Kul'thran's Introduction - Part 5 - Memories

Kul'thran and the others ran up the passage and out of the cave to see a stormy sky above them, releasing ominous rain upon the island. Suddenly, the island shook violently, and for a moment, the young troll thought it was going to plunge into the sea. However, it fortunately stabilized itself instead.

Kul'thran's old shirt was worn with the mixed musty smell of burnt cloth and wet clothing. His pants were in no better condition, and felt uncomfortable on his legs. However, that did not stop the troll; he had a few light wounds on his body, here and there, but nothing terribly massive, especially when compared to the orcs, many of whom were almost bathing in blood and rain with large spear wounds from the murlocs' attacks. Thrall was just as wounded as his companions, but still held strong in spite of his injuries.

"Come! We'll return to base, gather the trolls, and set sail for Kalimdor!" he commanded.

Kalimdor? What's that? Kul'thran wondered curiously. Whatever or wherever it was, he hoped it was safer than on this island so close to the Maelstorm. The other orcs saluted their warchief and made haste towards the base in the southern shore. How they knew it was there, Kul'thran never found out.

Someone poked Kul'thran on the shoulder, causing him to turn around; it was Vol'jin. "Mon, listen ta me," he said firmly, placing his arms on the young troll's shoulders. "As yer guardian now, I need ya to get ta da base and get yerself behind the strongest orcs and trolls we have. Got it? No hero business!"

Kul'thran nodded, and turned to leave with Vol'jin and the others when he sensed a strong spiritual presence. He turned around and saw that Thrall had not left yet, but had been nursing his wolf's wounds with first aid. He was being quick, so that (Kul'thran guessed) he could return swiftly to the orcish base. However, as he mounted his wolf, he looked behind himself and stared into the distance. Perhaps, he, too, could sense the presence.

Out of air and water appeared a woman of evil design that sent shivers down Kul'thran's back. This must be that Sea Witch!

She let out a wail of anger and glared at Thrall. "You land-dwellers... outsiders! You will not escape my wrath! I will send this island to the bottom of the very ocean, and there will be nothing you could possibly do to stop me!"

"Maybe not," Thrall responded. "But that doesn't mean we can't leave without your permission! Besides... you had your sacrifice!" he added angrily. "Isn't that enough for you?"

"You..." she narrowed her eyes. "How dare you think you can control my need for power! I am the goddess of these waters, and sacrifices must be made to me. In this case, it would have been you and those petty trolls. One is never enough!" She raised her hands towards Thrall. "Now... since you have been the most troublesome outsider--"

Kul'thran wouldn't let it happen. Despite what Vol'jin said, he pulled out his chain with the shrunken heads on them and cast a dark incantation on each of the heads. He noticed Vol'jin out of the corner of his eye lunge for him, but the young troll quickly rolled forward and threw his chain at the witch's arms. With a direct hit, the chain wrapped around the being's arms tightly, and each of the shrunken heads, on contact, released black gases into the air.

Shrieks of pain escaped the Sea Witch's mouth, and she struggled to break the chain apart with no avail. He saw Thrall take the opportunity to flee from the Sea Witch. He headed straight for the base and motioned for the trolls to follow. Vol'jin gave Kul'thran a dark glare, but before he could say anything else, a voice screamed from behind them.

"You will never escape the fate of this island!" It was the Sea Witch. Kul'thran dared not to look behind him, instead, he kept running alongside his people and the orcs to the main base. Finally, within minutes, they reached the southern shore.

Unfortunately, the base was heavily damaged, the great fortifications that Kul'thran had seen the day before were mere piles of wood as peons struggled to repair burning watch towers and broken buildings. A wolf rider approached Thrall, and announced that a volcano had erupted nearby, threatening to destroy the island.

"Then it is necessary that we leave this island," Thrall said.

"What about the trolls, chieftain?"

"They are coming with us to Kalimdor. It was Sen'jin's wish for us to take them there," he explained.

