Thick Blood, Chapter II

Blood. Thick, decayed and tarnished blood.


The eons of trial and error by the trolls, a race possessed by an insatiable fascination for live sacrifices, had saturated the secluded temple with dark blood and even darker magic. The prehistoric stone blocks and columns – hidden deep within the confines of the vast forest of Hinterlands – had turned dark from the blood of countless generations. The centuries after centuries of rituals to appease gods, and to empower black sorcery, had honed their grim arts of sacrifice and death to perfection. The temple vibrated with an ominous pulse – as if living, breathing and feeding off from the life energy of the unwilling victims – infused with malicious desires and seeping with dormant magic.

Ascending rows of stone benches stretched in a vast semi-circle, completely void of any spectators, emphasizing the hushed silence. The invisible audience was biding for a play of tragedy. The seats faced a stage – an elevated platform where a large altar rested. The altar itself was of a peculiar design: a block of stone was filled with intricate patterns and the fringes of the slab rose one foot higher, creating a shallow basin on top of the altar.

The congregation gathered amidst the ancient boulders was in its intentions loyal to the temple’s unholy traditions; however, the composition of this gathering was far from to anything these age-old ruins had before witnessed.


Tonight – in the ever growing shadows of the nearing night – a group of Night elves had come together with the intent of sacrificing their own kin.



In the darkening gloom, a beacon of white loomed over the pedestal. A fair and graceful elven Lady stood in wait in front of the altar, adorned in a white gown as pure and serene as the crust of first snow. In this grim world of gore and macabre, her presence was the only glimmer of comfort, her beauty whispering a silent prospect that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a glint of innocence and good still left unravaged. That perhaps there was hope.

That intoxicating beauty that whispered a promise of perfection was the very essence of what had lured the whole flock into the grotesque fate that awaited them now. And the white widow was savoring their every twitch on her web.




“Are you in your senses, dear boy?”

A soft and gentle voice pierced through the shroud. Frazer smiled. Everything was soft and soothing. He merely nodded at the voice, wanting to appease it, but not quite willing to stir in his warm and fuzzy cloud.

“Akrayus, wake him up a bit more”, the soft voice said.

A sharp pain sliced through the soft shroud like a blade through mist. Frazer gasped for breath and flung his eyes open. Squirming against his chains he bashed his head around, glancing around in bewilderment.

“W-wh…. Wh-what…?” the boy mumbled, his tongue numb and irresponsive to his commands. He scanned his surroundings groggily.

An altar. Blood. Ruins. Cages.

When he saw the long row of chained up elven women on the other side of the altar, his eyes widened even further. Some of their faces were twisted by desperate weeping. Some were merely staring ahead with a haunted look in their eyes. All were utterly horror-struck and aghast.

“Wh-where have you taken me? What is going on? Release me. Please…” Frazer stuttered, looking into the beautiful and serene visage of the Lady he had once thought his friend, but who now had a flicker in her eyes that scared him more than anything ever had.

“We are in the troll city of Jintha’alor, my dear boy. I gave you a promise, though I doubt you remember it. In a way I am trying to grant you a chance to get to know… your father. Just like you wished”, she mused gently, smiling and touching the boy’s cheek as lightly as a feather, “So do try to look a bit more… Happy.”

Frazer squirmed in his shackles, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks as he stared at the Lady pleadingly.

What was going on?

“P-please… let me go… I have done n-nothing to you…”

The Lady only smiled her soft smile for a moment and turned away. She stepped with grace and ease, as if weightless, and moved to loom over the muster of frightened elven women and girls.
“My apologies for having taken this long to speak to all of you in person. I had to deal with so many preparations, I hope you understand”, the Lady spoke mellowly, her tender smile washing over her prey,”I believe it would be appropriate to share with you why you are all here. We are attempting to bring back a person of importance and to do so we require help from you all. Simply sit quietly, and all will be well.”

The Lady turned away from the bound lamb and gazed further, into the back-section of the pedestal. Only now Frazer noticed that there was a dark cave behind the altar. The Lady stared into the darkness of the cavern, waiting.

