[FONT="]Some short distance from the lands of men, far from the reach of the Horde and it’s folk, sits a small shrine, a relic from the Way-Back-When, crafted lovingly and with devotion from age and weather-worn granite and surrounded by desolate lands of weed-strewn grasses and sickly old trees which nonetheless never die. These lands had been old and dying even before the primitive children of Elune had passed through its scarred landscape. They had come, it was said by those whose words are not heeded, the drunkards and madmen in the taverns of great cities, but would never name the inhospitable place as they had with all others, fearing something that slept under the hills and preyed on the few beasts that grazed or hunted among the trees. [/FONT]
[FONT="]Not even during the great separation, the Sundering that killed millions and destroyed an empire, they whispered to their listeners as they leaned forward slowly and looked around cautiously, these scarred fools turned storytellers, lucky or skilled enough to be able to drink themselves away in what little they had of a ruined semblance of average life, they said that the area had never even shivered or moved, even had remained untouched by the overbearing waters of the storm, or so it had always been said.[/FONT]
[FONT="]No men had passed through those lands in their ancient wanderings, no intelligent beasts stretched himself to sleep there, and even the majestic dragons took wing over those sleepy valleys where the wrongness of the hills was strong only when no other options remained to them. The traveling Elves, survivors without home, cursed those few places where life could thrive in their tongue, calling it ‘the bed of those who never dwelt on this world.’ When they had a home finally, these people imposed a heavy restriction on those lands they passed, allowing no sentient being to pass through for many years after.[/FONT]
[FONT="]Several hundred years had passed and long ended before beings would ever dwell in those hills. Hardy and savage things they were; eerily, the earliest appearance of the race of bipedal canines known as the ‘Gnoll’, long thought to have originated in much more distant territory. The primal monsters bought with them from whatever land birthed them an unusual set of beliefs, their strong desire for strength, and some of the most antiquated of nature deities, probably nursed from long-past encounters with elementals or golems from a time predating the birth of this beastly race.[/FONT]
[FONT="]It was not long before these non-industrious nomads took notice of the futility of their dwelling place, but instead of moving on as they had always done before, many remained and knelt and worshipped in the shunned hills and empty vales, once devoid of life. They set fires in rings of a euphoric red on the peaks of the stony cliff tops, and settled stones from nearby quarries where hundreds labored and many more died, vanishing down in the darkness. Little by little, the Gnolls scratched away the at the barren mysteries of the aging land, as inquisitive creatures will always do in fool’s earnest, and old, mummified remains were unearthed and removed from prehistoric barrows that teemed with artifacts from far beyond where these creatures could see, beyond the scope of even the most inventive or dream-enveloped eyes of all.[/FONT]
[FONT="]Silent prayers turned to zealous raving as the folk looked upon the last being to live and die on their new territory. As the stronger brutes lifted the thing, as it can only be described in one word as such, onto a pedestal prepared for that night, eyes were pulled and faces were stretched by maddened hands as the denizens looked upon what was produced by the work of their tired paws. It lay still, being long, long slain, and was larger than the platform it was set upon. Long arms lay at its sides, thinned out and dried by its lack of nutrition in death. These ended in seven thick fingers, with all but the last two ending in rotted and black nails. These were heavily worn, as though this thing had held them wrapped them around something for its entire lifespan. It had broad shoulders and a trunk-like thick neck that was almost thankfully pierced by a thin series of holes, almost like tunnels, that exited from the right side of the dead thing’s neck, a death wound, most likely. On top of this bizarre damage, a roughly oval shaped head was topped by a flat dome and an almost triangular face, with small nasal orifices and a pair of closed eyes on each side of this strange visage. [/FONT]
