Post by Salthair on Mar 30, 2006 16:02:18 GMT -5
Zutu trudged over the searing sand of Durotar, his sandals tattered and worn nearly to the point of complete deterioration. In the distance, shimmering in the heat, he could just make out the huts of his childhood home, Sen’Jin Village.
Perhaps there I can find peace.
Zutu was exhausted as he had never been in his life. He was tired down to the deepest marrow of his bones but, worse than that, he felt a weariness that seemed to burn in his soul. The mage had seen too much and, to his shame, had done too many questionable things in his long career.
Now those things ate at him.
There was a pit inside him that he felt as though he was crawling deeper and deeper into as each day passed. Soon, he felt, there would be nothing left of him but a shell.
As a young troll, he had been eager to sign on with the Fist of the Horde, an up and coming guild that made promises of fortune and glory. He had only recently begun his mage training and was giddy with the power he had unlocked within himself.
When the raids and battles in Arathi Basin began to give way to attacks on Alliance outpost and such he had barely noticed. His powers had been steadily growing and he had been consumed with the study of the arcane arts.
His power was great and the Alliance feared him. Their fear fed him, and the destruction had continued until the denizens of Dire Maul and Stratholme knew the name Zutu and they too knew fear.
Zutu didn’t know what it was that woke him, opening his eyes to the truth of what he had been doing, but he knew the exact second it had occurred. They had been raiding the human town of Southshore, leaving a wake of destruction in their trail. He and some other mages had spotted a group of children being led away from the town by an old man and a few women.
They followed.
The humans fled through a wood that eventually led to a clearing and a farm. With Zutu and his companions silently watching, they crept into a large barn to hide from the marauding Horde. Two of Zutu’s mates smiled at each other and silently made their way to the barn, carefully barring both doors from the outside. When this was done the group assembled in the clearing outside the barn and, when everyone was ready, they opened fire.
The devastation was almost instantaneous as fire from the sky pelted down on the building and giant balls of flame from Zutu’s hands engulfed it.
“Burn! Burn!” shrieked the other trolls, who began dancing around Zutu in an ecstacy of fire and blood.
But Zutu did not shriek with them. For above their shouts he had noticed another sound. It was the sound of the human children screaming as the fire consumed them. He could not see them, only hear them and, for a moment, they sounded like troll children. His mind reeled. Had they made a mistake? Were there trolls being burned alive in there? It took a second before sense took hold and he convinced himself that it was only humans in there. Their screams had only sounded like troll children. Yet somehow Zutu could still not bring himself to join in the dancing.
That night he had the first nightmare.
In the dream he rode his raptor through a crowd of innocents, troll, orc, human, elf, gnome, and dwarf. They were all shapes and sizes but they were all unarmed and screamed at the sight of him as he cut them down like a scythe in a field of wheat. There were no warriors here, no guards, just crowds of people, men, women, and children. And they feared him, one and all.
He had passed Sen’Jin Village without entering. On the outskirts he had met a young troll warrior who regarded him briefly before moving on. Had the warrior known? Could he see what Zutu had done? He had thought that being back among the people of his village would allow the nightmares to recede and he could, perhaps, remember what life was like before the wars. But once there, steps away from his home, he stopped. What if they all know? What if they look at me as the warrior did?
So there he stood on the beach just south of the village. He was lost and hopeless, unable to get the screaming out of his head when he slept, and lately when he was awake. He waded a short way into the water, cool on his scorched feet, and gazed at the far off horizon.
Come to me, my child.
He thought he heard a voice, but that was ridiculous. It must have been the wind on the waves.
Come to me. Do not fear.
There it was again. The voice was made of wind and foam, soft and airy yet forceful and magnetic. He had slipped out of his sandals without even realizing it and his staff, the Argent Crusader he had fought so hard to win, was floating off into the surf. He wanted, very badly, to dive into the rolling waves. He felt like he would find peace and comfort there. Perhaps this would be a good place to die, he thought, removing his Magister’s Robes and dropping them into the water.
Yes my child. Remove the vestments of your old life and enter my watery embrace. You shall be reborn and your fear and sorrow will not trouble you again.
