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(( It surprises me a bit to see that the stories I remember from before my haitus are still here on the front page! I feel a little shy about breaking the silence, but here's a little bit on Heari's return to the tribe and what a troll who's afraid of water and cold is doing in Northrend. ))


A droplet of water landed on a stiff red mohawk, rolled to the tip of what served for bangs, hung for a moment while gathering it’s strength, then fell, hitting the yellow warpaint covering the tip of Heari’s nose. He flinched and uttered a string of half-intelligible oaths.

He had decided shortly after arriving that this land was not, in fact, truly part of Azeroth. No, Northrend was actually a form of the hellish underworld somehow protruding into the land of the living, made solely to torture. He was a bit upset that no one had seen this problem and sworn to do anything about it. The howling winds chilled him to the bone and whipped snow at him from impossible angles, and to make it worse, when he ducked into a crevasse carved into the ice, his feverish body temperature caused the ice directly above him to melt a little.


That drop went the opposite direction, rolling off the back of his head and down his neck, settling deep inside the back of his chest armor. He flinched again and rolled his shoulders desperately, trying to will the droplet away.

Though he was mostly dedicated to cursing the ice, there was a little part of him that felt proud to be out here in hell. Saezhur had done the best he could with the obsessive young troll, directing his scattered attentions into what Heari was best at in his craft: moving the blades hard and fast, and doing the unexpected. As a result of his slow increase in skill, he had ended up visiting Shenthul in Orgimmar more often. After years of exile from the Bloodscalp tribe, he was finally forming a small interest in actually serving the Horde, instead of simply hiding within it. His treasured Priestess, Legn, had encouraged this growth as well.

The main catch was what had made him shy away from his surrogate tribe in the first place: the outlawing of cannibalism. He had grown up not only occasionally eating the flesh of other sentient beings, but with the superstitions that were deeply tied with it. Taking the heart was taking the power of the enemy, and preventing them from harming you from the afterlife. To him, this was not a supposition, this was hard fact. Now, to hold true to his promises, he had to give up some of that safety.

He was surviving, though, so he was proud. To protect himself from the cold, he wore thick, uncomfortable, covering armor and cloaks and stayed as near as he could to the torches and bonfires when he was in settlements. To protect himself from vengeful spirits, he still removed the heart from his enemies (when he could find it, some of the enemies were not shaped like anything he had ever seen before), but he fed it to the native wildlife instead.

Many times he had wanted to simply turn around and leave, return to the wonderful dry heat of Tanaris and forget that any of this was happening. He often dreamed about a day when he would forget what snow was. But shortly after he stepped off the zeppelin in Warsong Hold, he had seen the undead spreading and thriving, not simply infesting small areas like in his homeland. Somewhere in his fragmented mind, he knew that they would continue to spread, and when they reached the sun-drenched sands, they would bring the cold with them. Shillatae had been kind to speak to him at length after the first moot he had attended in ages, assuring him that past transgressions would be forgiven. If stopping the spread of the cold-bringing monsters meant wholly dedicating himself to the Horde and the Ironsong Tribe, then he could miss a few meals of elf-ear jerky, and he agreed wholeheartedly to the terms.

Standing, he stepped back into the screaming wind and snow flurries, clutching a stick of dynamite in one hand and a blade in the other. He grinned. Let’s burn ‘em.

(( Hopefully if I write anything else it'll be less narration. Ew. ))

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