September 8th, 2013 by Zundra · No Comments · Events

It was a mad idea. It was even crazier putting it into action.

Not only was he putting his own life at risk, but he was endangering her life mere months away from the culmination of a life’s work; the most important prophecy was showing the first hopeful signs of bearing reality.

Dzivah. Zun’dra looked down from the stone nook that kept him from Kor’kron view and waited. Soon she came into view,  her wild head of hair and distinct gait sending a shiver up his spine. Would he ever see her again and explain himself? Flanked by Ohiska and her mate Drek’tal, she was surely in safe hands. But that didn’t comfort him any.

Suddenly, he heard her wild shrieks. “Aaaagh! Help me!”

She was racing towards several Kor’kron, clutching her stomach. Was she stabbed? Injured? He inhaled, asking the spirits to talk to him. Relax, they said. She drank Eel venom.

Eel venom? He shook his head. Was this strategy? Not likely; Dzivah was a rash and spontaneous Zulfi. She likely didn’t plan this and drank it to improve her juju. The consequences could have been deadly. Zun’dra could scarcely believe what he saw next.


The Orcs stood their ground, but with awkward, hesitant postures. Was she friend? Foe? How was she injured? Should we help her? The spirits whipped past Zun’dra; a few entered into his lungs as he began to breathe rapidly, his pulse occluding all proper thought. “She has the element of surprise.”


Dzivah gave the Orcs fresh hell in the shape of a fireball that appeared to vomit from her lungs. In an instant the female Kor’kron who bore the weight of the attack was dissipated by flame into a liquefied pool. The surrounding Orcs were burned, knocked over, and trampled by one another as her flames cleaved the air. After the cacophony of their confused whines and pleas ended, they scrambled to their feet with revenge on their minds.

Drek’tal swooped in to ambush the remaining Kor’kron from behind, sensing his mate’s danger. He worked swiftly yet efficiently. Zun’dra was impressed by the Primal’s fluid movements and keen reflexes. His axes created arc of death in the sky, splattering both he and Dzivah in a mosaic of blood and bone.

 Zun’dra sniffed the air, spirits taking the opportunity to enter him as his olfactory nerves were being tantalised. Below. Look. Ohiska was using the distraction to slip through the gates and make his way into a nearby marsh in the valley of spirits. It was time, and the old Troll was going to have to trust that Dzivah was in good hands with the Primal.

As an Orc head rolled a few metres from the fray, Zun’dra couldn’t help but shake his head. She will be fineWakeful One.

Ohiska looked over his shoulder as he heard the gentle thud of Zun’dra landing behind him. “You couldn’t have thought of a more inappropriate entry, could you?” Ohiska quietly hissed. “I could have killed you.”

Zun’dra replied just as brusquely. “If I had thought you could, I’d never have snuck up on you. Let’s get to the hold before our little adventure is cut short. Do you have the potion juju?” The smaller Troll nodded and lifted a vial for each of them from his satchel. Zun’dra drank it without as much as a second thought, but Ohiska stood there for a brief moment as if deep concentration on the mulled contents in the flask. Sensing Zun’dra’s growing impatience, he then tipped his head back and allowed the foul looking liquid to sprint down his throat.

The magic worked, at least for one of them. Ohiska took on the appearance of an Orc in his prime: burly, fierce, and proud. Zun’dra, on the other hand, had become a smaller female Troll. He cursed under his breath. “Now what?”

Ohiska looked him over and sighed. Dzivah came to mind as he looked down at the empty vial and he realised that this was precisely why the juju hadn’t given effect to Zundra’s intention. He’d been thinking about her, more than likely. “Never mind, Wakeful One. We shall go with what we have. You shall be my prisoner. Act accordingly.”

Ohiska walked, dragging the diminutive female Troll behind him by the wrist. Fretful expressions snuck onto his face with every movement as he struggled to come to terms with an Orc’s thundering gait and strong grip. Am I pulling too hard? Why must I make so much noise when I walk!

They approached the hold with no incident. As they felt the juju began to diminish and their true bodies struggling against incorporeal magic that misshaped them, they ducked behind the hold gate and crouched against a stone wall. “No good. We only have one potion left.” Ohiska murmured, touching his tusks again with a look of slight relief. At least if he were to die, he’s retain the dignity of his features. He looked at Zun’dra, once again an older male clad in wood and feather. “You should leave me, Wakeful One. You’ve done enough now. Take this and go.”