A deafening silence fell over the scene, a silence broken only by sobs and forlorn whimpers of the bound victims. The Lady and her retainers – four silent sentinels clad in crimson armour and armed to toe – seemed to wait on something. They merely stood there, gazing into the dark pit of the cave. Frazer grew more afraid with every passing second. He glanced around, looking for help, and noticed his old friend Fenuviel tightly bound and gagged a short distance to his left.

“…Fenuviel… help…” the boy gasped, his pleading eyes fixing on a sudden glint of hope. The older elf merely furrowed his brows and let out a quiet sigh through his nose.

Then, building up so slowly the boy couldn’t be sure when it had started, a weird and ominous chant became audible, resounding from the darkness of the cave. The chant grew stronger, resounding clearly now in an unknown language. And it didn’t sound human.

Not human at all.

A tall hunched creature emerged from the blackness of the cave. Adorned in a colorful robe, the skinny monster stepped forward on two feet into the dimming light of the pedestal, pacing steps to the rhythm of its chant. It bore large tusks on its wicked face and a visage so gruesome it made Frazer whimper.



The nightmare, however, had only just begun.

***

He is crouching amidst the scorched undergrowth.

The dark hay gives barely any cover, much less protection. Yet it’s the best alternative. The impenetrable blackness surrounding him squirms, swarming with malicious horrors. There are no sounds. Nothing can be seen but thick darkness.


But they’re there. Probably watching every moment. Their gruesome intentions reek in the air.


It won’t be long anymore before they find him. He knows this because that’s what always happens. Time after time. Over and over again. Most of the time he can only barely remember where he is, how he ended in this corner of hell seemingly tailored for him.


But what he does know is that the cycle will repeat itself. It always does. No matter how he prays for it to stop. No matter how much he wishes for the sweet release of death.


In this realm he cannot die. Or more accurately, he will not stay dead. Time after again he is hunted down, violated, mutilated and torn to shreds by the monsters that roam this realm. Yet, time after again he finds himself once more hiding from them. He has long ago abandoned hope, but he can’t help but to try and hide from what hunts him.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he is found again. Hiding and fleeing is useless, as there is no escape. But he’s scared. He is terrified to the extent he can barely breathe, so he struggles regardless the futility, not knowing what else to do.



Suddenly a glimmer of light catches his eye. A hallucination perhaps, he thinks. This place often does that. Gives a hope of escape. A glimpse of safety. A flicker of something better than the everlasting, tormenting nightmare.

And then it tears that hope away. Hope is given just to inflict more pain.


He carefully peers through the hay towards the light, not daring to hope, struggling not to give into despair altogether either. The soft glow is pulsating amidst a small island of rocks and gnarled trees. It’s not even that far, perhaps a minute’s sprint away, but he knows this to be a ruse. A trap. He will never make it to the possible promise of safety within the light. He’ll be stopped.

Then the monster leaps at him from the darkness.

A black insect size of a fully grown man storms at him, its vicious claws ripping the air in a deadly frenzy. Its body is covered in thick ebony carapace and glowing eyes blaze red of rage from the cracks of the shell.

He ducks to the side, dodging a blow that could have severed his head, and throws a desperate punch into the monster’s direction. As the beast staggers, he is struck by a realization: something has changed. His strike had had an effect.

Never before had any of his attempts against the monsters borne any consequence whatsoever. Nor had the beasts ever attacked so straightforwardly; they preferred to play, as if they had no need to rush.

Now that he thought of it, he even felt different himself. In this realm he had always felt paralyzed, unable to move, unable to fight. Now his limbs responded to his commands and he felt stronger.

He does not waste another second thinking. He leaps onto the staggering insectoid’s back, clinging into the cracks of its black armour. The creature trashes around wildly, trying to throw him off its back or hit him with its claws. He clings onto the monster tight until he gets an opening, and thrusts his thumbs into the sockets of its eyes.

