The dry air of Durotar blew through the huts and homes of Orgrimmar. The sun's rays slid from the rooves of buildings, releasing the days grasp on the hours. The troll whelp picked his way along the well beaten streets of the city to the large fire in the valley of Spirits. The news bearer had much to tell this day.

His eyes shone in the light of the dying sun. His job was not usually a pleasent one. Often it was little more than reciting a list of the dead to the trolls waiting in anticipation for kin in the Valley. Tonight was different.

He started with the list, the list was common, normal, regular. The others could tell he had other news, just by his expression. But he wanted to get the bad news over first. He went over those that were heavily wounded by the fierce de'mons of that far away world through the gate. He then went over the list that seemed harder to deal with. The list of those spirits that had passed to the loa here, in Sen'jin, in Malaka'jin, Shadowprey. Of those whose bodies were lost in the countless assaults at the Crossroads. That list was never easy. So many lost to those they were not supposed to war with. The brutal, barbaric, savages of the Alliance. The humans, elves and companions had taken a heavy toll today. Children, women, the old all of them little spared from the blades in their own homes.

The boy was silent a moment, giving honor to those who had passed. His tusks gleamed in the last drops of sun in an otherwise dusky eve. The trolls had great victory today. He thought of the words that the messenger had spoken to him.

They had gathered in Stranglethorn. In the jungle, their home, their life, their blood. Today they had made their stand. The artifact they had gathered from their ancient enemy the Quraji had been re-awoken at the hands of a Champion. Quidel, the chosen of the snake. The staff had been united. The war of flowers had been won by this hero. The song of the Empire had rung from his lips. In Gurubashi Arena the ritual combat had been decided. Then the trolls marched.

They marched to the enemy. To the intruder. To the ones that brought misery. With blood life could return to this treasure of the snake. with the sacrafice of a heart it would regai its power. They marched. To the camp, the humans lay surprised as the trolls tore through with the anger of a beast long abused. The humans stood no chance. The trolls massacered all. For once the humans would feel what loss was like.

The trolls had praised the loa for the slaughter, The champion had taken aheart, from a man. Impaled upon the staff for all to see a great victory yell rose among the trolls. For the Empire! For the Trolls.

The humans were chased from the jungle for that day. The trolls held their lands once more. The trolls had left their trophy, a wreath of tribal raptor feathers, the symbol of Kukul'kan.

If the humans come back the trolls will be waiting. The Empire will be reborn!