Zutu stripped off the remaining clothing and began swimming into the deep waters. In death he would find peace, and then perhaps the voice would stop troubling him.
When he had swum out far enough Zutu stopped and began wading, looking around him. The brown sand of the beach in one direction, the burning red of the setting sun in the other, and all around him water and sky. He waded in place, drinking it all in and, for the first time in many months, felt at peace.
Indeed, this would be a good death.
It is time, child. Come to me now.
Zutu took one last look at the world around him, took a breath, and submerged himself, diving deep into the water until he reached the floor. Coral formations of multiple colours were all around him and schools of vibrant fish swam past him fearless, going about their business as this trespassing troll sat at the bottom of their ocean, slowly drowning.
He felt panic grip him as his lungs began to ache, craving air, and almost tried to lurch toward the surface, when the voice came to him again, clearer and deeper now.
Do not fear, child. Breathe deeply and it will all be over. I am here. Accept the waters of my domain and become one with me and mine.
Zutu pushed back the fear and panic and girded himself. Yes, one breath would do it. And with that he opened his mouth and with a great force of will, breathed the sea’s water into his lungs. There was a moment of awful pain and then blackness washed over him like a warm heavy blanket.
Images leapt at him from all directions: images of fire and sky, of crashing waves and rolling fields of wildflowers. Faces appeared to him. Faces of those he had known in his life, but also new faces. Strong faces. He could feel himself being drawn to them, as if he had known them from birth and was a part of them, just as they were part of him. There was a stoic orc man, face framed by lightning, clouds billowing around him. And there was a troll woman, dancing in fire, flames licking at her but somehow making her more powerful, more beautiful, her hair blue like the waters of the sea, the fire reflected in her eyes. The other face he saw was a Tauren woman, serene and lovely, flowers instantly growing in the footsteps she left behind her. Zutu looked on them and knew they were his brothers and sisters, now and forever. And mixed in with all of them was a giant form, tentacles waving, a single eye gazing on him, serene and hard at the same time. It was speaking to him.
“You who were once Zutu, listen to me now,” it said, its voice rumbling like the surf crashing on a rocky shore. “The time of the Ancients has come once more. You shall serve me as my High Priest.”
Zutu squinted, trying to see the form more clearly, the faces of his new brothers and sisters obscuring his view.
“Do not attempt to look upon my form, troll, for to see me as I truly am is to know madness.”
Zutu obeyed, averting his eyes.
“You will seek out these that I show you now. They also serve the Ancients. For I have many faces and many aspects. This you must learn. Together you shall serve the Ancients and seek others to join you and help do our work.”
Zutu nodded.
“Now you must begin your life again. For you are reborn. But know this: one who has drowned and been reborn will never know fear again, for what does a drowned one have to fear? I will guide your steps in the worldly realm, and you will serve me well. For I have saved you from doom and torment so that you may do my will. Zutu the mage is dead and rotten. You will choose a new name and you will learn the ways of the priest. In this way you shall serve me and begin your new life. Now wake.”
He woke to the smell of sand and salt. He breathed deeply and stood up, stretching. He was ankle deep in the water south of Sen’Jin, naked as the day of his birth. His new life had begun. The Deep One had given him a chance to make up for his sins and he was not going to waste his chance.
His heart felt like bursting with love for this new god. He would go and seek out someone to train him in the priestly arts. For this was the will of the Deep One.
He dunked his head in the salty water and felt the cool wet comfort of the sea in his hair. Standing upright he gave his mane a shake, splashing droplets all around as he began the walk toward the Valley of Trials to seek the Priest trainer. The only other thing to do was come up with a new name for himself, for it was the will of the Deep One.
But what name could he give himself that would recognize his new life and honour the Deep One? He licked a droplet of salty water running down his face from his wet mane of hair.
He thought about it as he crossed the hot sands of Durotar, but could not come up with a good name. By the time he reached the Valley his hair had been dried by the sun but was now encrusted with the fine salty powder of the Deep One’s waters. Yet still he had not come up with a name. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the salt residue on his hand. The Deep One remains with me, even away from the sea, he thought as he licked a bit of the salt from his hand.
