A short story by Isyris

Shapes and shadows dance around me, spirits of the dead taunting me, mocking my own clumsy movements. Behind them, the sea crashes and foams, dark against a pale sky, and smoke rises as bat riders circle. I smell blood on the wind that lashes at my face, tangling coarse hair about my tusks. He's out there.

"ZALAZANE!"

I bellow like a raging elekk, tossing my head to clear my eyes. I draw my sword, grip firm and familiar in my hand after so many years of use. I'm ready, I'm coming for him, I--

The spirits swarm around me, grabbing me, snatching at my hands, tugging at my armor. Eyeless sockets leer at me, whispers fill my ears, voices too low for me to make them out. Just one makes it through, and at that one I grip my sword tighter, swinging down to cut at the ghost in front of me. It laughs and darts away, replaced by another as I shout my denial. I'm no weak woman to sit by the fire and wait for a mate that never returns, not anymore. I'm a fighter! A troll! But the spirits don't seem to care. They close in, pulling at my arms, wrapping bony fingers around my legs. I have to get away, have to pull free. There's a battle coming, and I have to be there.

The more I struggle, though, the stronger they become. A pit opens under me and they drag me down, deep under the ground. My mouth and nose fill with earth, and I look around desperately as my lungs cry out under the crushing weight. I can somehow see, as if the dirt pressing down around me was murky water, and I wish I couldn't. I'm drowning in a mass grave, surrounded by the bodies of hundreds, maybe a thousand other trolls. Broken tusks, exposed bone, and ravaged, eyeless faces, tongueless mouths open in silent shrieks of terror. Most look familiar, though I can't quite place them, and some of them are still fighting. There's a young warrior next to me, bony fingers clawing at the shadows wrapped around his throat, and another further below tangled in combat with yet another ghoulish figure.

I can feel something prying my jaws open further, slithering inside. I can't breathe, and it's got me by the tongue, pulling at it, ripping it loose. I only realize I've been screaming when I'm no longer able to. My vision darkens, and my ears are filled with a warbling hum that trickles through the earth, becoming louder and louder as I sink further into my grave.

. . . . .

I open my eyes, blinking at the face in front of me. Jagged teeth, bulging eyes, a ragged green crest of hair... The rest of my armor lies behind it, propped up against a pile of the ethereals' storage devices. The buzzing in my head wavers, settling into the steady hisses and pops from a gate behind me, and I look down at my hands. No muddied earth, no sign of the nightmare there. Just strips of bloodied bandage wrapped around where my gauntlets ought to be. I remember now. I must have pounded at the earth for hours, ripping at the blood-soaked grass with my bare hands as the hexer, the traitor, sank beneath it. No body for me to burn, to spit on. The loa took it as an offering. I should be glad, even not knowing myself what sort of tortures wait for him on the other side of things. I'm not.

That one's gone now, but it still won't bring him back. The face I saw inside the circle of dancers is gone now, too, as is the half-glimpsed child beside him. My family, my enemy... and here I am, alone. I ran out of things to live for a while ago, but I never expected to run out of things to die for, too.

I stare at the helmet a moment more, vaguely aware of wispy shapes moving behind it, fuzzy and indistinct. The bandage ghosts can't have helped my dreams any. Some idea, a new goal, tickles at the back of my mind, but I push it away as I shove my hands against the ground and rise to my feet. Less thinking, Zaa. The kid has a stash of drink somewhere around here, and I'm sure he won't mind if I track it down. It's an easy solution to the problem of what the hell to do next.

After that, well, there are always ogres to kill.

-----------------------
This was Isyris's character's response to the latest horde quest to take out Zalazane.  How did your characters deal with the aftermath of these events?  Does it haunt their dreams?  Let us know!  If you're interested in writing RP style stories, drop by the story thread in the WoW General Forum.  Also feel free to send me a PM (Xsarus) if you'd like a story of yours put on the front page.