[FONT="]Its mouth was most horrendous, with even a sealed mouth displaying thousands of needle tipped teeth that all fit into neat opening beside each other. These were yellowish, with a trace of green, and were almost translucent. A faint trail of a dried liquid slime from the nose terminated here, leaving more of the stuff gathering where the upper lip would have been. The torso was strange, but it vaguely resembled an unusually thick and cylindrical shape not unheard of in some unusual specimens of early humans. This dead creature was no such thing, obviously. Its legs, too, were manlike, with very pronounced kneecaps and with the same phalanges structure. [/FONT]
[FONT="]This thing, whatever it was, had definitely been a massive mound of potency in life, capable of tearing asunder its prey. Even in death, it sent these Gnolls shivering madly and many of them would see this predator, alive by some fantastical quirk of death, striding the landscapes of their dreams that night. The masters and chieftains of the Gnolls saw this and despair took them, as they envisioned this one come again, undoing all they had come to this strange new home for. Many, again, left the hills; hundreds of maniacs howling and jabbering to the world of the dead ones come again from the down below. Sadly, very few of these sensible but insane beasts survived, only a few ever seeing one of tribes who had grown from the earlier departures. [/FONT]
[FONT="]They all feared this new discovery, but some new idea befell them and they still continued to work as hard as possible to reclaim even more of these earth-held dead. Much more was done, and they toiled endlessly, stopping only to die with no noise and no attention. They were as beings seized in a terrifying nightmare, none stopping even to catch a comrade fallen before the blades or a whole crew trapped in the heavy stonefall. The mad beasts labored on, spending lives for something they knew not…[/FONT]
[FONT="].. and yet strove to know better than should ever be recommended to the living. Several generations later, a sprawling complex of burials and troves of ancient gear was completely discovered. The Gnolls no longer found themselves in fear of the long dead, no, they worshipped them, likening them to their old gods and saying they had cast down the old pantheon and found a new one which would sate all things they would ever desire. They cast down their old statues, burning them in their circles of flame on the hilltops. Only stone carvings of a few ancient Gnolls retained their positions overlooking their corpse of a village, as the crazed brutes set themselves to turn out more of what they had found below. They praised those they discovered the long dead and ruined corpses of the hill-dwellers from long before their own time.[/FONT]
[FONT="]Yet, they still knew so little of their new masters, dead though they were, who lorded over them somehow, as if from beyond the veil of death they sat like kings. They had no name, being called only the ‘gods’ or the dead, just as the lands they dwelled on were called only home. These Gnolls knew little, for even the foolish and the children know that a name has power, as does the lack of a name. Quick to argue, they fought over a name for their masters, and it was long before they proclaimed them the Ksati’z, or Malice in the common tongue. [/FONT]
[FONT="]A ritual of naming was held, and this new title accepted, as befitting of such a powerful race of monstrous things. In those days, that name signified their strength and the absence of anyone willing to face them. These were a strange time for the Gnolls of the village. Many disappeared in the tombs, and still a few lost themselves to madness and were sealed in parts of their homes where the rest of the family could avoid them easily. They concentrated on building more and more, escalating the animal hide and wood village into a dusty and thoroughly frightening near-human town of brick and tile. This entire township was centered on the original site of the quarry, the new entrance to the far below where it was said the Gods slept dreaming and from where they would come again when their repose had ended. This great mouth into the things of dusty shadows and shriveled corpses was surrounded by two pillars, columns of such great height and of such strange material that they maddened a man who looked too long at the carvings that seemed to only be there when one close their eyes.[/FONT]
[FONT="]It seemed that they grew more muscular and powerful, even as they began to waste away from malnutrition and lack of clean water, as they added to the sick grandeur of their new world. None died anymore, but occasionally a few of the weaker Gnolls, the runts and the social outcasts usually, fled the village for fear of something greater than all the choking spires and windswept villages of stone they would ever build and hope for. These unwanted were forgotten quickly, for the work of the Malice was never to be done until they came again. And so it was, fifteen years after the village had been completed, leaving the Gnolls to finally rest for what seemed a moment’s breath, that the Malice walked upon the surface of Azeroth once again. By this time, the Gnolls had been lax in their worship, some even worrying that their new gods laughed at their work and would just walk away. Prayers were redoubled and the ceremonies and sacrifices in the hills were repeated with feverish energy nightly. [/FONT]
