I was studying, and place myself in the story, travel the world…"
"Books, eh?" Lazar said, his tone light. "Dat why ya keep stealin' 'em?"
She scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. "I don't steal them. I... Acquire them. And yes, I like story books. They're interesting. They teach you things even if you don't realize it until much later."
He could emphasize, he'd certainly been heavily into stories, hopefully she wouldn't find herself thrust into a fictional one like he had - not anymore then she already was involved in this storybook universe anyway.
Lazar's grin returned. "So, ya be a bookworm, then?"
He wasn't sure if that phrase existed here, although from the look on her face, she got the gist.
"Maybe," Jadzia admitted eventually, her voice defensive. "But it's not like I had a lot of options. Books were... A way out, I guess. A way to learn about the world without actually being in it any longer."
Lazar tilted his head, studying her. "Dat why ya ran, eh? Ta see da world fer yaself?"
She stiffened, her gaze dropping to the ground. For a moment, she didn't answer, her fingers twisting the fabric of her tunic. Finally, she shrugged. "Something like that," She muttered, her voice barely audible.
Lazar didn't press her, sensing that the topic was a sensitive one. Instead, he picked up his carving again, the soft scrape of his knife filling the silence.
After a few moments, Jadzia spoke again, her tone more lighthearted as she tried to pivot away from herself. "What about you? Got any favorite books, oh wise and mystical barbarian?"
He laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "Books an' me, we still gettin' ta know each other here, yah? But I be likin' da ones ya been teachin' me ta read, mon. Dem stories 'bout knights an' dragons, dey fun." He teased.
He was as much of a bookworm as her, but he couldn't say as much, as he was just now learning to read common, and could hardly claim he had access to many books with the Amani.
Jadzia smirked. "Figures. Big, dumb troll likes big, dumb heroes." She taunted.
"Careful, girl," Lazar said, faux scowling. "Big, dumb troll might decide ya dinner instead, mon."
She snorted, tossing a small rock at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest. "You wouldn't dare. Who else is going to skin the rabbits for you? Dig the space for the waste for camp? Stab you when you're being stupid?"
"Dis be a fair point," Lazar conceded, chuckling.
The two fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them. Lazar continued to carve, his hands moving with practiced ease, while Jadzia began preparing the rabbit for cooking, her movements quick and efficient.
"Can… Can you teach me?" She asked hesitantly after a while, glancing at his carving.
Lazar smiled faintly, "Dis I can do, aye."
It became their new ritual every night. After everything else, they'd pull out their knives, and he would teach her how to carve.
It was… Nice.
In the heart of Eversong Woods, the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the towering trees, dappling the ground with patterns that shifted as the breeze played among the leaves. The forest hummed with life - birds chirped, unseen creatures rustled in the underbrush, and the distant babble of a stream completed the serene tableau. Yet, amidst this tranquility, four figures moved with purpose, their presence at odds with the peaceful surroundings.
Chromie, the ever-enthusiastic Bronze Dragon in her preferred gnomish visage, was at the head of the group, her usual sprightly demeanor shadowed by uncharacteristic frustration. Behind her trailed three others, their mortal guises barely concealing the immense power they carried. Each woman bore the unique marks of her dragonflight:
Tyrygosa of the Blue Dragonflight moved ahead in her elven visage, her striking purple hair flowing like a cascade of water down her back. Her attire, if anything, showed her lack of familiarity with mortals, her 'armor' more akin to lingerie as she gazed across the forest, arcane calculations done on the fly as she double and triple checked they were in the supposed 'right' area.
Chromie had badgered her immensely, and eventually bribed her to get her here, and she still felt she got underpaid with how much of a hassle this was turning out to be.
Merithra of the Green Dragonflight appeared almost at one with the woods, her emerald tresses streaked with gold, entwined with thin vines that seemed to grow naturally among her hair in her night elven form. Her pale eyes reflected the vastness of the Emerald Dream, though at present, they were narrowed in irritation.
The daughter of Ysera, the Aspect of the Dream, had trusted Chromie's word, needing nothing else to offer her assistance.
Yet it seemed Chromie was chasing something more fleeting even then dreams, for she had not been able to grasp anything of what Chromie so desperately sought.
All while refusing to share everything about what, exactly, they sought.
Bringing up the rear was Keristrasza of the Red Dragonflight, in the guise of a human mortal. Her crimson locks fell in loose waves down her back, and her piercing eyes took in everything with a quiet intensity as her lips were pulled into an ever present scowl.
She really regretted wearing robes, this forest wasn't made for this - but Chromie had promised - in and out she'd said. Bah! Dawned Bronze, she should have known better.
The group had been scouring the forest for days, their progress painstakingly slow. Each hour seemed to deepen the tension between them, the weight of their task made heavier by the lack of tangible results. Or a real reason for why they were doing this!
Chromie stopped abruptly, spinning on her heel to face the others. "I'm telling you, it's here," She said, her voice unusually sharp, no doubt feeling how their eyes pierced her back. "The ripples are undeniable. Something in this forest is causing disturbances in the timeways!"
Merithra crossed her arms, leaning against a tree, sighing wearily. "You've been saying that for days, Chromie," She drawled, her tone heavy with skepticism. "And yet, we've found nothing. Perhaps it's time to admit that whatever is causing these ripples isn't something we can find by wandering aimlessly through the woods."
"You don't understand," Chromie snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "The Bronze can feel it. It's there, but we can't see it. It's as though it's deliberately hidden from us!"
Which they could all agree was worrying, hence why they hadn't all already left, but that was all the information Chromie was giving them.
Tyrygosa, crouching beside a patch of flowers that seemed to shimmer faintly with arcane energy, glanced up with a faint look of interest. "If it's truly hidden from the Bronze, it must be some truly remarkable magic. Imagine the skill required to create such a veil. It's… Inspiring, really." Her eyes gleamed with a spark of curiosity. "Perhaps it's worth studying just for that, before they are removed, of course."
