Prologue Part V – Celebrations

This entry is part 6 of 15 in the series Rise of the X-Syndicate

Celebrations were underway throughout Sen’Jin Village. It was late evening, the drums were playing, many boars were roasting and all the Trolls were either dancing, eating, drinking, or a combination of the three. A big bon fire had been set up and everyone was celebrating the victory over Zalazane and the return of their once hexed friends.

Many of the Trolls were gathered by the pond of the village. Although they had heard it before, they again wanted to hear the story of the battle. So, once everyone had arrived, the story teller began his story.

They listened and cheered throughout the story, with an odd question here and there. At the climax of the story, the group errupted in laughter. The storyteller, who had the bigest smile of all, had difficulty composing himself. He chuckled along as he continued the story.

“So dere I was, in da greatest battle of my life, and my pants be gettin’ bigger and bigger!”

Many of the Trolls laughed and cheered: they loved the pants part.

“So I be holding my pants, and he comes rushing at me, pushin’ me down da hill. I’m tumblin’ and fallin’ and…”

“But why were you shrinking, Uncle Folaji?” Folla asked, cutting him off.

“I can only guess dat he cursed me so he could distract me.”

“With your pants!” A fellow troll shouted. The Trolls all cheered and laughed – they really liked the pants part.

When the laughter died down, another troll asked: “But how did you kill him if he cursed ya?”

The drums and cheering stopped and everyone looked at Folaji, this was their favorite part of the story.

“My friend, at dat moment, I coulda cared less about my pants,” Folaji said, to which many trolls giggled. “I was tryin’ to get my dagger from my belt before it fell to the ground. When Zalazane threw me down, da dagger fell into my hand, and when he lost his balance and fell onto me, his rib cage landed on da blade, and my dagger went through his heart.”

The group errupted in cheer and dance at the mention of the death of Zalazane. Some even shouted “Folaji! Folaji!”, and the hero himself felt humbled by the affection his fellow Trolls showed him. He smiled and waved. Slowly the loud cheers and drum beats drowned his conciousness, and he lost himself in the memories of the last couple of days.

Two days earlier, Folaji had awaken on the main Echo Isle with the heavy body of Zalazane lying over him, dead. He had pushed the body aside, grabbed his father’s skull and headed back to Sen’jin. He hadn’t noticed yet, but his body had grown back to its normal size. All except for his right arm, which was still scrawny and week. It would be a scar he would carry with him for many years to come.

Once in Sen’Jin, Folaji reunited with his mother and Folla. The trio talked for hours on end. They talked about their lives since the incident on the shores of Sen’Jin, about Folaji joining The Horde, Folla growing up in Orgrimmar, and Foliji’s tempered spirit and his dissapearance over a week ago. Vhan shed many tears as she realized how much time she had lost. Most of her tears were of guilt of having not been there for her sons. Although she never told Folaji, he could see it in her eyes.

On the second day following the death of Zalazane, Guadrin had called Folaji and Vhan to his hut. He was ready to release Minshina’s spirit from his skull, and they would get to see him one last time before he left for the spirit world. Folaji almost broke down when he saw his father infront of him. This was the Troll that had sacrificed everything for his son, and had remained imprisonned within his own skull as punishment for this act. An act everyone seemed to have forgotten.

“Hey,” a voice spoke. “Stop dreaming and come on Uncle Folaji, they’re gonna start the fireworks!”

Folaji looked around, comming back to his sences. Most of the Trolls had left the pond and were on the shore, looking into the dark, stary night. Folla pulled on Folaji’s hand, dragging him to join Vhan and Guadrin and the others. They arrived in time to see the first firework go off in the sky.

A green glow filled the sky with a loud distinct pop.

Folaji looked up and thought of his father’s ultimate sacrifice. Silently, he dedicated this night to him.

A red glow… Pop!

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Folla asked.

Earlier in the day, Guadrin had informed him of new Horde orders that had come in: he was to leave tomorow for Razor Hill and continue his training. Folaji held his cousin and mother tight.

“Yes, it is,” he answered, ignoring what lied ahead. Tonight was for him and his father, and he did not want to be anywhere else.


Not only had they captured it, but it was still alive!

The scrawny troll had given them quite a fight. It had even surprised them with a dagger and slashed open Edwards’ chest. That was all over now, however, and the five man team, including a bandaged Edwards, were celebrating and heading home.

After two days of searching, they had been able to find it, knock it out, cage it, and capture it alive.


Many teams had been able to capture Horde agents that wandered this close to Theramore Isle, but not many had been able to capture them alive. But they were the Red Team, and Captain Andrews had told his men to be careful: he wanted this one alive.

During their glory days they were more commonly known as the Protectors of Proudmoore. They were enlisted with the heavy responisbility of protecting Lady Proudmoore during the after shocks of the third war that had seen much of their friends and family die at the hand of the Scourge. Such a position of trust, however, is not easily kept, and Captain Thomas and his Blue Team were a constant thorn in the Red Team’s paw. They were jealous and envious of the Reds’ reputation, and were willing to destroy it at any cost.

Several months ago, they had done just that.

The Blues, as they were known, had uncovered a plot to kidnap Lady Proudmoore. Knowing that such a plot would easily be stopped by the Reds, Captain Thomas gave Andrews false information, insisting that a raiding party was going to attempt an attack on the Isle. The Reds, clearly believing they were protecting Lady Proudmoore, left to intercept the raiding party. Lady Proudmoore was alone when the kidnappers came, and she put up quite a fight.

When the Reds returned empty handed, they found four Horde bodies and an extremely frustrated Lady in the infirmary. They were no longer trustworthy, and the Blue team would therefore replace them until they could prove themselves worthy once again.

This catch, Captain Andrews hoped, might do just that.

“To the Reds!” He shouted.

“To the Reds!” They all cheered, as they drank from the stash Byron had brought with him.

They were all drunk of happiness and alcohol when they finnaly arrived at Theramore Isle. All except for Captain Andrews, who had chosen to drink moderetly so he could report the catch to his superiors. He sent Edwards to see a medic and told the others to sobber up and bring their prize to a secure area, and keep it under guard.

His superiors were impressed, and, to Andrews’ liking, Captain Thomas was furious.

Many gathered in the keep to see the catch. The thin, scrawny troll was awake now, and was savagely pulling at the bars and shouting in a harsh language. No one understood what it was saying, so they got a translator in who could speak most of the Horde languages to see if she could understand it.

“Well?” An officer asked.

“Sir,” she said, “this doesn’t make any sence…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I think its speaking Trollish, but only half of the time,” she answered.

“So what is it saying when its speaking Trollish?” The officer pressed.

“It’s saying: Curse you Brother!” She answered, puzzled.

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