[FONT="]The first corpse awoke early in the day, when many were idle. It only shook, and then it raised itself so calmly, that it seemed only natural, as if it had never been immobile, dead. The thing looked around at the keeling Gnolls, watching them like some dictator among his lowest serfs. They howled praises of joy and exultation, and some died when their hearts stopped as the newly living gazed upon them. All were hysterical in their madness as they danced in circles about the thing that only watched and walked alongside the mad Gnolls that surrounded it. [/FONT]
[FONT="]The next one came from a large stone building across the way, striding with large legs to join its companion, followed by more who came from all directions of the village, although many dozens surfaced from the subterranean pits and chambers of the ancient tombs. These all looked fresh and as vibrantly alive as such a hideous being can be. They came immediately to the large house long prepared for them, and brought many Gnolls within before sealing it shut behind their long steps. Of those who came within, only one or two ever left later, to speak for their newly arrived masters. They spoke hungrily of an even greater master, an unseen king who ruled over many more worlds and who had long ago desired this rapturous planet, before he was struck down by a jealous being known as Sargeras, and who had exiled his people to a great expanse of dead stars where they had later established themselves above the native creatures, and forcing them out to be slain by the masterful Titan who waited eagerly for this challenge. They had never feared the Legion he had assembled in his grief and madness, and had laughed in his terrible burning face before they vanished back into the Nether.[/FONT]
[FONT="]Earlier on, they had carried their dead king to another world, unformed as of yet, that served as his funeral pier, and from his form many jealous and squabbling things were born. To the Titans who swept by out of the stars millennia later, these proved to be unforgivable enemies; the Old Gods, as they were called later by the beings born of that struggle. They knew nothing of their heritage, as they swiftly killed and massacred the king’s people, seeing them as only a threat to their consolidation of power on their new world. Their wretched forms were cast down into the halls of the tomb, where nothing alive stirred. Left by those who could have led them, their true beings, cunning shadows with a desire to live once more, they found the lands above empty of any life worth looking into, and they killed the unwanted animals and plants that proved to be worthless. They saw the coming of the kaldorei, but these immortals proved elusive, as they deflected the messages and questions that came to them suddenly when they passed through that land. It was only when the Gnolls came, these new messengers of the Malice come-again said proudly, that they found worthy allies and strong partners in the many forms of life on Azeroth that had come through the sacred patch of land where the old king lay, dead but dreaming of conquest in his cyclopean city even further down below then the upper tombs that the mining had led to. They delved deeper after this, searching as their masters instructed them to…[/FONT]
[FONT="]It was around this time, in the lonely countryside on the farthest reaches of the human kingdom based in Stormwind, that a boy named Llien was born to a veteran of wars past and his young wife. The father, a capable man named Ealdric, held the boy for days, as his wife regained her strength and came back to herself. His wife, the pretty woman called Gutrun, recuperated soon after and they sat lovingly admiring their young son, as she played with the tiny curls of mossy brown hair and he played childishly with the lads hands. They lived well, this small family in a near equally small town known as Agiren, along with ten or so other families. The boy was raised well, and after nearly eighteen years at home, he was ready for the ceremony that would bring him among the men of the town and the clan. This is to be an important night for me, he thought to himself, and then my friends and I will have become just as equal to the men as that oaf Kylian and his fools. He turned aside, and picked up his new cloak from the seat of the chair that sat aside his bed. The cloak, made from red dyed materials, was lined with the furry hide of the marauding bear that had wandered into the village earlier that year. He remembered how proudly his father had beamed as Llien Mac –Tir dragged the three hundred pound brute back to their wagon, his thick spear still gleaming, unwashed of the bear’s dark blood. The old weaver, Udric, and his wife had made the heavy cloak for him recently, after most of the meat on the bear had been used or stored already and its fur was washed. The other men of the village had also looked on him with much favor and consideration in their eyes as he had dragged the carcass to the wagon, not only his father. And now, he hoped they would remember that night when he wore his new cloak. [/FONT]
