I Am a Dark Troll

Comrade Xiao Hu had no idea how he had ended up in this place. He wasn't even sure if he was still human, because everyone around him was clearly not. And what were they? Right! They looked like trolls! Trolls from World of Warcraft!

Good heavens, eat, sleep, kill trolls... He touched his teeth. "I'm a troll! I don't want to be a troll!" Xiao Hu tried to roar in anger, but could only let out a muffled whimper.

"Azar, you're awake? Are you feeling better?" a soft voice whispered beside him.

She must be asking me. Xiao Hu instinctively replied, "I'm all right. Where are we?"

"The war is over. The bugs have retreated to Ahn'Qiraj, but the conflict between the Chieftain and the Warchief can no longer be mended. He chose to lead us away. You've been unconscious for many days."

"Why can't I remember anything? Who am I? Who are you?" Xiao Hu could only pretend to have amnesia.

"Do you really not remember anything? I suppose the High Sorcerer was right. He told me you might never wake up, and even if you did, you would forget everything that came before." She was a strikingly beautiful female troll. Her voice was gentle, but her expression was full of sympathy and sorrow.

"You're Azar Tikal, a warrior of the Zarzan Tribe. I'm your sister, Yax. You were wounded in the head fighting Anub'arak, and you've been unconscious ever since. Get some rest, little brother. I'll tell the Chieftain you've woken up." She wiped away her tears as she comforted me.

A war between trolls and insects! Good heavens, more than sixteen thousand years before the Dark Portal—older than the Night Elves' history. Wait, they say the Night Elves evolved from a group of Dark Trolls who settled beside the Well of Eternity. Could that be us? Ah, thinking too hard made my head hurt. I'd better sleep for now.

As I drifted off, memories from the brain's previous owner came flooding back. They really were a branch of the Dark Trolls, living in the western part of the continent. In name, the entire continent was under the rule of the Zandalari Trolls. They were the strongest tribe, living in the south—in the same region where the Pandaren would later settle. There were also the Gurubashi, the Amani, and the Drakkari. The Dark Trolls were weaker than all four. Though their territory was larger, their tribes were scattered, they lacked strength, and they had no unified culture.

The tribe he belonged to was one of the stronger Dark Troll tribes: the Zarzan Tribe. It was said that two generations ago, a Zandalari princess had married into the tribe. She brought knowledge and wisdom, and the tribe slowly grew stronger. Later, in honor of the great princess, they named the tribe Zarzan. That princess was also Azar's great-grandmother.

The four great tribes used to brawl and chat with one another whenever they had nothing better to do, and life was lively enough. Then one day, some idle sorcerers tried to play with a spirit board—no, to contact the dead—and accidentally awakened Kith'ix. Who was that guy? One of the K'thir, lackeys of an ancient evil god. Loken, the Keeper corrupted by an Old God, had sent him to hunt down Tyr. He failed, and, afraid to return, went into hibernation somewhere. The troll sorcerers accidentally woke him up, and he had a terrible temper when roused—a really, really terrible temper! He called on his brothers, the Aqir, and gathered a bunch of underlings to carve out a domain for themselves. They even established a base—Azj'Aqir. The trolls wouldn't stand for it. A bunch of bugs had set up shop right under their noses. Who would believe they weren't up to trouble? So the Zandalari rallied the four great tribes, each bringing their own underlings, and called upon the great Loa. With heads held high and spirits soaring, they marched on Azj'Aqir.

The story started with a bang and ended with a whimper. The trolls prepared thoroughly, hoping for a decisive battle, but the enemy wasn't much of a challenge. Since they couldn't achieve their goal of weakening their allies, the sides bickered and dragged their feet, and the fighting started and stopped in fits and starts for hundreds of years. In the end, the bugs were defeated. And once they had won, it was time to divide up the land.

But they were all trolls, so they needed some excuse that would sound reasonable. The Zandalari said they would head south to chase down the stragglers, so the south went to them. The Amani said they would pursue the ones in the northeast, so the northeast went to them. The Gurubashi offered to hunt down those in the southeast. "Fine, let's do that." The Drakkari said they would take the north. "All right, it's settled." And the Dark Trolls stupidly ended up with what looked like the largest share: the unwanted west.

Poor things. The strongest group of fugitives had fled west and pledged themselves to C'Thun, the sealed-away ancient evil god. They settled in the Temple of Ahn'Qiraj. Those in the southeast were called the Mantid, and those in the north, Azjol-Nerub. But that was a story for another time.

Let's talk about the protagonist's branch of Dark Trolls. They had Zandalari blood and figured that since the Zandalari were so powerful, they could merge the Dark Trolls into their ranks. But they were met with a cold shoulder. The Zandalari had always been extremely clannish, and on top of that, they were strong enough already. They were busy enjoying the fruits of victory. Why would they care about you?

The Dark Trolls' leader was a tough man too. "You want to leave? Then don't come back." And that was that. Nobody wanted them. Fine, they'd build their own future! So the Zarzan Tribe slowly migrated toward the center of the continent, because nobody else wanted that land.

"Heavens above, earth below... Is this the protection of Azeroth, the Goddess of Fate? Did she hear my heartfelt prayers? I've become the ancestor of the Night Elves! I won't become a troll, and—wait, I should deal with the problem right in front of me first. Why am I so ugly?"

"Azar, my boy, you're finally awake." A solemn voice sounded, nearly scaring me to death.

"Are you the Chieftain? I'm feeling much better. Thank you for your concern."

"Just call me Uncle. Without your elite squad holding off the enemy, how could we have broken out so quickly? You've already sacrificed so much for the holy war."

"Where are we going?" Azar asked like a lost child asking an adult where home was.

"Don't worry, child. We've found a place to settle. The scouts report that after five more days on the road, we'll reach a great lake. The surroundings are ideal for living, and once we get there, your injury should heal faster too."

"That's wonderful, Uncle! You're the guiding light of our tribe!" I blushed as soon as I said it, but fortunately, my skin was so dark that you couldn't tell.

"All right, child. Our tribe's future depends on brave warriors like you. I just talk, that's all. Get some rest. Once we reach our new home, we'll celebrate our rebirth together!" My cheap uncle left with a broad smile.

Now Azar finally had some time to plan his future. Trolls didn't seem to live very long. How was he supposed to survive until the great story began? Should he go experience the sweeping saga of World of Warcraft?

Also, was he really an ancestor of the Night Elves? What kind of class was he? Good heavens, there were too many questions. Ah, his head hurt again. He'd better go back to sleep.