“No. You forget: we asked Dambala for his blessings not three nights ago. Dambala will not abandon worthy followers.” He clutched the small coin around his neck as he spoke. “I am going to create a distraction. Drink up.”

Curious but not in any position to argue, Ohiska nodded and uncorked the remaining vial. The change came quickly; he was becoming more inured to the magic. Without giving his newly borrowed Orcish lungs a second to breathe and fill his oversized lungs, Zun’dra jumped out from cover and pointed at him. “I’m going to kill you, Orc scum!”Ohiska sensed his cue. “A-AAAGH! Help me, someone!” Ohiska ran and ran, tearing toward the hold and through it’s gates, disappearing up the stair case, but not before shouting “This Vol’Jin loyalist has escaped and is trying to kill me!”

The soldiers left their posts immediately to see the commotion, and quickly circled the apparently murderous Troll with their weapons raised. “You’re looking to meet your ancestors real quick, ain’t ya, Troll?”

Zun’dra sensed the coin burning as he touched it. He flipped it in the air, murmuring a prayer. Papa Dambala, o carry me. The coin landed tails up. The Orcs dropped their weapons, looking at one another in confusion. “We uh.. maybe we should get a drink” said one quietly to another. Zun’dra stepped away as one approached the space in which he stood. The Orc tapped the ground with his feet, swung his fists in the air as a caution, but felt nothing. Invisibility with a slight glamour. Dambala’s personal favor.

As the Orcs stood about trying to make sense of their circumstance, Zun’dra crept upstairs. He found Ohiska, once more in his own body, holding a box barely bigger than a heart. There was something eerily sepulchral about it, and equally odd was the way in which Ohiska clutched onto it. “This is what I came for.”


The cool touch of spirits foreign to him grazed Zun’dra’s exposed skin. They were urgently trying to get in. He sensed their panic. Something wasn’t right. He breathed in and let them speak. Their noise was excruciatingly. He will bring ruin to himself. Zun’dra stepped towards Ohiska. “It is too dangerous. You mustn’t. Loa give me a bad feeling about this.”

“Not now.”

Zun’dra snarled. “Please. Desist now. Do not force my hand.” Ohiska shook his head, becoming angered. “Enough, we will talk when we are -safe-!”

“NO!” The spirits were so loud that Zun’dra could not hear his own voice. He dived at Ohiska, crashing into him and topping the both of them noisily to the ground. His head hushed finally as the box fell out of Ohiska’s hand and onto the floor. Ohiska’s coin, the compatriot to Zun’dra’s, rolled from the torn cord around his neck and lay a foot from the box.
The Priest attempted to shake himself free of Zun’dra. “Release me so we can leave this -accursed- place!” Footsteps from below were now audible. He had to make a choice. Would he free Ohiska and allow him to make the choice? Or Make it for him. Zun’dra grit his teeth and made a silent prayer. After a few moments of thought, he released Ohiska.

Ohiska lunged for the box and the coin. He then took the former in his hand and flipped it, stammering out a desperate prayer. The coin turned red hot in midair, and broke as it fell to the floor. Shortly above where the coin fell, a portal materialised.

“… I think it landed heads up.” the smaller Troll noted in an attempt to break the tension that fogged their heads as they both stood in quiet yet defensive postures. It wasn’t sure who they feared more now: the Kor’kron, the portal, or themselves.

“Quickly. Before it’s too late.” They nodded to one another. Closing his eyes, Zun’dra leaped faithfully into the incorporeal tear behind Ohiska, his thoughts racing.

They tumbled out the other end into the tall dry grass of the Barrens. When they caught their breaths, they caught words, too.

“You have some explaining to do.”

“As do you.”

Regardless, Zun’dra said, “I have fulfilled my promise to you. Which means that you now owe me a favor of my own choosing.”

Ohiska muttered. “Of course.”

The two limped silently for many miles before hitching a ride on a friendly caravan back to Razor Hill. There was no sign of Dzivah and Drek’tal, though Zun’dra felt her through the ether. He smiled for a moment to himself, imagining if this was the same sensation her mother felt when she kicked in the womb. Her life, her presence, it was palpable.

 It was a mad idea. But it had gone off without a hitch.

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