At last the site is back so I can post this! I missed you guys 
It seems that world of warcraft fanfiction is not so popular on most WoW forums so ill try my luck here. I highly suggest knowing the basis of WoW races and story before reading it but do as you please. If you need some litterature on the subject here is a link on the main race and area presented here:
http://www.wowwiki.com/Trolls
http://www.wowwiki.com/Stranglethorn_Vale
Be aware that this fan fiction contains some violence.
Jungles may seem nice on pictures but truely they are vicious places, full of deception and growth. Stranglethorn Vale holds its name true with most plants able to lift and squeeze the life away from fully grown men and other creatures if they have half a mind to do so. Only true survivors live in these parts, hidden in the deep south of the world. And one such survivor is running now, as fast as her two-toeded feet can carry her. Flashes of blue through a thick canvas of green and dark. Its night time and the moon is high in the warm sky, but barely any of it's rays reach the little creature as she bolts and dashes between the large twisted growth of Stranglethorn Vale.
Howls and growls are at her heels, glimpses between rasping breaths reveal teeth and snarling canine faces, bolting close to the ground right behind her. But she cannot run forever and she knows that. She growls in a last effort to sprint out of this canopy, her barefeet raise old moss from the stones she leaps from but she knows she cannot make it to the clearing. She dips down sharply from a last leap from a boulder and scrounges about franticly, looking for something to fight with. She finds a gnarled branch, broken at the joint from a nearby tree. She grins and her pointy tusts shine in the littl moonlight she has. The frantic barking is getting very close now, she does not fear the dogs but the humans trailling behind the canines. The hounds are there to stall, to scare prey, the men are the ones that deliver the cowardly killing blow. Tossing her flaming red hair out of her eyes and wiping the stinging sweat from her brow, she readies her strike. The first snarling muzzle passes the boulders edge, her arm is held high, it comes swinging down at the mangy thing with all the furious desperation she can muster. The beast yelps loudly and recoils from the blow to its muzzle. She lets out a fierce howl and hopes to intimidate some of her persuers. She hears more snarls but the numbers do seem to have been lessened. Two more maws come out of the side of the boulder, she mets them with her bludgeon. A cracking sound is heard as one of the dogs bites down hard on the stick, a few of tis teeth leaving its mouth and the wider end of the bludgeon falling to the jungle floor. She flails her now much less imposing weapon at the remaining hounds, keeping them out of striking range.
The humans are approaching, keeping a steady pace behind they mangy pack dogs. She smells them before she sees the first of the pinkish faces peering between the trees. The human smiles as more immerge, they speak to each other in an other tongue, plain and boring language is that of the humans. The wolves still hold her attention with tentative bites and barks but she knows the animals know they have done their part. A tall human appears from the canopy to her right, he is wearing shining mail armor, and shouldering a large cannon-like contraption. She has seen these all too well in the last few hours since the humans ambushed her and her tribe at the norhtern entrance of the Vale. She knows their fiery spi twill bring her a swift death, just as it had for her mother. The young troll clenches her tiny blue fists around her branch, her nails scartching deep in the wood. The man unholsters his fire-spitter and points it her heart. Which is now pounding harder then she thought possible.