[FONT="]He looked quietly into the old mirror that stood above his chest of belongings, wondering somewhat if the ritual tonight would change more than just his standing among his people. His profile was slightly attractive, with high cheekbones and an average brow. His dark eyes glanced over himself, and at his long hair which would be shorn that night. He had a regal nose, with a soft and pleasant looking face. Satisfied, Llien sprinted hurriedly out of the farmhouse, and was met outside by Finn and Othwaine, the closest of his friends. “Excellent cape you have there, friend.” Finn spoke mockingly, amusement in his eyes. Othwaine grumbled in mock agreement, the two of them behaving jokingly like the old men at the tavern they sometimes envied. [/FONT]
[FONT="]“Methinks that’s quite enough out of you young buffoons, away with ye!” he replied gruffly. There was a long moment where silence held their tongues... then the three boys laughed heartily and shook with glee. “Llien, you hound, that was good!” Othwaine said with conviction as he laughed. Finn only shook his head as he did the same. “Thank you kindly, you idiots.” was Llien’s only reply as he too chuckled at his own joke.”Now let’s be off and find something to devour before we have to fast for tonight.” The pair nodded, still shaking with laughter as they followed after their best friend. A minute later, they went inside the tavern, a well built and roomy establishment known fondly as the ‘Cesspool. Most of the village ate here, since it was the only place where a man could get a decent meal, and still have all the ale he desperately wanted. A man named Ostil greeted the three young men as they entered, and clasped, Othwaine, his son’s hand. The two embraced and then they proceeded further to a table where a young friend of theirs, a quiet boy named Yueh, sat with his brothers. “Yueh! Make way for the men!”One of the older ones said tauntingly. Llien laughed and accepted a few comradely backslaps before he sat.”It appears your ritual is tonight, lads” Another of the brothers said carefully “So you’d best keep on your toes. The elders are getting creative with the ceremony and rites this year. Least that’s what that loudmouthed bull Kylian told me they were doing last year.” he said, putting stress on the name of Llien’s most disliked rival. Again, that damn name, he thought angrily, will I always be drawn up and compared to that imbecile? Just because we were friends once does not state that we were so alike. [/FONT]
[FONT="]As they sat, a young woman walked over confidently. Her pleasant smile drew stares from nearby tables, where other young men watched and sat filled with near envy as they saw her approach the table. “Well met again, men. What will you be eating today?”The barmaid known as Elna said cheerily. Finn returned her smile with his usual toothy grin, the one he always saved for his beloved. “Well, my dear, what had Fat Kilwain made for the meal today? We would hate to force the greedy bastard to work and make some more food for our nourishment.” [/FONT]
[FONT="]Elna laughed sweetly, and blushed as she saw the look in his small blue eyes.”Oh Finn... Just give me a real order, and some gold, and I’m sure Kilwain will hop like we’ve never seen before to feed that degrading mouth of yours.”Othwaine shook his head and laughed into his arm as Finn gave him a cross look. Llien replied for his friend. “If you can, get us some of that mutton from the meal last night, and add some salt. And, if you please, some barley and oats mush.”He flipped three grimy gold coins at her, which she caught deftly. Elna rolled her eyes at his faked respect, and then laughed softly. “Finn, why can’t you be more like your friend here? Show some respect for a lady, sometimes.”She shook with quiet sniggering as she walked back to the kitchen.[/FONT]