Merithra groaned, pushing herself off the tree and brushing leaves from her clothes. "Oh, of course," She muttered. "Let's all marvel at the mystery and ignore the fact that I could have searched for answers in the Dream. Instead, I'm stuck traipsing through this forest. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to keep the elves from noticing us?"
Tyrygosa straightened, fixing Merithra with a pointed look. "You're the one keeping the elves away? Forgive me, but I was under the impression that Chromie and I were the ones maintaining the cloaking spells. You've contributed nothing but words on dreams."
"Perhaps if you stopped gawking at flowers and actually helped -"
"Ladies!" Keristrasza's voice cut through the brewing argument like a blade, her tone firm but weary. "Enough. Our task is already challenging enough without this petty bickering. Focus on the mission." She twisted her neck slightly, muttering under her breath, "No matter how pointless."
She personally believed Chromie had just gotten this whole thing wrong and refused to admit it.
Merithra and Tyrygosa exchanged heated glances but fell silent. Chromie let out a breath, grateful for Keristrasza's intervention, and turned her attention back to the forest.
For a while, the group moved in tense silence, each dragon consumed by her own thoughts. The forest, as always, revealed nothing of the anomaly they sought.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting shadows across the woods, Keristrasza's keen eyes caught movement in the distance. A troll, tall and imposing, moved quietly through the underbrush. His long limbs carried him with ease, his steps careful and deliberate despite his size.
Keristrasza's initial reaction was one of indifference. Trolls were not uncommon in these parts; the forest bordered Amani territory, after all. Her attention shifted back to her companions, who had once again started bickering.
"We've wasted enough time," Merithra said, her voice tight. "If even Nozdormu can't discern what's causing this, what hope do we have?"
"I didn't hear you offering solutions when this task was brought to us, you accepted to be here like we all did." Tyrygosa shot back. "Oh wait, you were probably napping in the Dream when anything important was discussed..."
Keristrasza sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as the argument escalated. This is why we generally stick to our own flights…
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something odd, the Troll again, a human girl, small and slight, trailing the troll. She moved with a clumsy stealth, decent for a mortal - her cautious steps giving her away as inexperienced visavi someone of her own skill.
Keristrasza raised an eyebrow. The girl's presence was unusual - humans didn't often venture this far into the woods alone, especially not ones foolish enough to chase after a troll to kill it.
For what other reason could there be for the girl stealthily following the Troll?
For a moment, Keristrasza considered intervening. The girl seemed fragile, her small form almost lost among the towering trees and dense foliage. But as Keristrasza focused, she felt something faint but unmistakable radiating from the girl's direction just as she was almost upon the Troll. It wasn't the powerful aura of a seasoned spellcaster or a paladin, but it was there - a flicker of potential, like the faint glow of a candle in the dark.
"She'll be fine," Keristrasza murmured to herself, dismissing her concern. If the girl possessed even a hint of the Light, she would be more than capable of handling herself. And if she wasn't, well…
Mortals had a knack for making foolish decisions, and it wasn't Keristrasza's place to intervene in every one of them.
A mortal little girl and a Troll certainly wasn't what they were looking for. The magus capable of hiding from Chromie would likely be a highborn of significant age, hiding behind wards somewhere in this forest.
She did not even for a moment entertain the thought the Troll wielded the Light.
As that would have been preposterous.
"Keristrasza, are you even listening?" Merithra's sharp tone broke her thoughts.
The red dragon turned her gaze back to the group, her expression calm. "I am. And I suggest you save your energy for something more productive than arguing." She hadn't been, but she was equally sure nothing important had been said.
Chromie, standing a few paces ahead, turned to face them, her small hands planted firmly on her hips. "She's right," The gnome said. "We have a job to do. Whatever anomaly is causing these ripples in time is here, and we will find it, no matter how long it takes."
Merithra rolled her eyes but said nothing. Tyrygosa smirked faintly, the tension between them easing - if only slightly.
As the group pressed onward, Keristrasza sighed deeply. She made a mental reminder to herself.
Next time Chromie needed something.
She'd tell her she was washing her hair or something.
A few days later,
The forest had settled into a quiet lull, the kind of peace that came when the night had claimed the day but predators had not yet stirred. Lazar leaned against a fallen log, his sharp ears twitching at the occasional rustle in the underbrush. Jadzia, her small form curled near the fire, hummed softly to herself, inspecting her latest attempt at a carving. Lazily cutting grooves in it.
Lazar was halfway through chastising her for her lazy fingers when the sound of faint stomping reached his ears. He stiffened, his keen senses picking up the odd cadence. It wasn't heavy like an orc or deliberate softness like an elf. It was... Irritated, almost petulant, a sharp, repetitive crunch of boots on leaves and reminded him of Jadzia if he was totally honest, it had the same sound. He frowned, gripping the Silver Hand resting beside him.
To his approving gaze, Jadzia had immediately scampered near him at the sight of him reaching for his weapon.
The noise grew closer until the source emerged from the treeline, and Lazar's blood ran cold.
"Loa above..." He breathed, almost swallowing his tongue as a tiny, gnomish figure marched into the clearing, muttering under her breath and looking thoroughly put out. Her golden hair was tied into twin ponytails, and her diminutive form radiated an aura of power that was wholly at odds with her size.
Chromie. The Bronze Dragon in gnome form. One of the stewards of time. A living, walking embodiment of cosmic meddling.
And here he was, inserted in the timestream, bound to mess with stuff…
This wasn't good.
He'd really been trying to not think of the Bronze dragonflight…
Lazar reacted immediately, shoving Jadzia behind him with a hand so firm she let out a squawk of protest. "Stay dere," He hissed, his voice low and urgent. "Don't move, don't breathe too loud. Dat's a dragon, mon."
"What?" Jadzia peeked around his arm, her blue eyes wide and skeptical. "She's tinier than me! That's a dragon?"
Lazar gave her a look that could have curdled milk. "Dat be Chromie, girl. Dis don't just be a dragon - dis be a Bronze. She mess wit' time itself. She blink, an' ya whole life might be erased, ya hear me? Do. Not. Move."