She glares fiercely at her tormentors, right into the eyes of the marksmen. Then she sees it, the man is smiling. Smiling! He enjoys killing travelers and tormenting the children that run from the pack. He enjoys holding infants at his mercy. Her blood rushes right under her blue skin, she feels the heat of the jungle recede as her rage takes hold. Her eyes hurt from lack of blinking, tears streaked her dirty cheeks. Her heart pounds hard in her ears, reminding her of the tribal drums from her village. The drums grew louder and louder, she could feel the rage making her hands tremble and grasp the stick so tight it made her knuckles pop. She felt no pain and only anger. She glared up at the marksmen whos face was growing paler. The little troll yelled, the scream of a child that has had enough, a scream that seemed to pour out of every part of her. She ran towards the marksman, her stick held low, screaming her head off the whole time, she heard him press the trigger to the boomstick, she saw the bright light and flame emerge from the mouth of the contraption, she felt the metal projectile from it peirce her thick skin and go through the meat of her shoulder, lodging itself in her shoulder bone. Her yell grew louder still, sounding more like a harpies shriek then anything a troll could emit. She plunged the sticks jagged tip into the front most hound, its twitching body had not yet hit the floor that she was airborne above it, her stick held to her right side, the dogs blood driping from it's shattered end. Her leap ended with the connecting crunch of the wood meeting the hard skull of the human. She felt the impact all the way up her arm and resonate in her spine. She fell atop the man, swinging him over, his feet leaving the ground disgracefully. Looking at her very dead opponent, she smiles and lookes at her hands. They are shaking and covered in bits of splintered wood and blood. She can hear the drums still but the sound is getting drowned out by the yells from the rest of the hunting party. She knows her time is up, but as a last act of defiance she retches hard from the back of her throat and spits in the face of her dead assailant. She hears the scarred yelps of the wolves and heavy feet trampling down grass and ground. She hears screams of pain around her but she is tiered and too sleepy to turn and see what the humans are yelling about.
Growls and screams are filling her ears now, a firm grasp takes hold of her tunic and she feels hoisted up rather crudely unto a higher perch, full of scales and firm muscle. She digs her tiered fingers into the dashing raptors neck and holds on for a bouncy ride as the mighty beast jumps over large roots and stones. She can feel her saviors hands steadying her, she can hear his raspy breath and smell the sour smell of sweat and the musky smell of cauldrons from him.
‘'Your a lucky girl ‘mon. Most young dont get their first beserking until they hit puberty. Let's just hope your regeneration is just as eager to develop.''
A coarse laugh follows the raspy old voice. She smiles to the sound of her native tongue and leans her back against her savior and falls asleep under his watch, as the raptor runs back to the outpost out near the ocea, its large docking tower standing against the gorged summer moon.
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It seems that world of warcraft fanfiction is not so popular on most WoW forums so ill try my luck here. I highly suggest knowing the basis of WoW races and story before reading it but do as you please. If you need some litterature on the subject here is a link on the main race and area presented here:
http://www.wowwiki.com/Trolls
http://www.wowwiki.com/Stranglethorn_Vale
Be aware that this fan fiction contains some violence.
Jungles may seem nice on pictures but truely they are vicious places, full of deception and growth. Stranglethorn Vale holds its name true with most plants able to lift and squeeze the life away from fully grown men and other creatures if they have half a mind to do so. Only true survivors live in these parts, hidden in the deep south of the world. And one such survivor is running now, as fast as her two-toeded feet can carry her. Flashes of blue through a thick canvas of green and dark. Its night time and the moon is high in the warm sky, but barely any of it's rays reach the little creature as she bolts and dashes between the large twisted growth of Stranglethorn Vale.
Howls and growls are at her heels, glimpses between rasping breaths reveal teeth and snarling canine faces, bolting close to the ground right behind her. But she cannot run forever and she knows that. She growls in a last effort to sprint out of this canopy, her barefeet raise old moss from the stones she leaps from but she knows she cannot make it to the clearing. She dips down sharply from a last leap from a boulder and scrounges about franticly, looking for something to fight with. She finds a gnarled branch, broken at the joint from a nearby tree. She grins and her pointy tusts shine in the littl moonlight she has. The frantic barking is getting very close now, she does not fear the dogs but the humans trailling behind the canines. The hounds are there to stall, to scare prey, the men are the ones that deliver the cowardly killing blow. Tossing her flaming red hair out of her eyes and wiping the stinging sweat from her brow, she readies her strike. The first snarling muzzle passes the boulders edge, her arm is held high, it comes swinging down at the mangy thing with all the furious desperation she can muster. The beast yelps loudly and recoils from the blow to its muzzle. She lets out a fierce howl and hopes to intimidate some of her persuers. She hears more snarls but the numbers do seem to have been lessened. Two more maws come out of the side of the boulder, she mets them with her bludgeon. A cracking sound is heard as one of the dogs bites down hard on the stick, a few of tis teeth leaving its mouth and the wider end of the bludgeon falling to the jungle floor. She flails her now much less imposing weapon at the remaining hounds, keeping them out of striking range.