Soon the hut of the priest trainer was in sight, but he still had no name. I’d better come up with something soon, he thought. But what?
Perhaps there I can find peace.
Zutu was exhausted as he had never been in his life. He was tired down to the deepest marrow of his bones but, worse than that, he felt a weariness that seemed to burn in his soul. The mage had seen too much and, to his shame, had done too many questionable things in his long career.
Now those things ate at him.
There was a pit inside him that he felt as though he was crawling deeper and deeper into as each day passed. Soon, he felt, there would be nothing left of him but a shell.
------------------------------------------------------------
As a young troll, he had been eager to sign on with the Fist of the Horde, an up and coming guild that made promises of fortune and glory. He had only recently begun his mage training and was giddy with the power he had unlocked within himself.
When the raids and battles in Arathi Basin began to give way to attacks on Alliance outpost and such he had barely noticed. His powers had been steadily growing and he had been consumed with the study of the arcane arts.
His power was great and the Alliance feared him. Their fear fed him, and the destruction had continued until the denizens of Dire Maul and Stratholme knew the name Zutu and they too knew fear.
Zutu didn’t know what it was that woke him, opening his eyes to the truth of what he had been doing, but he knew the exact second it had occurred. They had been raiding the human town of Southshore, leaving a wake of destruction in their trail. He and some other mages had spotted a group of children being led away from the town by an old man and a few women.
They followed.
The humans fled through a wood that eventually led to a clearing and a farm. With Zutu and his companions silently watching, they crept into a large barn to hide from the marauding Horde. Two of Zutu’s mates smiled at each other and silently made their way to the barn, carefully barring both doors from the outside. When this was done the group assembled in the clearing outside the barn and, when everyone was ready, they opened fire.
The devastation was almost instantaneous as fire from the sky pelted down on the building and giant balls of flame from Zutu’s hands engulfed it.
“Burn! Burn!” shrieked the other trolls, who began dancing around Zutu in an ecstacy of fire and blood.
But Zutu did not shriek with them. For above their shouts he had noticed another sound. It was the sound of the human children screaming as the fire consumed them. He could not see them, only hear them and, for a moment, they sounded like troll children. His mind reeled. Had they made a mistake? Were there trolls being burned alive in there? It took a second before sense took hold and he convinced himself that it was only humans in there. Their screams had only sounded like troll children. Yet somehow Zutu could still not bring himself to join in the dancing.
That night he had the first nightmare.
In the dream he rode his raptor through a crowd of innocents, troll, orc, human, elf, gnome, and dwarf. They were all shapes and sizes but they were all unarmed and screamed at the sight of him as he cut them down like a scythe in a field of wheat. There were no warriors here, no guards, just crowds of people, men, women, and children. And they feared him, one and all.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
He had passed Sen’Jin Village without entering. On the outskirts he had met a young troll warrior who regarded him briefly before moving on. Had the warrior known? Could he see what Zutu had done? He had thought that being back among the people of his village would allow the nightmares to recede and he could, perhaps, remember what life was like before the wars. But once there, steps away from his home, he stopped. What if they all know? What if they look at me as the warrior did?
So there he stood on the beach just south of the village. He was lost and hopeless, unable to get the screaming out of his head when he slept, and lately when he was awake. He waded a short way into the water, cool on his scorched feet, and gazed at the far off horizon.
Come to me, my child.
He thought he heard a voice, but that was ridiculous. It must have been the wind on the waves.
Come to me. Do not fear.
There it was again. The voice was made of wind and foam, soft and airy yet forceful and magnetic. He had slipped out of his sandals without even realizing it and his staff, the Argent Crusader he had fought so hard to win, was floating off into the surf. He wanted, very badly, to dive into the rolling waves. He felt like he would find peace and comfort there. Perhaps this would be a good place to die, he thought, removing his Magister’s Robes and dropping them into the water.
Yes my child. Remove the vestments of your old life and enter my watery embrace. You shall be reborn and your fear and sorrow will not trouble you again.
Zutu stripped off the remaining clothing and began swimming into the deep waters. In death he would find peace, and then perhaps the voice would stop troubling him.