If anything, he'd make sure she erased only him, the girl could be put back in her caravan surely… Time rolled back to normal.
But Chromie didn't acknowledge them at all. She didn't even glance in their direction. Instead, she stomped right through their campfire, her boots disturbing the flames without so much as a flicker of reaction from her that she was walking through it.
"What da fuck…" Lazar muttered under his breath, his mind scrambling for an explanation. Chromie stopped a few feet away, her hands on her hips as she stared up through the canopy of trees, seemingly enjoying the air and some peace and quiet.
"Why isn't she doing anything?" Jadzia whispered, her voice barely audible. "She's standing right there!"
"She can't see us, mon" Lazar said slowly, realization dawning on him. "She... She don't even know we be here, praise the loa."
He, in principle, didn't pray to the loa, but on this occasion, he'd pray to almost anyone if it worked.
Jadzia squinted at him, her expression dubious. "You're saying this terrifying, time dragon can't see us? That's convenient."
Her tone of voice said she clearly doubted his assertion of dragonhood about their tiny guest.
Lazar didn't answer immediately. He was too focused on Chromie, the impossibility of their situation gnawing at his mind. He had no idea how or why they were hidden from her. The Light? The system? Dumb luck? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to risk testing it. Not unless -
"Oi!" Jadzia hissed. "What are you doing?"
Lazar had stepped forward cautiously, the Silver Hand left behind as he closed the distance between him and Chromie. His mind screamed at him to stop, but curiosity won out. Slowly, carefully, he extended a finger and poked the gnome squarely in the shoulder before hopping back as if expecting a lightning bolt.
Chromie twitched, her hand rising to swat at her shoulder like she'd felt a mosquito. "Ugh, bugs," She muttered, her tone annoyed but otherwise unconcerned.
"She can't see us, mon" Lazar whispered, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief. "Dis be crazy, dis dragon not be able ta see us at all."
Jadzia, naturally, took that as permission to act. She slipped out from behind Lazar, moving with a speed and stealth that surprised even him. By the time he lunged to grab her, she was already out of reach, standing directly behind Chromie with an impish grin.
"Girl, no!" Lazar hissed, but Jadzia ignored him entirely.
She worked quickly, her nimble fingers slipping into Chromie's pockets and emerging with various items. Coins, a small hourglass filled with shimmering sand, and a dagger that seemed to flicker in and out of existence, as if it were only partially tethered to reality.
By the time Lazar caught up to her, Jadzia was back in the camp, her spoils spread out on the ground before her.
"Mine," She declared, clutching the shimmering dagger possessively as she glared up at Lazar.
Lazar stared at her, his jaw hanging open. "Girl, ya just robbed a dragon. A time dragon. Are ya mad, mon?"
She could keep the knife either way. He sure as the damned Loa didn't want to get stabbed by it trying to remove it. He glanced worriedly at Chromie, but she still seemed completely oblivious.
"She can't see us!" Jadzia retorted, her tone defensive. "And look at this stuff! It's amazing!" She held up the dagger, turning it in the firelight. "This thing's practically magic!"
"Practically? Dat ting is pure magic," Lazar growled, kneeling beside her. He pointed at the hourglass, having his suspicions. "Dat be mine, girl. You can keep da knife, but ya don't stab nothin' important 'til ya know what it does, yah?" Especially me, he thought.
Jadzia narrowed her eyes, clutching the dagger tighter. "What do you want the hourglass for?"
Lazar shrugged, his tone dry. "Cuz I don't trust ya not ta break reality wit' dat ting. Hourglass safer wit' me."
Jadzia considered this, her glare softening into a begrudging pout. "Fine. But the dagger's mine. And if it does break reality, at least it'll be whatever I need breaking at the time."
Impeccable logic as always, he thought, eying her fondly. And with only a little fear.
"Interesting. Right, mon." Lazar shook his head, muttering something under his breath about insane humans.
Before they could argue further, Chromie stirred, her hands patting at her pockets absentmindedly. "Huh," She murmured, her brow furrowing. "Guess I forgot my knife. Silly me. I was sure I had it with me."
Jadzia froze, clutching the shimmering blade tightly, her eyes wide.
Chromie glanced around the clearing, her gaze passing right over Lazar and Jadzia without so much as a flicker of recognition. "Oh well," She said with a shrug, rooting around in her other pockets for a moment before sighing. "Probably left it in the Caverns of Time. Again."
She turned and wandered back toward the treeline, her muttering fading into the distance as she disappeared into the forest.
For a long moment, neither Lazar nor Jadzia spoke. The fire crackled softly between them, its warm light flickering over their stunned faces.
Finally, Jadzia broke the silence. "So... That went well."
Lazar stared at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Girl, I swear, ya gonna be de death o' me."
She smirked, twirling the dagger in her hand. "I could take you." She agrees smugly. "Also, no way that was a dragon, you're full of it."
Lazar groaned, sinking back against the log and covering his face with his hands. "Loa help me, mon," He muttered. "Dis girl be more trouble dan she worth."
Jadzia grinned, clearly pleased with herself as she inspected her new prize. "Admit it," She said, her tone teasing. "You're impressed at my skill, panache and beauty."
Lazar peeked at her from between his fingers, his tusks twitching in a reluctant smile. "Ain't da word I'd use, girl." He cocked his head, "Ya even know dis word mean? Panache, mon?"
She blushed and looked away, clutching her new knife tightly to her chest.
The next morning they, by mutual consent, decided to head far away from the area.
Lazar also decided to always be far away from anything Jadzia was stabbing.
Her tests on random trees and animals showed two separate random effects. Anything she stabbed, the area either aged rapidly, or went in the other direction.
Lazar now knew what it looked like when a squirrel had one leg turn into infancy, while another part aged to dust. While it was still alive.
Why the fuck, did Chromie have something like that?
He almost wished she had been there to erase him.
Jadzia cackled quietly as a tree began teetering, its base turned into a young, barely blooming tree, while its ancient heavy remainder started falling.