The creature lets out a shrilling shriek, trashing around in agony. It feels pain. If it feels pain, perhaps it can be beaten. Perhaps there is hope. Perhaps fighting is not in vain. This spark of hope ignites a blazing inferno within his tortured soul. The hunted becomes the hunter in an instant; like a bloodhound set loose he assails the monster with strength mustered from otherworldly origins. He thrusts his fingers into the bloodied eye sockets in a frenzy, ripping and digging as deep as he can.

The beast wails in fury, but there is a hint of something to the voice before unheard in this realm from the creatures of the dark. Fear.

Recognizing the beast’s plight, he gathers all his strength, rips one of the beast’s gruesome tusks off clean and thrust it into the softened mess that used to be its eye.

The pair falls against the ground with a dampened thump. He lies still for a moment, clinging to the blackened shell. Then he comes to terms with what has just occurred. The hellish monster is dead. The rules have changed. Everything has changed.

He rises, bloodied and torn, holding the gore dripping tusk of the slain monster. The soft light of safety pulsates ahead. The darkness surrounding him begins to squirm.

Dozens of similar outlandish fiends appear looming on the edges of the darkness. Their razor-sharp claws are snapping the air. Their red hatred filled eyes are fixed solely on their single target. A swarming nightmare is only a moment away from leaping on its victim and unleashing all unimaginable horrors it has gathered from the deepest pits of hell.

But something is different. Something has indeed changed.



He is grinning now.

***

Trolls are known across the continents for their gruesome rituals. Some individual trolls have devoted themselves to these arts and through years of dedication gained fame enough to horrify even among the alliance. Despite the numerous ambitions, there is one name above all others, a vicious beast even at the ruthless standards of the trolls, an individual acknowledged by all to be the best of the worst.

The scent of fear was all but foreign to the monster that emerged from the darkness of the cave. Emperor Shro’gan drew in a long breath, extending his long and normally hunched frame to its complete height. He towered over the scene, licking the air and taking his time, savoring the fear and the anticipation of what was to come.

After a moment, he hunched back to his slumbering posture and turned towards the Lady in white, his tusked and hairy face twisting into a grin that seemed all but a friendly gesture.

“I presume you are ready, oh Emperor?” the Lady mused, breaking the heavy silence. She seemed unfazed in the presence of the horrendous monster, smiling her soft smile, though something in her stance seemed to signal that she was keen on keeping her distance. The rest were visibly taken aback. Most of the imprisoned were rocking back and forth with their faces hidden, shaking in fright and despair.

The troll took a moment longer to cherish the fear and horror of the mortals before him. He fed on their despair. However, at the same time he knew glorious carnage waited; he was eager. He couldn’t bear to wait much longer. He nodded to the Lady, gnashing a sound from between his two wicked tusks.

“We begin.”

The Lady stepped aside, giving her retainer a curt nod. One of the crimson clad warriors yanked a feeble girl prisoner to her feet and began dragging her towards the altar. The monster Shro’gan was already there, hunched over the stained pedestal, placing disturbing items on the edges of the table: a pitch black orb, a silvery dagger, a roll of thread and a needle.

“I shall commune with the Father of Sleep and the Mother of Shackles. They will bring forth the Keeper of the Shadowrealms. And then, you may attempt to summon his spirit” the troll Shrog’an announced. He was already deeply focused in his preparations, pouring a foul smelling liquid on the table, not seeming too concerned if anyone was even listening to him.

The crimson sentinels of the Lady shoved the elven girl onto the altar and chained the forlorn victim against the bed of stone and ancient blood. The other prisoners buried their faces into their hands, unable to watch the fate of their kin – dreadfully aware of sharing it soon. The young chained girl sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut and forming incoherent words with her lips – a prayer perhaps. The monster Shro’gan smiled at the foolish mortal. Her weak gods would not help her now. No one would.

The troll began to chant.