[FONT="]“Sometimes I think you hate me, Llien. Then I remember you don’t stand a chance with my girl!” Finn roared with laughter at his friend, who only shook his head and flashed his customary sideways smirk. “You know he tries. That’s what we call ‘courage’, you churl.”Yueh countered quickly. His brothers laughed and Finn joined in for a moment before feigning extreme anger and poutiness. “Why you...” he said under his breath jokingly. Othwaine looked at his friend, then stretched his arm out and slapped the back of his head, a sly smile on his thin face. “Look at you, the giant brought to his knees by the tiny man with the sling and pebbles. The mighty Finn has been defeated at his own foolish game!”Finn nodded his head in disbelief and sad acceptance, pretending to wipe his eyes of imaginary tears. “You seem assured of this, Othwaine.” A playful woman’s voice said calmly behind him, and he whirled to find pretty Elna with a platter of steaming meat and three wooden bowls. “Of course, madam, we all know that Finn is all speech and that he always finds no reason to use his fists. Remember the bear, Llien?”He turned to Llien as he said this, who grinned and responded. “Of course. And especially Finns visage as the gaze of the beast fell upo-“ [/FONT]
[FONT="]He was suddenly interrupted as a large group of some of the middle-aged men of the village came spiritedly into the tavern, looks of surprise and something Llien could not see on their bearded faces. One of these men, a large fellow, Ilodh, caught his stare and noticed the group at the table. He gesticulated at them and called them forth. Llien, Finn, and Othwaine quickly rose to their feet and followed after the men as they left the warm confines of the Cesspool. Outside, they saw that many others had been brought or roused to join the gathering crowd of men. Another youth and friend of theirs, Adeleas, saw them and approached them. “Any ideas? What could this be about?”Othwaine grabbed Llien’s shoulder. “Look. The older men arm themselves. Methinks we go to battle.” [/FONT]
[FONT="]The friends whirled and saw this was true; the men of Agiren fitted suits of mail onto themselves as their women fastened sword belts or passed bucklers down to waiting men. Nearby, Ostil and Ealdric conversed with a pair of men who wore heavy suits of plate armor, something not many could afford and ill-suited to the hot weather anyway. As they approached, Llien’s father called to him and he came forward. “Lad, these men are from the king’s own army. They say we are to accompany their advance to the Haunts.”Llien looked uneasy as he answered. “Father.. Is this wise? We know very well that those hills are cursed by the most high of Gods, why do we venture within their hideous shadow?”One of the armored men rolled his eyes and looked at the youth with narrowed eyes through his headgear. “This is merely fool’s superstition, peasant. We will sort out any real trouble. And worry not; there will be many men going to this ‘Haunt’, all the tribes of idle men in this region have been called forth for battle, although I myself am unsure as to why we would need so many men to sort out a nest of madmen or monsters. Our footmen are more than capable enough.”He walked away, his steps marked by arrogance as he held himself high and tried to look down on even those who stood above his height.[/FONT]
[FONT="]“My boy, I ask of you a favor, from a father who would see you return. They have asked that I remain here in the village, these new soldiers. Therefore, I ask, nay I demand, that you carry my arms and the coat of our family when you go into the thick of it in those evil lands.”Llien looked suddenly up as his father told him this, surprised and hurt that he would not be able to stand aside his father on the field where he could gain his manhood in a way far greater than any of the presumptuous elders could create. “It is agreed, father. I will bring honor to our name!” He shouted with some veiled anger, although this only made the old soldier smile and laugh quietly. “Here is the spear your father held as he tore into the fierce Orcs and the Traitor King’s hordes like one of the heroes from the songs. I am unsure of where this strange metal originates, but it has always proven workable enough and has been a boon to me when all else was swept away in the ruin and fortune of war. Bear it well, child of mine.”He looked sadly over the men who ran to assemble, moving into disorderly and bristling ranks. “Now son, let us speak with the elders, then I will see your feet as you fly to ruin or total honor.”Llien only nodded, a strange mix of fear and desire for the coming battle in turmoil throughout his mind…[/FONT]
[FONT="]A fortnight passed without event as the backwater men and ordered ranks of armored footmen carved through the seemingly endless glades of rotten trees and dead vegetation. Then signs of the Haunt appeared, the strange wrongness that marked this region as undesirable. Men dreamed strange things as they sat, and screamed and tore at demons that did not exist. Llien, his hair shortened and changed before he had left, sat beside his two friends, although Othwaine had trouble keeping awake, despite heavy noise and a brilliant sun. Of his long hair, only two thick and heavy braids remained, the rest only existed as a wild mane that seemed to fan out like some mad gladiator’s hair. [/FONT]