Maybe the knife only has so many charges? He thought hopefully, as he grabbed the girl and jumped away from the falling tree.
A week later,
Lazar and Jadzia trudged through the undergrowth of the forest, having put a lot of distance between them and the area Chromie had been in. The girl trailed behind him, her movements quiet but not entirely silent still, her newfound shimmering dagger twirling idly in her hands. Lazar kept his eyes forward, his sharp ears twitching at the faint rustles of movement ahead. The forest felt... Off. Too quiet.
"Keep close, girl," Lazar said in a low tone, his violet eyes scanning the path ahead. "Somethin' don't be feelin' right, yah?"
Jadzia raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding her dagger into its makeshift sheath. She quickened her pace to walk closer behind him, her small form almost disappearing behind his broad frame as she did her best to use his bulk to hide, her use not as a frontal fighter.
It didn't take long for Lazar's unease to bear fruit. The shadows ahead shifted, revealing four tall figures stepping out from the trees. Their skin, a deep bluish-green, was adorned with tribal markings, and their builds were lean but powerful. Each carried weapons - axes, spears, and clubs - crudely fashioned but no less deadly. Their tusked faces split into sneering grins as they took in the sight of Lazar and Jadzia.
"Amani," Lazar muttered under his breath to Jadzia, gripping the Silver Hand tighter as he hefted the two handed mace before him.
The lead troll, taller and broader than the others, stepped forward, a wickedly barbed spear resting over his shoulder. His piercing yellow eyes locked onto Lazar with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Well, well. Look what da Loa dragged inta our woods, mon." He said, his voice a low growl. "A bruddah far from home... An' wit' a li'l human pet, no less."
Lazar forced a grin, stepping forward to put himself firmly between the Amani and Jadzia. "Aye, bruddah," He said, his tone light but wary. "I be wanderin', yah? Dis land ain't claimed, so no trouble wit' me passin' through."
He really doubted there would be no trouble. He knew the Amani.
Besides, he'd been lagging on points, animals not giving a ton, even though he'd killed a massive amount during their travels, so in a way… He wasn't too sad to be running into them.
He would have preferred to have had the advantage of Jadzia sitting in a tree or something though…
The lead Amani snorted, his sharp teeth glinting as he laughed. "No trouble, eh? Ya trespassin' on our ground, bruddah. Trouble already found ya."
Behind him, one of the other trolls hefted a massive axe, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jadzia. "An' da girl? She dinner or dessert?" He asked mockingly.
Jadzia stiffened behind Lazar, her fingers twitching toward her dagger. Lazar extended a hand to keep her still, his posture remaining deceptively calm.
"She be mine," Lazar said evenly, his grip tightening on the Silver Hand. "An' I ain't lookin' ta share, yah?"
The lead troll tilted his head, his grin widening. "Oh, we don't gotta fight, mon. Share da girl, an' ya can walk away. No harm, no foul." He jabbed the butt of his spear into the ground for emphasis. "We even let ya keep dat shiny mace."
Lazar's grin faded, his expression hardening. "Nah, mon. Ya ain't touchin' her."
This was always going to be a fight. But now? Now he was going to enjoy killing them.
The air grew tense, the space between them heavy with unspoken threat. The Amani exchanged glances, their grins turning sharp and predatory.
"Shame," The leader said, his voice low and dangerous. "Coulda been easy, mon."
With a guttural war cry, the Amani charged.
Lazar moved first, the Silver Hand blazing with golden light as he swung it upward in a wide arc. The leader's spear crashed into the glowing mace with a deafening clang, sparks flying as the force of the blow sent the larger troll stumbling back. Even as Lazar called on the Light and a bright flash caught two of the trolls right in the face, as they stumbled back, giving them a moment's reprieve.
Jadzia darted to the side, her small frame moving with surprising agility as she avoided the swing of an axe aimed at her from the only troll not engaged or blind. The shimmering dagger in her hand flickered like a mirage as she slashed at her attacker, the blade phasing in and out of reality as it left a shallow cut on the troll's forearm.
The troll snarled, swiping at her with his other hand. "Come here, lil' whelp!"
"Not a chance!" Jadzia shot back, ducking under his swing and darting behind Lazar. She peeked out from behind him, her blue eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and determination.
The Troll began screaming, freaking out, as his arm visibly changed around the cut, his forearm suddenly becoming the size of a toddler. Jadzia nailing him with a fireball to the face to keep him distracted further.
Lazar was already in motion, his mace swinging in a deadly arc. The Silver Hand connected with the side of one of the half blind troll's head, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the clearing as the Amani crumpled to the ground his entire skull mulch, nothing to regenerate from.
"Dat all ya got, bruddahs?" Lazar taunted, his tusks glinting as he grinned fiercely. The Light surged through him, a radiant glow surrounding his massive frame as he pressed the attack.
The lead troll roared, lunging at Lazar with his spear. The two clashed, the spear's barbed tip scraping against Lazar's thick hide but failing to pierce deeply as he filled himself with the Light. Lazar retaliated with a brutal upward swing, his mace crashing into the troll's chest and sending him sprawling with a crushed rib cage, but it was already visible healing.
"Jadzia, keep movin'!" Lazar barked, his violet eyes darting to the girl as she scrambled away from the last attacker. The troll chasing her swung a club with bone-rattling force, but she ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow, Lazar stretching a hand out, a smite making the Troll howl as its skin seared off.
The temporal dagger flashed in her hand as she lashed out, aiming for the troll's thigh. The blade seemed to hum, its edges warping as it sliced cleanly through flesh and muscle, leaving a wound that shimmered strangely. The troll howled in pain, stumbling as he clutched his leg. His eyes went wide with fear as most of his thigh crumbled to dust.
In the Trolls' distraction, it couldn't avoid her sinking her knife through his eye and into his brain, whatever effect the knife gave off - the Troll didn't regenerate, and fell over dead.
"Love this knife," Jadzia muttered, her lips curling into a grin. "Mine."
