I Am a Dark Troll

Xiao Hu had no idea how he had arrived in this place, nor did he even know if he was still human, because those around him were certainly not. As for what they were? Right! They looked like Trolls! The Trolls from World of Warcraft!

Good heavens, eat, sleep, fight Trolls... He touched his teeth. I am a Troll! I don't want to be a Troll! Xiao Hu wanted to roar in anger, but he could only let out a whimpering moan.

"Azar, you're awake? Do you feel any better?" A whisper reached his ears.

This must be directed at me. Xiao Hu instinctively replied, "I'm alright. Where are we?"

"The war is over. The bugs have retreated to Ahn'Qiraj, but the conflict between the Chieftain and the Warchief has become irreconcilable. He chose to lead us in migration. You have been unconscious for many days."

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

"You really don't remember anything? It seems the High Sorcerer was right. He told me there was a chance you might never wake up, and even if you did, you would forget everything from before." This was a rather striking female Troll; her tone was gentle, but her expression was full of sympathy and sorrow.

"You are Azar Tikal, a Champion of the Zarzan tribe, and I am your sister, Yax. You suffered a head injury in the battle against Anub'arak and have been unconscious ever since. Rest well, little brother. I must go tell the Chieftain that you have awakened." She wiped away her tears while comforting me.

The war between Trolls and the insectoids! My god, this is over 16,000 years before the Dark Portal, even earlier than the history of the Night Elf. Wait a minute, it is said that the Night Elf evolved after a group of Dark Troll settled by the Well of Eternity. Could it be us? Ah! Thinking too much makes my head hurt. Better to just get some sleep.

In his slumber, the memories of this head began to surface. They were indeed a branch of the Dark Troll living on the western side of the continent. The entire continent was nominally under the rule of the Zandalari Troll, who were the strongest tribe living in the south—the area where the Pandaren would later reside—along with the Gurubashi, Amani, and Drakkari. The Dark Troll were weaker than those four; although their territory was relatively large, the tribes were scattered, their strength was not great, and they lacked a unified culture.

The tribe he belonged to was one of the stronger branches of the Dark Troll, the Zarzan tribe. It was said that two generations back, a Zandalari princess had married into the tribe, bringing knowledge and wisdom with her. The tribe slowly grew and prospered, and to commemorate this great princess, they named the tribe Zarzan. This princess was also Azar's great-grandmother.

The four major tribes usually spent their time bickering and chatting, living a lively enough life, until one day, a bored sorcerer decided to play with spirit-calling—no, it was necromancy. They inadvertently awakened Kith'ix. Who was this guy? He was a K'thir, a lackey of the Old God. Loken, the guardian corrupted by the Old God, had sent him to hunt down Tyr. He failed to kill him and dared not return, so he found a place to hibernate. He was accidentally woken up by the Troll sorcerers, and he had a bad case of morning sickness—a very, very bad case! He called his brother, the Aqir, and together they organized a group of lackeys to claim the mountains as their own, even establishing a base: Azj'Aqir. The Trolls wouldn't stand for it. A bunch of bugs gathering under their noses? Claiming they weren't going to cause trouble was a lie to fool whom? So, led by the Zandalari, they gathered the four major tribes, brought their respective lackeys, prayed to their leader, the Loa, and marched heroically toward Azj'Aqir.

The development of the story started high but ended low. This side was fully prepared for a grand battle, but the enemy forces weren't very impressive. There was no way to achieve the goal of weakening their allies, so they pushed and pulled, bickering with each other, and fought on and off for hundreds of years in a muddled fashion. The bugs were eventually defeated, and once victorious, it was time to divide the territory.

But everyone was a Troll, so they had to find a decent excuse. The Zandalari said, "I'm going south to chase the remnants," so the south went to the Zandalari. The Amani said, "I'm going to chase the ones in the northeast," so the northeast was given to them. The Gurubashi said, "I'll go kill the ones in the southeast," and so it was done. The Drakkari said, "I'll go north," and that was settled. The Dark Troll were left foolishly with the west, which looked the largest but was wanted by no one.

The poor wretches who hid in the west were the strongest group of deserters; they defected to the sealed Old God C'Thun and settled in the Temple of Ahn'Qiraj. The ones in the southeast were the Mantid, and the ones in the north were Azjol-Nerub. I won't go into those for now; there will be stories about them later.

Let's talk about the protagonist's branch of Dark Troll. They had Zandalari blood and thought that since the Zandalari were strong enough, they could join them. Who would have thought they would be met with a cold shoulder? The Zandalari were already very xenophobic, and since they were strong enough on their own and busy digesting the fruits of victory, they had no interest in dealing with them.

The leader of the Dark Troll here was a tough guy. "You want to leave? Fine, leave and don't come back." It was a tragedy; no one wanted them, so they decided to develop on their own! And so, the Zarzan tribe slowly began to migrate toward the center of the continent, because no one wanted that land.

"Oh heavens, oh earth... is this the protection of the Goddess of Fate, Azeroth? Did she hear the prayers in my heart? I have become the ancestor of the Night Elf. I won't become a Troll... wait, let me solve the problem at hand first. Why am I so ugly?"

"Azar, my child, you have finally woken up." A majestic voice came, scaring the life out of me.

"Are you the Chieftain? I am much better, thank you for your concern."

"Just call me Uncle. Without your elite squad covering our retreat, how could we have broken out of the encirclement so quickly? You have sacrificed too much for the holy war."

"Where are we going?" Azar's question was like that of a lost child asking an adult.

"Don't worry, child. We have already found a place to settle. Scout reports say that in five days' time, we will reach the vicinity of a giant lake. The environment there is very suitable for living, and your wounds will heal faster once we arrive."

"That's great, Uncle. You are the beacon of our tribe!" After saying this, I blushed, though luckily my skin was so dark it couldn't be seen.

"Alright, child. The development of the tribe depends on brave warriors like you; I just do the talking. Rest well, and when we reach our new home, we will celebrate our rebirth together!" With a face full of smiles, this convenient uncle left.

At this moment, Azar finally had time to plan his future. It seemed that the lifespan of a Troll wasn't very long. How could he live until the curtain rose? To experience that magnificent World of Warcraft?

Also, was he really the ancestor of the Night Elf? What was his profession? Good heavens, too many questions. Ah, my head hurts again. Better to just go to sleep.