When he had swum out far enough Zutu stopped and began wading, looking around him. The brown sand of the beach in one direction, the burning red of the setting sun in the other, and all around him water and sky. He waded in place, drinking it all in and, for the first time in many months, felt at peace.
Indeed, this would be a good death.
It is time, child. Come to me now.
Zutu took one last look at the world around him, took a breath, and submerged himself, diving deep into the water until he reached the floor. Coral formations of multiple colours were all around him and schools of vibrant fish swam past him fearless, going about their business as this trespassing troll sat at the bottom of their ocean, slowly drowning.
He felt panic grip him as his lungs began to ache, craving air, and almost tried to lurch toward the surface, when the voice came to him again, clearer and deeper now.
Do not fear, child. Breathe deeply and it will all be over. I am here. Accept the waters of my domain and become one with me and mine.
Zutu pushed back the fear and panic and girded himself. Yes, one breath would do it. And with that he opened his mouth and with a great force of will, breathed the sea’s water into his lungs. There was a moment of awful pain and then blackness washed over him like a warm heavy blanket.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Images leapt at him from all directions: images of fire and sky, of crashing waves and rolling fields of wildflowers. Faces appeared to him. Faces of those he had known in his life, but also new faces. Strong faces. He could feel himself being drawn to them, as if he had known them from birth and was a part of them, just as they were part of him. There was a stoic orc man, face framed by lightning, clouds billowing around him. And there was a troll woman, dancing in fire, flames licking at her but somehow making her more powerful, more beautiful, her hair blue like the waters of the sea, the fire reflected in her eyes. The other face he saw was a Tauren woman, serene and lovely, flowers instantly growing in the footsteps she left behind her. Zutu looked on them and knew they were his brothers and sisters, now and forever. And mixed in with all of them was a giant form, tentacles waving, a single eye gazing on him, serene and hard at the same time. It was speaking to him.
“You who were once Zutu, listen to me now,” it said, its voice rumbling like the surf crashing on a rocky shore. “The time of the Ancients has come once more. You shall serve me as my High Priest.”
Zutu squinted, trying to see the form more clearly, the faces of his new brothers and sisters obscuring his view.
“Do not attempt to look upon my form, troll, for to see me as I truly am is to know madness.”
Zutu obeyed, averting his eyes.
“You will seek out these that I show you now. They also serve the Ancients. For I have many faces and many aspects. This you must learn. Together you shall serve the Ancients and seek others to join you and help do our work.”
Zutu nodded.
“Now you must begin your life again. For you are reborn. But know this: one who has drowned and been reborn will never know fear again, for what does a drowned one have to fear? I will guide your steps in the worldly realm, and you will serve me well. For I have saved you from doom and torment so that you may do my will. Zutu the mage is dead and rotten. You will choose a new name and you will learn the ways of the priest. In this way you shall serve me and begin your new life. Now wake.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------
He woke to the smell of sand and salt. He breathed deeply and stood up, stretching. He was ankle deep in the water south of Sen’Jin, naked as the day of his birth. His new life had begun. The Deep One had given him a chance to make up for his sins and he was not going to waste his chance.
His heart felt like bursting with love for this new god. He would go and seek out someone to train him in the priestly arts. For this was the will of the Deep One.
He dunked his head in the salty water and felt the cool wet comfort of the sea in his hair. Standing upright he gave his mane a shake, splashing droplets all around as he began the walk toward the Valley of Trials to seek the Priest trainer. The only other thing to do was come up with a new name for himself, for it was the will of the Deep One.
But what name could he give himself that would recognize his new life and honour the Deep One? He licked a droplet of salty water running down his face from his wet mane of hair.
He thought about it as he crossed the hot sands of Durotar, but could not come up with a good name. By the time he reached the Valley his hair had been dried by the sun but was now encrusted with the fine salty powder of the Deep One’s waters. Yet still he had not come up with a name. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the salt residue on his hand. The Deep One remains with me, even away from the sea, he thought as he licked a bit of the salt from his hand.
Soon the hut of the priest trainer was in sight, but he still had no name. I’d better come up with something soon, he thought. But what?