The humans are approaching, keeping a steady pace behind they mangy pack dogs. She smells them before she sees the first of the pinkish faces peering between the trees. The human smiles as more immerge, they speak to each other in an other tongue, plain and boring language is that of the humans. The wolves still hold her attention with tentative bites and barks but she knows the animals know they have done their part. A tall human appears from the canopy to her right, he is wearing shining mail armor, and shouldering a large cannon-like contraption. She has seen these all too well in the last few hours since the humans ambushed her and her tribe at the norhtern entrance of the Vale. She knows their fiery spi twill bring her a swift death, just as it had for her mother. The young troll clenches her tiny blue fists around her branch, her nails scartching deep in the wood. The man unholsters his fire-spitter and points it her heart. Which is now pounding harder then she thought possible.
She glares fiercely at her tormentors, right into the eyes of the marksmen. Then she sees it, the man is smiling. Smiling! He enjoys killing travelers and tormenting the children that run from the pack. He enjoys holding infants at his mercy. Her blood rushes right under her blue skin, she feels the heat of the jungle recede as her rage takes hold. Her eyes hurt from lack of blinking, tears streaked her dirty cheeks. Her heart pounds hard in her ears, reminding her of the tribal drums from her village. The drums grew louder and louder, she could feel the rage making her hands tremble and grasp the stick so tight it made her knuckles pop. She felt no pain and only anger. She glared up at the marksmen whos face was growing paler. The little troll yelled, the scream of a child that has had enough, a scream that seemed to pour out of every part of her. She ran towards the marksman, her stick held low, screaming her head off the whole time, she heard him press the trigger to the boomstick, she saw the bright light and flame emerge from the mouth of the contraption, she felt the metal projectile from it peirce her thick skin and go through the meat of her shoulder, lodging itself in her shoulder bone. Her yell grew louder still, sounding more like a harpies shriek then anything a troll could emit. She plunged the sticks jagged tip into the front most hound, its twitching body had not yet hit the floor that she was airborne above it, her stick held to her right side, the dogs blood driping from it's shattered end. Her leap ended with the connecting crunch of the wood meeting the hard skull of the human. She felt the impact all the way up her arm and resonate in her spine. She fell atop the man, swinging him over, his feet leaving the ground disgracefully. Looking at her very dead opponent, she smiles and lookes at her hands. They are shaking and covered in bits of splintered wood and blood. She can hear the drums still but the sound is getting drowned out by the yells from the rest of the hunting party. She knows her time is up, but as a last act of defiance she retches hard from the back of her throat and spits in the face of her dead assailant. She hears the scarred yelps of the wolves and heavy feet trampling down grass and ground. She hears screams of pain around her but she is tiered and too sleepy to turn and see what the humans are yelling about.
Growls and screams are filling her ears now, a firm grasp takes hold of her tunic and she feels hoisted up rather crudely unto a higher perch, full of scales and firm muscle. She digs her tiered fingers into the dashing raptors neck and holds on for a bouncy ride as the mighty beast jumps over large roots and stones. She can feel her saviors hands steadying her, she can hear his raspy breath and smell the sour smell of sweat and the musky smell of cauldrons from him.
‘'Your a lucky girl ‘mon. Most young dont get their first beserking until they hit puberty. Let's just hope your regeneration is just as eager to develop.''
A coarse laugh follows the raspy old voice. She smiles to the sound of her native tongue and leans her back against her savior and falls asleep under his watch, as the raptor runs back to the outpost out near the ocea, its large docking tower standing against the gorged summer moon.
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