"Wait, warchief," Vol'jin spoke up. He looked concerned. "Dere still be many of our tribe in the central parts of da island. We be needin' all of our people dat we can be gettin', mon."

"All right then," Thrall said. He turned to the rider. "How long until the ships are repaired?"

"About twenty minutes, warchief," the rider responded.

"Sounds like we'll haff ta be survivin' until den," Kul'thran said. He looked over at the ships near the shore; they hardly looked like the type orcs would build from the design of orcish buidlings. "Say... did you--?"

"No time fer dat, 'lil brudda," Mahka'jor interrupted. "We need to get our people back."

"Yeah, mon," Vol'jin said. "But, Kul'thran, you be stayin' here. I told ya no hero business, and I be meanin' it dis time! I dun want ya ta die on us. Alright?"

This time, Kul'thran nodded more firmly. There was no need for him to leave, yet he was nervous; at any moment, the island could sink to the bottom. He wondered if the orcs could really hold out long enough to repair the ships and avoid the Sea Witch's wrath.

The strongest of the trolls agreed to go and gather their people, while Thrall offered some of his men to go with them. As soon as they were done speaking, a group of murlocs raided the base with their spears. From the towers, the orcish archers barraged their enemies with arrows as grunts, and wolf riders rushed to stop the attack.

"I'll stay back in case that witch reappears!" Thrall said. "Go quickly!"

The trolls saluted him and immediately rushed out the northern path out of the base towards the village. Kul'thran wanted to go, but he knew it would be too dangerous, even around his friends. For one thing, he was weaponless now, and he only had a few priest spells to protect himself with.

The warchief turned to Kul'thran. "My friend," he said calmly. "I've noticed you've been able to use a little of the priestly magic. Can you heal? Even if only lightly?"

Kul'thran shook his head, now he was regretting the times he skipped his healing lessons. "Sorry I dun be a fully train'd priest yet. What do ya want me ta do, warchief?"

"I wanted you to help heal any wounds of the warriors and workers at the ships," he explained. "Can you do First Aid, Kul'thran?"

"Only a small bit, mon."

"That's good enough for me. Go to the shore where the ships are and see if you can help with any the wounds of the orcs down there. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Kul'thran saluted Thrall. It felt strange to do that; for after being alongside him throughout the whole underground dungeon, Thrall felt more like a companion rather than a superior being. Yet, the young troll knew his manners (as taught by the trolls) and knew to respect authority.

As he reached the southern shore of the island, Kul'thran slipped on a wet rock, slammed into the ground and blacked out. He stood up to find himself in total darkness. Where... am I? He stepped forward and found the the floor to be very cold, so cold that it caused his whole body to shiver.

"Kul'thran..." a kind voice said from behind him.

He turned around suddenly to see a female troll who had been standing behind him. She was about his height, and carried those same red eyes that he did. There was something familiar about this person, but the young troll couldn't put his finger on it.

"Who be you?" Kul'thran asked. "How do ya be knowin' ma name?"

The troll didn't answer him, instead, she began to cry silently. Kul'thran moved to try to comfort her when he saw that she was smiling at him. The young troll was confused, he didn't know what was going on or why this woman was here. He recalled that he was supposed to be tending to Thrall's men, but somehow, he had ended up in this world of darkness with this crying female troll.

Finally she spoke in their native tongue: "I'm glad you're alive."

"Huh?" Kul'thran was absolutely clueless as to what she was referring to. Was he supposed to be dead? Or dying? He didn't feel that way at all.

Even more bizarre, the female troll stepped forward and placed her hand on his forehead for no reason that the young troll could think of.

"I... I wish you could stay here," she said. "But this is just a dream, Kul'thran. It's time to wake up. Other people need you now in the real world. Go!" She pressed her hand on his forehead and shoved him forward.

