Verizamour Hellshadow, formerly known as Verizamour of Thunder Bluff. Level 60 full blown resto-shaman (0-5-46). One of the original charter signators for Hell Shadow. Wife to Mairtyre Hellshadow.
Twenty agonizing summers ago, a tragedy that should never occur to any sentient being, happened to me. Humans, in their ever increasing self-absorption, decided that the tiny village where I was born must surely be eradicated from the world. So they attacked my people, my tribe, showing mercy for none but me. The fact is that I was not yet even old enough to be weaned, so any feelings I had of revenge have long since vanished…my time among the brave and gentle Tauren has mellowed me, you might say...but to continue my story…
I was spared on the grounds that this small, rather gruesome (at least by human standards) trolling would be a wonderful addition to the pets kept by one of the raider’s wife. This woman, Anara by name, was unable to conceive of a child and in her despondency, had gone slightly mad, and began keeping an odd array of companions. It began with cats, but quickly accelerated to raptors, dangerous mountain cats and feral wolfs. She even offered to purchase a goblin spawn…apparently, there are some things that even the goblins are reluctant to sell. At any rate, I was taken to her, still in swaddling, and very hungry, from the stories I was told. The humans of Theramore tried for days to find the right type of food to properly feed a trolling, and just as they thought they were going to have to kill me to keep me from starving to death, a traveling goblin huckster stumbled across a concoction that kept me nourished and allowed me to grow.
For many years, the humans treated me tolerably well. I had a spot in a barn, with a straw mattress and a supply of candles. I was allowed to play with human children, until I accidentally bit a playmate on the face. I eventually was able to communicate to them my physical needs, though I never did master their tongue. When I had seen nine summers, my tusks began to come in, and I caused no end of damage to the door posts of the house, attempting to properly sharpen them. Anara, my mistress, was distressed by my trollish behavior and called the local butcher to remove my tusks. When I realized what they had in mind, I screeched and thrashed about like a wild thing, and when Anara tried to put her hand across my mouth to silence me, I neatly bit her finger off. It was the final straw. I was immediately put inside a cage in the farthest corner of the barn, my mattress and candles taken from me. I was fed twice daily by a stable-boy, who peered at me with evil, hungry eyes whenever he came. I knew that someday, I would have to kill this boy, or he would surely kill me. My freedom gone, my life as a caged animal seemed to stretch into eternity. At least, it seemed an eternity at the time.
In actuality, the very next spring, the great Taurens of Thunder Bluff raided the holdings where I was captive. Having never seen a Tauren before, my terror was soon eased by none other than the great Beram Skychaser, the shaman warrior of Thunder Bluff. He talked softly to me in a bizarre mixture of Orc, Troll, common and Taurahe so as not to cause further trauma, then gently lifted me from my cage. When I was finally free, I briefly considered fleeing from this leviathan, until I saw the feeding-boy running toward me, blade drawn. Beram drew a great huge axe, but I was faster than he. I slid Beram’s skinning dagger from his hip, and turned on the human boy. His eyes were full of hatred, but behind his seething rage, I could see his fear. In one leap, I was on him. I discovered that day that life is a frail thing as I watched the life-blood pour from this child onto my hands and onto the ground in the barn. My blood-lust flared and I turned to face Beram, but before I could muster even a facsimile of a swing, he had picked me up by both my wrists and lifted me completely off the ground. “Today is not your day to die, young one. It would be shameful if my blade had to spill your blood the way yours spilt his,” he said, pointing at the still-warm stable-boy. I shuddered at the strength in those hands, and submitted to him. He continued to whisper at my ear, reassuring me that all was well. His soothing voice and gentle manner brought forth from me an emotion that I had never before experienced…love. He loaded me onto a great golden Kodo and with his band of warriors, swept me off to Thunder Bluff.
The beauty of Thunder Bluff from the plains of lucious Mulgore tore at my soul. Somehow, deep within, I knew I had found my home. The elevator nearly made me go mad with fright, but sitting on a giant Kodo behind Beram Skychaser has a very calming effect. He spoke to me of Kalara, a female whom he knew that had a herd of younglings and had recently calved. He told me that he was leaving me in her care, and I was to assist her with her brood until such time as he called for me. When he left me there in front of Kalara Heatherhoof’s hut, I knew that someday I, too, would become a great and wise shaman, and work to heal the grievous wounds of the Mother so wantonly wrought by those who seek to tear Her asunder. My childhood with the Tauren was much like that of any other Tauren calf…except for the fact that I was not, in fact, a Tauren. The calves in Kalara’s brood never made me feel like an outsider, though, and we shared in bales of mischief. And one by one, the older calves grew to be Braves and were assigned far from Thunder Bluff until at last, the days of my childhood grew short and I, too, was called to learn. I spent my time at the Den, as do all the denizens of Thrall’s Durotar, and emerged stronger…and better prepared for what would lay ahead.
In youthful impetuousness, I joined the Nightblade Troll clan, only to soon discover that they were far more fitting “trolls” than I. I left them to their plots and politics, and carried on alone. I traveled the vast wastelands of the Barrens for many weeks, doing odd jobs for those I came across in my travels. I felt I was seeking some deeper purpose, though I had no idea what it could be. I met a lively young Tauren huntress, Zefo, whose boundless energy set fire to my travels. I was elated when I first discovered the Great Lift of Thousand Needles, which to me, signaled my rite of passage into a grander world. It was while thinning the numbers of the centaur that plague that region that I met and befriended a very wise orc, who, as luck would have it, was also a shaman, by the name of Verdancee. He was older than I. but on many of the same errands that I myself was on, so for some time we traveled together. He told me briefly of his youth, his time at the Orgimmar orcanage, and his younger brother, Mairtyre. Because of his physical prowess, and his great wisdom, it was not long at all before I was smitten with him. He was flattered by my attention, but unmoved from a vow of celibacy that he had taken to better serve the Mother. I, however, am not so easily deterred and for quite some time, threw myself at him with wanton abandon. Like the wise orc I know him to be, however, he maintained his oath and I was continually rebuffed. Then, on a great day late in the spring, I met Mairtyre for the first time. He shared his brother’s great charm, and orcishly rugged looks. Mairtyre had his own wisdom, and while not the worldly wisdom that flowed from his brother, it was very endearing. And Mairtyre had a warrior’s heart, an amazingly compelling thing. I found myself attracted to both brothers…but what could have been dangerously volatile, never was. Verdancee, I think seeing this opportunity to extricate himself from my advances, soon surpassed me in skill, and left me often to travel with Mairtyre. This was the beginnings of Hell Shadow.
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