“To the Dark Loa, I offer the blood of a God, so we may commune as equals. Let the chains and strings of Shadra bind us together, piercing through the Veil” Shro’gan sung fervently, bringing up a serpentine dagger. It glimmered against the flickering light of the torches, the only source of light left to defy the darkness. The sun, the moon and the stars appeared to have fled in face of the black forces abound this night.

The troll sliced his own tusk clean off with the dagger. Blood poured on the chained victim, halting the prayers and leaving the sacrifice-to-be gasping for breath in horror. Now even the seasoned retainers of the Lady averted their eyes, their shadowed faces twisting slightly in disgust under their hoods. The Lady peered curiously at the ritual, her expression serene but for the slight furrowing of a brow.

“Now feel the scent of Fear and Life of those whose blood will be shed in your names”

Shrog’an began placing the thread into the needle carefully, swaying slightly in the rhythm of his grotesque chant.

“This spirit will know no rest, forever trapped and encased to obey the Loa’s will”

As the monster proceeded to sew together the lips and eyes of his victim, not even the Lady herself was watching the twisted play she had put in motion.

“Wuuiip”

She couldn’t suppress a squeal of excitement even though her earnest intention was to be sneaky. The squirrels – despite being quite tame within the walls of the city of Stormwind – startled instantly and scrammed from the windowsill. Her lips pursed from disappointment of her failed attempt to sneak up close on the feeding squirrels. Her discouragement, however, lasted but for an instant. In a blink of a quick squirrel’s eye, she was smiling brightly again as she scurried for the window, hopping on the cushions under the sill with her little feet and resting her tiny elbows against the window ledge.

“Come back soon!” she exclaimed happily into the trees as she tried to catch last glimpses of the squirrels skittering across the branches. She lingered at the window for a moment, enjoying the warm afternoon sun and the gentle breeze that pulled the nearby leaves into its tranquil dance.

Smiling, she let out a quiet sigh of contentment. It was a beautiful day!

She scooped the crumbles of recently devoured muffins on the windowsill into a neat pile in order to make it easier for the squirrels to continue their interrupted meal later. She played with the crumbles, letting her mind wander.

“Oh!” she startled. There was work to be done, she recalled suddenly. Today was the day she had decided to clean her little apartment. She hopped onto the floor again and scuttled to stand in a determined pose in the middle of the room. Her bright eyes were wide of excitement as she appraised the task at hand, eyeing the room. Small like herself, her apartment only had one room. Most of the furniture had been custom fitted for gnomes – a race significantly smaller than humans, most standing only few feet tall. The apartment wasn’t exactly orderly; most belongings seemed to have been discarded rather aimlessly, most likely wherever it was they had stopped being interesting.

“I’ll start over here”, she nodded firmly, approaching a large pile of papers, notes and books resting on the floor next to her desk. Cleaning and organizing was always so exciting. You came across so many interesting things you didn’t remember you even owned. Sometimes the discoveries were so interesting and numerous that after a particularly exciting cleaning session the apartment was left in a greater amount of disorder than it had been to begin with. This trivial detail, however, didn’t bother the young gnome girl one bit.

“Ooooh”, she exclaimed as she came across an old sketchbook of hers she’d totally forgotten about. Sitting comfortably amidst the piles of paper, enthralled by her discovery, she began browsing the tiny book that took her instantly on an exciting imaginary journey back in time. Her mind was running wild, filled with images and memories of people and events past. Suddenly she gasped, coming across an old sketch of a particular importance to her.

“…Fenuviel...” she whispered quietly, running her small finger across the smudged picture of her dear old friend she had not seen for such a long time. She was suddenly overcome with longing and sadness that caught her throat and squeezed her chest. She remembered the ill rumors she had overheard of her friend. She believed none of them, but still they troubled her.

There, in that moment, she decided that she would find her friend. In an instant she was full of determination, energy and enthusiasm; she would find her friend and all would be well again. Smiling brightly at the thought, she scuttled over the piles of paper and notes that were now scattered far and wide, and scurried out of the door.


In all of her excitement she forgot to close her window – the only thing that stood between her little corner of the world and the world of another kind lurking outside.