Tiikii worked her weapons to a shine that left an warped reflection of her own ghastly and scarred face. She readied all things and with little hesitation donned the armor that she might be assembling for one last time. It was not like her to think of her own demise in such terms, but this attack, this raid upon the temples, walls, and buildings of Zul'Gurub seemed a daunting task to all. This day could forge an army ready to create a new empire tempered in the flames of victory, or if all were crushed, would the legacy continue on? Would it be helped by their own sacrafice? So many were willing and ready to come to hear the call of the empire, loa, and Trolls. But in the end would they lay in their own blood for this cause? Today would tell.

Tiikii nuzzled her nose upon the cheek of her sleeping mate, as he rolled among the furs on the bed half awakened by her clattering. He turns and looks at her with a lazy sapta enhanced gaze and slowly locked tusks with her. A moment passes and she pushes him away, turns and walks out the of the hut. He would not need to be ready for many hours. The witchdoctors had been up late that night, and now were excused from early morning practice.

Only a few hours...in the dark of the night...Beth'ekk would be with them, guarding them. What was the word of this "Messenger" worth? Would the loa lead them to the blood, bile, and glory they looked for? Who was to be this "War Chief" to appear in half a moon?

 [This story was written before the City on a Hill event took place]