"Focus, girl!" Lazar called out, slamming the Silver Hand into a troll's side - the first Troll she had cut, who was now back in action. The impact sent the Amani flying into a tree, his body hitting the trunk with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground for a moment, before standing back up, visibly healing.
The leader had recovered as well, his spear twirling in his hands as he circled Lazar. "Ya tink ya tough, mon? Ya just a traitor. A bruddah who don't know his place!"
Lazar snorted, his grin sharp and savage. "Dis bruddah know exactly where he belong - an' it ain't wit' ya lot."
With a roar, the leader charged again, his spear thrusting toward Lazar's chest. Lazar sidestepped, deflecting the attack with his mace before swinging downward in a powerful arc. The Silver Hand crashed into the ground where the troll had been, sending up a shockwave of Light that rippled outward, forcing the Amani to stagger back, his skin sizzling.
Jadzia used the distraction to rapid launch fireballs at the other Troll, who kept swearing at her as he failed to get close, his healing not fast enough to tank several fireballs in a row, forcing him to dodge.
"I don't think he likes me," Jadzia quipped, dancing away from the troll's wild attacks whenever he could close distance.
"Dat be da point, girl!" Lazar shot back, slamming his mace into the leader's chest again. The troll's ribs buckled under the impact, and he fell to his knees, coughing blood, Lazar pivoting and swiping the Troll attacking Jadzia in the side of the head, the Light empowering the strike, his skull popping like a balloon.
There was no healing from that.
"Ew." Jadzia wrinkled her nose at the mess, having been in the splash zone.
"Ya want more, bruddah?" Lazar growled, his glowing eyes narrowing. The Light radiated off him in waves, casting an intimidating aura that made the Amani leader hesitate.
He sneered but attempted to back away. "Dis ain't over, traitor." He threatened.
"Bet it is, mon." Lazar replied, his tone cold. He launched himself forward, even as the troll scrambled to get back, the mace shining so clearly with the Light, both their eyes became useless.
With a final crunch, the skull of the Amani leader gave way, the rest of his body following as Lazar roared, slamming the mace down with full power crushing the corpse of the troll into the ground.
The clearing fell silent, save for the crackle of the fires raging where Jadzia had missed a few shots, and the ragged breaths of Jadzia as she stared wildly around her.
Jadzia leaned against a tree, her chest heaving as she clutched the shimmering dagger. "Well… That was fun." She said, still running on adrenaline apparently, but thankfully not injured.
She'd done well. Lazar hadn't stepped in too much, because he hadn't felt she needed it much. He could have used the Light more offensively to deal with the group, but this had turned out better this way.
He was a hair's breadth away from leveling Light too with these deaths. Even if Jadzia stole one.
Still, he couldn't let her believe this was always this easy, so Lazar shot her a withering glare, his tusks twitching as he grumbled at her. "Girl, ya definition o' fun be broke." He paused, "Just like mine, mon."He grinned, unable to truly act mad with her.
She grinned, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. "We kicked ass, didn't we?"
Lazar shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "Dat we did, girl. Dat we did."
The clearing had settled into an eerie silence as Lazar and Jadzia began rummaging through the belongings of the fallen Amani hunters. Jadzia was muttering about how their coins weren't worth much, while Lazar carefully shifted the body of the Amani leader, hoping to find something of interest. The faint smell of blood mingled with the earthy aroma of damp leaves and rotting wood.
And then, without warning, the sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the quiet.
Lazar barely had time to react before something slammed into his head. The impact sent him staggering back, his foot having slipped on a patch of wet, decaying leaves changing where it hit. He went down hard, landing on his back with a grunt as Jadzia spun around, her eyes wide with panic.
"Lazar!" She screamed, rushing toward him.
"'M fine, girl," Lazar growled, reaching up to touch the object protruding from his skull. His fingers brushed against the wooden shaft of an arrow, and he grimaced. It had sunk deep into his thick hide, but the bone of his skull had stopped it short of anything vital.
Lucky. Too lucky.
As Jadzia knelt beside him, frantically checking his wound, Lazar's mind raced. His Light reserves were low from the fight, but not empty, but close enough apparently that his boon of luck had clearly kicked in. He'd picked it over the ability to cheat death outright, and now it seemed that choice had saved his life. An inch to the right, and the arrow would've pierced his eye straight into his brain which could have possibly ended him.
"Dis nothin', girl," Lazar said, his voice steady despite the pain. He yanked the arrow free with a grunt, tossing it aside. "We got company." He said, even as he knocked another arrow out of the sky with the spear laying next to the dead Amani leader that he'd picked up.
Jadzia's eyes darted to the trees, and her hands began to glow with fiery energy. "You call this nothing?" She hissed, her voice shaking. "They tried to kill you! Whoever these twats are!"
"Dey try, but dey fail, yah?" Lazar said, pushing himself to his feet. "Focus, girl. We ain't gonna die here, but best to stay calm, mon."
Before either of them could say more, another arrow whistled through the air, narrowly missing Lazar's shoulder. It thudded into a tree behind him, and Jadzia screamed, her panic boiling over into action.
"Burn, you bastards!" She yelled, hurling a fireball into the dense foliage. The ball of flame exploded against a tree, sending sparks and smoke into the air. Then she fired again, and again, intent on smoking out their adversaries.
From within the shadows, there was a strangled scream, and a voice cursing in Thalassian. Another arrow flew out, this one skimming past Jadzia's head and singeing a lock of her hair. She shrieked, firing another volley of fireballs wildly into the forest.
The barrage flushed their attackers into view. Two highborne elves stepped into the clearing, their once-immaculate robes and armor marred by soot and ash. One of them, a tall elf with sharp features and a longbow in his hands, sneered at Lazar as he notched another arrow. The other, his face partially obscured by horrific burns, glared at Jadzia as water magic swirled around his fingers, running down his face. Her wild volley was obviously somewhat successful.
Another arrow flew for him, and Lazar enveloped himself and Jadzia in a shield of Light.