[FONT="]Llien too was sleepless, although he forced himself to remain awake in damned anticipation, for it was said they would certainly meet with the enemy on the morrow as they parted ways with the dead woods. He fingered his spear, gazing up the thick and heavy oak to the mysteriously green head that always seemed to shift about like some jar filled with exotic wine. No one spoke as they looked over at where they could see the strange fires that dotted the hills. Finn shook his head angrily. “We have no idea what these hill folk even look.”He looked around, waiting for an answer or counter, but no one sought to reply.”I hate this indecisiveness.”Groaning, he set himself onto his cloak and curled himself up. “Now leave me. I need to sleep, you fool.”Llien only nodded and looked back over the distance. It was here, on the edge of these devastated lands, that I will become one with the legacy of father’s soldier family and gain my manhood, he said to himself, though no one heard…[/FONT]
[FONT="]Men had assembled as instructed, and already the mounted footmen whooped and raced across the flat terrain towards the hills. They looked magnificent, like the demi-gods in the old tales who always smote down the smoldering demons and saved Azeroth from certain destruction. They waved shining swords that reflected the sunlight so as to hurt Llien’s eyes even from his vantage point back in the woods. Indeed, they were dangerous men, grim and quiet, and he was glad that whatever king now ruled in high Stormwind Keep did not field these men against his village. Now, Llien could see dark shapes from the hills as the enemy came down to meet the valorous charge. Certainly they would be only swept aside? The earth quivered suddenly as the charge stalled just short of the first hill, prevented by whatever foe stood before them. Llien watched as they brought those terrifying swords in great arcs that cast aside many of their dark attackers. Llien sensed more movement, and saw that his own company ran forward to come to the aid of the trapped advance. [/FONT]
[FONT="]He roared into the suddenly waving winds and ran forth, spear held low. Up ahead, another tremor shook the horsemen, toppling those who were caught unready. The dark forms, now revealed as ugly and hairless beings that resembled dogs, leapt onto the fallen and made quick work of them as they tore into them with clubs or fanged jaws. Just as sudden as the wind, another shape appeared amongst the feral dog-men, one which stood as tall as the hills and emitted more of the wrongness that filled the air. It looked around itself. The thing looked as if it had always been at that spot, it seemed to Llien. It must have always been there. It reached out to the oncoming villagers, almost as if waiting to embrace an old friend. As the men came upon the thing, its hands opened wide and it took ahold of several of them, then shut them tight and shattered their meager frames. Many more succumbed to this being before it was brought down by other men. [/FONT]
[FONT="]Men struggled all around him. Many were bleeding terribly or lay on their sides around the disturbingly stained cobblestone square. Many of the enemy lay about, although the mutants still fought madly to stop their foe. Llien sprinted past a knot of fighting and came upon the source of his despair, the tall columns of endless black. He screamed an oath and ran forth. His spear vibrated suddenly and slammed into a tiny opening, invisible in the dark stone. His thoughts were warped and thrown around as something screamed into his very soul, a death rattle of something already dead. The Spearhead! It had come from his own armory, all those years ago! When the prospectors had come and stolen from his tomb, they had taken his materials and crafted them anew! While none could harm this damned king, only this object, once a catalyst to his own mighty weapons, could bring him screaming back unto the face of the void he had dragged himself away from. No! He would never return to that![/FONT]
[FONT="]The explosion of massive energy shook Azeroth for all two seconds, and then its former ruler, one they never knew, died, taking with him all his disgusting followers and many of the people who had come to slay him. Llien Mac-Tir became a man, and it was said later that the heroic men do not truly die, but live to see the gods in their own home.[/FONT]
. Just call me up if you need help!
, but:
, or where must I post the symbols, collided into words, interwoven into sentences, gathered to make various images, feelings and thought appear in the "mind's eye" of the reader? Demek where do I send my stow-wy? 
