Escalation

"Move, now! QUICKLY, FILTH, or we'll gut you right here. MOVE!"

A loud bang echoed in the distance, followed by the growing sound of a hundred Troll battle cries, mere minutes away; they grew louder and louder; closer and closer. Smoke could be seen rising up from the centre of the island, rising up through the leafy canopy of the dense jungle. The sounds became sharper. Steel on steel. Tusk on bone.

Sergeant Goruk shoved his bound Darkspear captive, pushing him forward through the trees towards the shore.

"I SAID MOVE!"

The Troll stumbled forward, snarling quietly to himself before turning to face the Orc. He dropped to his knees, as a wicked sneer spread across his face.

"Ya be hearin' dat, Orc? Ma bruddahs and sistahs be gettin' closer, and day 'ave ya outnumbered. Ya forces be overwhelmed. Dere be no point in fighting now - ya best be surrendering dis very second if ya b'wantin' ta keep ya skin."

The Orc howled fiercely at his captive, removing the sword from a sheathe on his hip. Without pausing to draw breath, he swung it forward, driving it into the Troll's ribcage. The Troll howled in pain and struggled violently against the blade for several seconds before finally falling limp. Sergeant Goruk removed his blade from the corpse's stomach, spitting. He turned to the other two bound captives.
"Do not take my words lightly. I mean what I say. You can do as I tell you, or die needlessly like your 'brother' here. The shore. Move."
He kicked dirt at the other captives, trudging hastily forward as the sound of the war drums behind them began to crescendo ever louder and louder. He stopped when he realised the Grunt he was with was no longer beside him. He spun around to see the Grunt standing feet away from him, his armour unclasped and his weapon by his side.

"GRUNT BRAWLBLOOD! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? PICK UP YOUR WEAPON AND CONTINUE TO THE SHORE WITH ME, OR FACE THE SAME FATE AS THE PRISONER BACK THERE."

"No, sir. Listen to that - the Trolls have overrun the camp. They'll have the isles back under control within the hour. Whatever's happened, sir, we've lost. If we surrender now, we may be able to keep our lives. These Trolls are supposed to be our allies, Sergeant. Look what our Warchief has turned us into! We're slaughtering our own people!"

"Grunt, these Trolls are NOT our people - they are weak, and have proven themselves to be enemies of our New Horde. Until they learn their place, we, as Kor'Kron - Hellscream's -ELITE-, are to keep them in line. Now pick up your weapon and get ready to move, or by Grom's blood, I swear to you Grunt, I will gut YOU and proceed with these prisoners myself."

The young Grunt removed the final strap from his armour, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the ground. He fell to his knees and put his hands on his head. "The Trolls are combing through the island, sir. I'm done. I have spilled enough Horde blood on this day, Goruk. This is murder. There is no honour in murder."

The Sergeant once again removed his blade, marching forward towards the kneeling Grunt. "Victory or Death, Grunt. We do as our Warchief commands, or die trying. Your children will hear of your cowardice, I promise you that."

Sergeant Goruk raised his blade high in the air as he reached the Grunt, snarling as he prepared to bring it down towards his neck. Before he could, a blinding hot pain flew through his raised arm, spreading down into his shoulder. He let our a bloodcurdling scream as the blade fell from his hand. His arm remained in its raised position, unable to fall down by his side; something kept the bone lodged in place. He collapsed to his knees, looking to his shoulder, to see a large, ornate bone spear protruding from it. He screamed again, the pain unlike anything he'd felt before. He looked forward, only to see a tall figure drop from the sky. Before he could look up, a sharp pain filled his gut. His lungs refused to draw breath as his body suddenly adjusted to the trauma it was now experiencing. Looking down, he saw a large, two-pronged dagger sticking out of his gut. It was there for mere seconds before it came sliding back out again. He followed it up, to see a large, red headed Troll standing over him, her face obscured by a thick leather mask. He gasped in pain, unable to breathe in. His stomach churned as a faint thudding could be heard, followed by a sound similar to that of a bucket of slop being emptied. His face bore a look of perpetual shock as he fell to his side, his vision blurring.
Hitting the ground with a loud thud, his eyes focused on a large pool of blood and meat in front of him. As his hands rested by his stomach, he realised that this "meat" was in fact his own innards, having collapsed and fallen out of what was now a gaping hole in his stomach. Pain overtook his entire body as he rolled over onto his back, gasping his final breaths. The female Troll above him turned her attention to the Grunt, the fleeting image of her massive boot crashing down towards his head being the last thing he saw before everything went black.

*

Zjorda turned to the defenceless kneeling Orc, who was now suddenly trembling, having seen his Sergeant slaughtered before his eyes. She watched him as he eyed her up and down, as his eyes fixed on her tabard. Slowly he looked up to her eyes, a confused look on his face.

"You're a...Thorn? But...your...your allegiance lies with...Hellscream...Why are y--"

He was given no time to finish the sentence, as she sliced her dagger towards his throat within seconds of him opening his mouth. Almost instantly, a spray of crimson flew over the surrounding plants as the Orc clutched his neck, falling backwards as his eyes rolled back into his head. He fell limp almost instantly. After ten seconds of silence, she spoke in elaborate Zandali to the stunned prisoners behind her.

"Thrall is here, along with various Heroes from the Horde's forces. Elves. Forsaken. Tauren. Even other Orcs. You are not alone. The Kor'kron now represent a minority of Orgrimmar's forces. The island is in the final stages of liberation. You are the last of the prisoners. Our people will find you soon."

She didn't even turn to look at them, making instead for the tree trunk in front of her, grasping one of the lower branches to pull herself up. One of the prisoners behind her spoke.

"The Orc...the other one...he...he'd surrendered. You executed him. He was on our side. Why?"

Zjorda let out a shamed sigh as she turned to face them, now hanging from the tree.

"He recognised my colours. I shouldn't be here. The people I represent are to remain neutral in this escalating conflict. If word got out that my organisation was now actively rebelling against Hellscream, there would be a fate much worse than death awaiting me when I returned to them. From here on, every one of Hellscream's dogs that falls to my blades is killed by a Darkspear - not by a Thorn. When they find you, tell them one of your Sisters rescued you - and nothing more."

The captive Trolls looked confused for a second, but nodded at her, seemingly understanding. "So we are finally at War with Hellscream?"

She grunted, pulling herself further up into the tree.

"The Kor'kron tried to take over the Echo Isles in secret. As I said, only Thrall and a handful of heroes know about this. But what's happened here cannot stay secret for long. Tonight's events need to remain unknown for as long as they can, though I feel we've just scratched the surface. I have no doubt that this will escalate into open rebellion very soon."

The captive Trolls exchanged a combination of confused, nervous and excited looks. They looked back up to the tree. "And what will you do when -that- happens?"

But she was gone. All that was left was the now deafening cry of the beginnings of the Darkspear Rebellion.

((5.3 contains far too many awesome story points for me not to take IC as a Troll Roleplayer (Trollplayer), regardless of guild/allegiances. I'm hoping to see a lot of Horde RP based on the coming events very soon. The above story sees Zjorda play her small role in the 5.2 Dominance Offensive quest line in prep for the patch.))