"Abomination," The bowman spat, his words recognizable now that he was in range of Jadzia's talisman, his eyes narrowing as he took aim at Lazar, but held back, knowing it wouldn't pierce the Light.
Lazar's tusks twitched as he bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Don't worry, mon," He rumbled, his voice dripping with mockery. "I be comin' up wit' a cute pet name for ya too - when I break ya underneath me."
Jadzia glanced at him, her face scrunching in disgust. "Ew. That sounds creepy."
The burned elf snarled, his gaze snapping to Jadzia. "You, human girl. Get away from it."
Jadzia bristled, stepping closer to Lazar. "It? He has a name!" She snapped, raising her hands to hurl another fireball.
The bowman sneered, notching another arrow. "Don't bother, Haliron," He said to his companion, his tone dripping with disdain. "She's already tainted."
Haliron scowled, his hands tightening around the swirling orb of water magic. "Sir, we should report back to Windrunner Spire. A troll wielding the Light… This is unheard of."
"Report back?" The bowman scoffed, his eyes gleaming with malice. "No. We bring back its corpse. For study."
"That be ya last mistake, elf," Lazar growled, stepping forward. His hands glowed with golden light as he called upon his power, the Silver Hand in his grasp igniting with a radiant aura. The warmth of the Light surged through him, driving away his exhaustion and steadying his resolve.
The bowman loosed his arrow, the projectile streaking toward Lazar like a bolt of lightning, magic swirling around it. Lazar swung his mace in a wide arc, the glowing weapon intercepting the arrow mid-flight. The force of the blow shattered the arrow into splinters, the pieces falling harmlessly to the ground even as the force of his swing sent a wave of Light forward.
Haliron let out a guttural yell, unleashing a torrent of water magic at Lazar. The stream hit the Light shield Lazar had summoned around himself and Jadzia, dispersing into harmless droplets as it met the barrier's radiant glow. The elves froze for a moment, their eyes wide with shock.
"What… What are you?" Haliron stammered, his voice shaking. "Even if you wield the Light, it shouldn't be this strong!"
"A pain in ya arse, mon," Lazar shot back, his grin widening. He surged forward, the Silver Hand raised high. The bowman scrambled to retreat, but Lazar closed the distance with terrifying speed. His mace came down in a devastating arc, slamming into the ground as the bowman barely dodged to the side. The impact sent a shockwave of Light rippling outward, knocking both elves off their feet.
Jadzia took the opportunity to hurl another fireball, this one aimed squarely at Haliron. The blast caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling with a scream. He rolled frantically on the ground, dousing the flames with a wave of water magic, but not before they left blistering burns across his torso.
The bowman recovered quickly, his hands moving with practiced precision as he notched another arrow. He aimed for Jadzia, his eyes narrowing. "Tainted girl, this is mercy," He said coldly.
Lazar seized the moment, closing in on the archer with a roar. The Silver Hand swung upward, its radiant glow illuminating the clearing. The bowman tried to block with his bow, but the enchanted weapon shattered under the mace's force. The elf cried out, stumbling back as Lazar pressed the attack.
"Ya wanted dis fight, elf," Lazar snarled, his violet eyes blazing. "Now ya gonna finish it!"
Haliron, meanwhile, had recovered enough to launch another spell. Shards of ice formed in the air around him, spinning like deadly knives before flying toward Lazar. The troll ignored it, his Light shield on and moving with him and Jadzia, intercepting the projectiles. The shards shattered against the barrier, their fragments falling harmlessly to the ground.
He wouldn't be able to do anything fancy with the Light, keeping this shield up, but it was proving useful against the level of magic facing them.
"Jadzia!" Lazar barked, his voice echoing through the clearing. "Keep dat burnin' elf busy!"
"On it!" She called back, standing by his back. Firing fireballs anytime the elf moved, even darting out of the protection of the shield to taunt him.
Haliron countered with a burst of water magic, forcing her back to the shield. "Stay still, you little wretch!" He hissed, his burned face twisted with rage.
Jadzia grinned, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. "Where's the fun in that?"
Meanwhile, Lazar delivered a bone-crushing blow to the bowman's side, sending the elf flying into a tree. The elf crumpled to the ground, coughing blood as he tried to rise. Lazar stood over him, the Silver Hand glowing with an almost blinding light.
"For study, yah?" Lazar said, his voice low and menacing. "Let me show ya da lesson for da day for yah study!"
With one final swing, the Silver Hand connected with the bowman's head, the impact crushing it into mush, the elf's body slumping down.
Haliron saw his comrade fall, screaming, "Lirath! The Windrunners will take your head for this!" His resolve faltered and he turned to flee, but Jadzia was faster. Her dagger flew across the clearing, the strange blade sticking in his back, the area crumbling to dust. The elf stumbled, his escape thwarted as he fell with a scream of agony.
Lazar approached, his towering form casting a long shadow over the wounded elf. "Ya done, mon," He said, his voice cold. "Ain't no runnin' now."
Haliron looked up at him, fear flickering in his eyes. "You… Abomination…" he spat, his voice weak. "Sylvanas will kill you for this!"
Lazar raised the Silver Hand, its radiant glow filling the clearing. "Ya had ya chance, elf."
The mace came down, ending the fight, and his life.
Lazar's thoughts were troubled, as he thought over what he'd heard. The clues all pointing to something impossible.
The Windrunners' younger brother died in the second war. This ranger couldn't be him, right?
Right?
The forest fell silent once more, the tension dissipating like smoke in the wind. Jadzia leaned against a tree, panting as she wiped sweat from her brow. "That was… Unfair, two battles in a row!" She whined.
Lazar grunted, resting the Silver Hand on his shoulder. "Dat what ya get wit' highborne, girl. Always tinkin' dey better, got ta butt in everywhere."
Jadzia sheathed her dagger, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, they're not better when they're face down in the dirt."
