The long, tedious migration had finally come to an end. Gazing at the vast lake shimmering with a faint purple light, Azar was overcome with excitement. The Well of Eternity—this was where his hopes lay. His people were marveling at it too. She was so beautiful; this place was so beautiful. Only Azar knew that she had more than just a beautiful appearance. She also possessed immense power. Just how immense? Enough to make Sargeras, the greatest Titan in the universe, covet her.
One celebration followed another, and the whole tribe rejoiced at having such a beautiful new home. The Zarzan Tribe was an unusual branch of the Dark Trolls. They despised bloodshed, vulgarity, and filth, and loved all things lovely and beautiful. They truly were the forerunners of the Night Elves—their love of beauty ran exactly the same way through their veins. For the first two days, Azar happily joined in with everyone else. Who didn't like a party? But after a few more, he'd had enough. It wasn't the food and drink he disliked; the problem was that looking at the female Trolls did absolutely nothing for him. You should understand. For the rest of the time, he wondered if he ought to do something about it. He couldn't go on wearing this Troll body forever. It was simply too ugly.
At first, the Well of Eternity had been where Y'Shaarj lay. Later, Aman'Thul, the Father of the Titans, pulled the greatest of the Old Gods out like a radish, leaving this planet with a gaping hole. That was a bitter blow for Azeroth. Her beautiful body was left with a scar, and countless tiny blood vessels had been severed. Her blood gushed out, forming this beautiful lake.
Now, Azar and his people had settled beside her. Hills and forests surrounded the area. The climate was mild, warm as spring all year round, and the land was exceptionally rich in resources. Towering trees in the forest took several people to encircle. The tribespeople decided to hollow out the trees and make them into homes. They cultivated the wilderness and lived by hunting, slowly multiplying and recovering from the wounds left by the war. Azar, too, began his new life. His bloodline destined him to be a noble, and as a noble, he had the right to live off others' labor. He built a row of houses beside a small hill not far from the lake, laid a two-meter-wide gravel road leading to the shore, and constructed a pier that extended a hundred meters into the lake. Everything was ready. It was time to begin his training.
He handed all his slaves over to his older sister, Yax, to manage. Yes, they still had slavery. He kept only a few clever young men and an old maid for himself. During the first week, he made a small plan: he would start by getting to know himself. He had no idea when the Well of Eternity's power would begin to affect them. He knew that the power of the Arcane would only make them more beautiful, intelligent, and civilized, and grant them eternal life unless they were killed. But he hoped to gain more power and control during the transformation. He didn't actually like the Night Elves' long ears. He preferred the look of the Elvenking in The Hobbit. Perhaps appearance could be shaped by the mind, so the first thing he needed to do was familiarize himself with his body.
Troll combat roles included two physical professions, the Warrior and the hunter—one fought in melee, the other at range—as well as the caster profession of witch doctor. Azar was a typical Troll Warrior. At the time, there was no complete system of training or advancement, and rage hadn't been fully developed. All they had was the Power of Fury in their blood and combat techniques honed out of necessity. Put simply, this was like Earth in prehistoric times: everything was chaotic and disorganized. Azar felt he shouldn't be confined to the skills of a particular profession. He could establish his own school of combat!
At first, he trained with a group of young men. They were enthusiastic, full of energy, and eager to work hard. After all, he was the tribe's Warrior. The only thing the young men struggled to get used to was the review session after each day's training. Every night, after a grueling day, they sat around the large table in the main room and talked about what they had learned in battle. Whenever that happened, Azar sat quietly to the side, listening to them. He wanted to organize and refine their skills, and draw out the combat techniques that suited him best.
In time, they grew accustomed to this unfamiliar way of life. As the days passed, they all came to enjoy it, because they could feel how quickly their skills were improving. After a year of hard work, the combat techniques of these few had improved considerably, and their fighting ability had greatly increased. Azar had also become familiar with his body and could fight exactly as he pleased. These skills had been learned by generations of Trolls battling the wilderness. Any creature facing life or death could display astonishing insight. Azar knew his future would involve plenty of life-and-death struggles. He needed to learn skills for actual combat, not for show. So he led his followers into the forest to fight and kill, all under the noble-sounding pretext of "making life safer for the tribe." Fighting brought casualties. In less than half a year, two of the seven had died and three had been injured. Azar himself had been wounded many times. A terrifying death rate, right? No—the terrifying thing was how much they had improved in battle. This was a savage age, with fierce beasts everywhere. Trolls had remarkably strong regenerative abilities and stood about two meters tall, but this was Azeroth, wild Azeroth. Every species here had felt the power of the gods. They all had the right to evolve, and the chance to rise to the top of the food chain.
Azar wasn't heartbroken. He knew that only the living could have anything at all. Of the Trolls still whole and healthy, one was the strongest and luckiest. He would accompany Azar in the battles and life to come. They buried their fallen brothers, even though such a thing was unheard of among the Trolls. After all, they were slaves. But Azar didn't care. His past life's values wouldn't let him turn a blind eye to the loss of life, especially the lives of comrades who had fought beside him. He wanted to change these people's way of thinking and acting, starting with this small group. And he succeeded. The surviving Trolls became even more loyal to him. The three injured Trolls weren't useless, either. He sent the cleverest one to learn from his sister how to manage a group of people. Another was assigned to scout out the entire tribe and pick out promising young Trolls. Yes, he was beginning to build his own forces.
Everything gradually fell into place. Yalik and Muru—yes, those were the names Azar had given them—could also take the surname Tikal in the future, provided they contributed enough to the family. These two helped him care for the first thirteen children he had selected and train their bodies. In a few years, once they were stronger, they could start learning combat techniques. Koral was progressing quickly. He was already starting to manage Azar's slaves on his own, and it probably wouldn't be long before he officially became his steward. As for Azar and Falco—yes, the only Troll who had returned completely unscathed—Falco was excellent. He was in great shape, quick-witted, and sharp. How to put it? A top student! Yes, Azar was the teacher, and Falco was the top student; Azar was the professor, and Falco the graduate student. Something like that. Now Azar and Falco were investigating a new subject—rage! After more than a year of battle, they had not only honed their combat skills but also discovered their racial talent, the Power of Fury, by relentlessly pushing their bodies to the limit. Why were the other four races stronger? Because their combat forces had more people who had awakened their racial talents. They weren't discussing the initial awakening now. They were discussing how to help a Troll develop the Power of Fury more quickly and effectively. Falco had discovered that after he systematically adjusted the order of his early combat training, it became easier to awaken the Power of Fury.
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