"Wait!" he cried out. "Who you be? Tell me!" But as soon as he fell over and hit the ground with a loud thud he awoke from the dream, and found himself lying on hard wood. The smell of the salty sea was in the air, and above him, he could see large sails tied to a mast. They were fully drawn, and catching the wind.

The face of a troll looked down at him with surprise and then looked up. "He be awake! Kul'thran's awake, mons!" the troll shouted with her hands cupped around her mouth.

Slowly, Kul'thran began to get up, rubbing the back of his sore head when he was bombarded upon by many trolls, a few orcs, and Mahka'jor. They all seemed happy to see him well probably because many of others mentioned that they thought he had died, including his best friend. Then, he was barraged by questions.

"Hey, what happen'd, mon?"

"Does yer head hurt?"

"Are ya alright?"

And others. Finally, a deep, booming voice called out among the group. "Give 'im some air, everymon!" The trolls and orcs backed away from Kul'thran, and allowed the speaker to come forward. It was Vol'jin. The seasoned Shadow Hunter was wearing several bandages, one on his leg, another on his shoulder, and another on his left arm.

He smiled. "Good to see ya awake. Some of us thought ya had died, and others thought dat ya were asleep. I knew ya were alive, though." He walked towards Kul'thran slowly. "'ere, I haff someting fer ya." Into the young troll's hands was placed a blanket wrapped in a bundle, it was blue with crossed faded red and green colored stripes in a square formation. He recognized it immediately.

"Ya went fer ma mother's blanket..." Kul'thran was amazed. This was the blanket that he was assumed to be wrapped in when his mother came to the island. "Wouldn't ya haff put yerself in danger by doin' this?" he asked.

Vol'jin smiled. "I had some extra time, so, I went into yer room and grabbed it since I be knowin' how precious dat be ta you."

"... tank you, Vol'jin," Kul'thran said slowly, feeling the damp fabric of the blanket with his hands. Somehow, it was still warm despite the cool weather they had. Kul'thran had no memory of his mother or what she looked like, but he believed that he could still feel her love for him within the very parts of the blanket.

Now, Vol'jin was gathering the tribe together for something important, and already Kul'thran knew what it was about.

§

The Darkspear Tribe had assembled in a large circle on the ship's deck. Kul'thran had taken a seat next to Mahka'jor (who was also had bandaged wounds from the escape), and waited patiently for Vol'jin to speak.

The Shadow Hunter looked around and apparently was satisfied with the setup. Therefore, he spoke loudly and clearly so all the tribe could hear: "Ma people! I have gathered you all together like dis to decide on who will be the new tribal leader."

Kul'thran already knew who the trolls were going to pick from among them to be the leader; it would be Sen'jin's son. Usually, the tribe always had a succession from father to son, and so forth. If there was no son, then the people would choose a strong, spiritual troll to lead them, but the circle of decision was only used when there was no son. So, Kul'thran wondered why he was using it.

Apparently the trolls were just as confused, they looked back and forth from one another as if trying to find an answer. Finally, Mahka'jor spoke up from among them. "Why, we would be pickin' you, Vol'jin." The other members of the tribe all agreed vocally with the berserker's suggestion.

Vol'jin sighed and then nodded. At first, Kul'thran thought he looked hesitant to take up the spot, but after he opened his eyes, the young troll could see firm determination in them. Apparently, Vol'jin had changed his mind. He stood up and said, "Very well, I will take ma father's place as da chieftain of the Darkspear Tribe."

The whole tribe stood up and gave Vol'jin a supportive cheer, and Kul'thran joined them.

"And you will have a great place in the Horde," a voice said from behind the new chieftain. He turned around to see Thrall walking down from the helm. He was smiling proudly. "Well done, chieftain. May the spirits bless your people who will be among us."

"Tank you, warchief," Vol'jin responded. The two took each other's hand and shook them firmly. It was official, the Darkspear Tribe was now a part of the Horde, and things would never be the same again.

Especially for Kul'thran.