Lazar chuckled, shaking his head as he scanned the clearing, making sure no other surprises were lurking in the trees. His gaze lingered on the motionless forms of the two elves, "Dey tink da Light somethin' only fer da holy an' da noble. Ain't ready ta see a troll swingin' it."
Jadzia tilted her head, looking at him thoughtfully. "You really don't think they're ever going to get used to you, huh?"
Lazar gave her a crooked grin, "Not likely, girl. Dey see what dey wanna see - an' I ain't about ta make it easier fer 'em."
He was only a point away from leveling too, tch, damn elves couldn't even do that for him.
He knelt by the bodies, searching through the elves' belongings for anything useful. Jadzia sidled up beside him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she poked at one of the corpses with her boot.
"They had magic," She said, her tone casual but tinged with a question. "Powerful magic. And you still took them down easily." Her tone turning wondrous, "I helped take them down easily…"
Lazar shrugged, pulling a small pouch from the bowman's belt. He opened it, revealing a handful of coins and a strange crystalline shard that pulsed faintly with arcane energy. "Magic don't mean much if ya don't know how ta fight proper like, girl. Dey weren't ready fer me." He gave her a glance, "Fer us, mon."
He'd hoped to find something identifying, but he supposed he really didn't want to know anyway if he just killed Sylvanas Windrunner's darling little brother.
Jadzia crouched beside him, snatching the crystal from his hand and holding it up to the fading light. "What's this?" She asked, squinting at it.
"Don't know," Lazar admitted, his tone wary. "But if it came from them, best ya don't play wit' it too much."
She rolled her eyes, tucking the crystal into her pouch. "You're no fun, it's loot!"
Lazar ignored her, moving to the second elf. Haliron's robes were soaked with blood, the burns on his face still raw and angry. Lazar rifled through the pockets, pulling out a small, intricately carved wooden box. He opened it carefully, revealing a handful of vials filled with shimmering blue liquid.
"Mana potions," Lazar muttered, setting the box aside. "Might come in handy, mom."
Jadzia was already inspecting the bowman's discarded weapons, her fingers tracing the delicate runes etched into the shattered remains of his bow. "You think they were hunting us specifically?" She asked, her voice quieter now.
Lazar paused, considering her words. "Could be," He said finally. "Or could be dey just didn't like seein' a troll an' a human in da same group, be more likely, mon."
Jadzia frowned, her gaze shifting to the surrounding trees. "Well, if there are more of them out there, we're going to need to be ready."
"Always, girl," Lazar said, standing and stretching his shoulders. He winced slightly, his earlier injury still aching despite the Light's soothing presence. He hadn't been able to afford a healing spell with how much he was using the shield.
"Let me see that," Jadzia said, motioning to his head. She stepped closer, her small hands surprisingly gentle as she inspected the spot where the arrow had struck. "You're lucky, you know. Another inch, and you'd be dead."
"Luck's been good ta me so far," Lazar said with a grin. "Be even better if ya don't stab me while ya pokin' 'round."
She rolled her eyes, pulling her hands back. "You're fine. Thick skull and all."
Lazar laughed, shaking his head. "Dat I be, girl. Dat I be."
The two of them stood in the clearing for a moment, the tension from the fight slowly ebbing away. The forest was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird.
Jadzia looked up at him, her blue eyes thoughtful. "You know," She said, "for a big, scary troll, you're not so bad, I kind of like this… Us."
Lazar raised an eyebrow, his grin turning sly. "An' for a tiny, stabby human, ya not too bad yaself."
She smirked, crossing her arms. "Don't get used to the compliments."
"Wouldn't dream of it, girl," Lazar said, his tone teasing.
As they gathered the spoils of the fight and prepared to move on, Lazar glanced back at the fallen elves one last time. Their presence was a reminder of the dangers lurking in Eversong Woods, but it was also proof that he and Jadzia could hold their own.
"Come on, girl," Lazar said, slinging the Silver Hand over his shoulder. "We got a long way ta go, an' I ain't lookin' ta fight every elf in da forest."
Jadzia nodded, falling into step beside him. "Fine by me. But next time? Try not to get shot in the head."
A wolf appeared not too far away, no doubt drawn to them by the blood. Lazar immediately drew his bow and aimed, excitement brewing as he saw his last point pause and sniff the air, the arrow flying through, piercing the wolf through the eye.
A searing warmth shot through Lazar's chest, followed by the unmistakable thrum of power. He stood upright, muscles tensed as the sensation grew, his entire being resonating with the Light. He'd felt something similar when he hit the 250 benchmark, but this was more intense, a tidal wave of energy flooding his body as he hit the 500 benchmark in Light.
Jadzia glanced up at him, immediately catching on that something was happening. "Uh, you're glowing again. Are you dying, or…?"
Don't have to sound so damn cheerful, girl…
Lazar didn't respond to her, focusing on the strange sensation and seeing if he could parse some new information from this system that really didn't tell him much. The air around him seemed to shimmer, golden motes of light gathering in front of him. The energy coalesced into a blinding sphere, the brightness forcing him to shield his eyes.
When the light dimmed, he lowered his hand cautiously. Floating in front of him was…
"A fairy?" He muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
The tiny figure hovered effortlessly in the air, radiating a soft, golden glow. She was diminutive, no taller than Lazar's hand, with delicate wings that shimmered like sunlit glass. Her features were strikingly beautiful, with golden hair tied up in an elaborate bun and an impish smile on her glowing face.
Fucking Tinkerbell, Lazar thought, his disbelief mounting. What the hell kind of reward was this?
It hadn't given me an option this time, he thought, the fairy arriving as a fait accompli.
He hated how he literally had no information, and couldn't know if this was the normal, or the previous process of giving him options was normal.
For all he knew, it went three options the first time, two options the second time he 'leveled' and one option the third time.
This thing needed a tutorial.
The fairy darted closer, her giggle a chiming sound that rang through the clearing. She spun in midair, leaving trails of light behind her as she twirled around his head, flashing her tiny panties in her way too short dress.
"What da hells…?" Lazar muttered, expressing his disbelief again, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at Jadzia to see what she thought.
The girl was wide-eyed, staring at the fairy with equal parts fascination and wariness. "Is this… Normal for you?" She asked, her voice heavy with skepticism, even as her eyes sparkled with delight as Tinkerbell did a fly by right by her face, waving at her enthusiastically.
"Dis not be even close ta normal, girl," Lazar replied, frowning as he waved a hand at the interface now hovering in his vision. He scanned the new entry in his system, his expression growing more incredulous by the second.
Tinkerbell Companion
A Tinkerbell steeped in the Light, this sapient companion can act semi-independently, with access to your reserves to fire Light attacks or heal from a distance. Includes the ability to detonate everything within fifty yards in merciful Light as a Light Bomb for healing or destruction. Upon her destruction upon detonation or other means, she will return after 12 hours.
Lazar blinked at the words, rereading them twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "A bomb, mon" He said flatly. "She's a tiny, gigglin', light-powered bomb."
Jadzia's mouth fell open. "Wait, what?"
If anything, her fascination with the fairy grew, as she stared at her almost hungrily.
Lazar gestured toward the fairy, who was now perched on his shoulder, humming a cheerful tune. "Dat's what she is, girl. A bomb dat laughs an' sparkles, mon."
Jadzia squinted at the fairy, her interest mounting. Slowly, she reached out a finger, inviting Tink for a visit. The fairy immediately flying over and setting down, "I can't wait to see you blow up!" She said in fascination.
The fairy giggled again, her laugh a bell-like sound that seemed far too happy for what was essentially an eternal kamikaze pilot. She grabbed Jadzia's finger with both hands, playfully tugging at it like a child demanding more attention.
"This…" Jadzia said slowly, looking between Lazar and the fairy, "Is the weirdest magic I've ever seen. Magic doesn't work like this. It shouldn't work like this." Her grin grew manic, "I fucking love it!"
Tinkerbell giggled and flew up to kiss Jadzia on the nose, both of them breaking out in giggles.
"You tellin' me, girl," Lazar said, scratching his head. "Dis be the kinda thing ya dream up when ya hit da drink too hard, yah?" He eyed the two of them and let out a huff.
It was probably good for the girl to have female friends, right?
Even if it was a suicidal fairy…
What the fuck was this life even?
Jadzia poked the fairy, acting more forcefully this time. The tiny creature pouted, fluttering her wings in indignation before sticking her tongue out at the girl.
"She's… Really alive?" Jadzia asked, her voice tinged with excited disbelief.
Lazar shrugged, still trying to process what he was seeing. "Seems so, mon. Dunno how dis be workin'. Ain't no one's mojo I ever heard of, mon. S'ppose dis could be summoning."
That was the excuse he'd have to use, wasn't it?
"Wait," Jadzia said, holding up a hand. "And she can blow up? Like… Boom? Kill everyone? Without dying?"
"Dat's what I be understandin'," Lazar replied, gesturing vaguely at the fairy. "She take mah Light an' go boom. Clears out everytin' in fifty yards. Dis fairy den be returning back in twelve hours."
The girl's face twisted in a mix of horror and fascination. "That's insane. Who makes something like this?"
"Apparently, mah patrons, girl." Lazar leaned closer to the fairy, who beamed up at him with a face full of mischief. "You able ta speak, mon?"
The fairy cocked her head, her tiny voice chiming like a bell. "Tink! Tink!" She repeated, clapping her hands enthusiastically.
"Great," Lazar muttered, rubbing his temples. "Dat's all I need. A hyperactive, light-powered sidekick wit' no sense or da ability ta speak."
Jadzia leaned forward, peering at the fairy with a mix of curiosity and childish glee. "You know what? She's kind of adorable. I mean, in a really creepy, magical sort of way."
The second part of her statement rushed out, as if to make up for saying something so girly as, adorable.
Tink responded by darting toward Jadzia, zipping around her head in playful loops. The girl flinched, swatting at the air as Tink laughed and wove effortlessly around her hands, shooting tiny harmless sparks of Light at her.
"Hey!" Jadzia snapped, glaring at the fairy. "I'm not a toy! I'll stab you!" She brandished Chromie's knife threateningly.
Tink giggled again, then flew back to Lazar's shoulder, settling there with an innocent expression.
Lazar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dis… dis gonna be a problem."
He'd never be able to even pretend to fly under the radar wherever he went with this pest constantly following him.
"Only gonna be a problem if she doesn't realize her position in the group." Jadzia shot back, still glaring at Tink.
For a moment, the clearing was silent except for Tink's faint humming. Lazar looked up to the sky, exhaling deeply as he tried to make sense of the situation with his system.
"I don't get it," Jadzia said finally, breaking the silence as she brought her attention away from Tink. "Your power… It doesn't make sense. Magic has rules. Structure. Even from gods and entities. This? It's like someone threw all the rules out the window and said, "Let's make it weird.'"
Lazar snorted, his lips curling into a wry grin. "Tell me somethin' I don't know, girl."
Tink fluttered upward, circling Lazar's head before landing lightly on his nose. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she posed for him.
Lazar crossed his eyes to look at her, deadpan. "Ya got a lotta nerve, ya know dat?"
Tink just giggled, patting his nose before taking off again, her wings leaving a faint trail of light in the air.
Jadzia watched her go, shaking her head. "It doesn't make any sense," She muttered, but the grin that snuck on her face told him she didn't mind overly much.
"We move on, girl, dat all we can do, mon." He said, wondering with some trepidation what the next level would hold.
In Lordaeron, Stratholme, burned.
Author's Note:
Commissioner said I want fucking Tinkerbell in the story. So… Made it work, Tinkerbell and the Troll, I can already see where this is going… Considering the Commissioner came to me from QQ…
For the Bronze Dragonflight, yep, they can literally not see him, or anything he's tied to or considers his.
Sucks to suck.
Fuck you dragons. Useless fucks.
Stratholme is happening, so gives Lazar about six months to git gud before things really go to shit.
Cheers
JollyHippopotamus