Tsathoggua 

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atrachian eyes peered from amongst the ferns as he tossed his head back, and drank.

The Sapta burned along his throat, and settled into his belly like a fire. He grunted. How long would it be this time? What price this time? He carefully cleared a space in the undergrowth, to set down the small earthenware jug. No sense in dropping it.

The waves still lapped along the shore nearby, but he could no longer hear them. He watched as the ripples slowed, stilled, froze in place. The world held its breath. He could feel its ribs beneath his feet, tight and full. The jungle slowly fell silent. Trees no longer whispered. Shirvallah's children no longer cried out in the dusk. Birds ceased their shouting about the glories of choosing them as a mate. The world was still. Leaves ceased their dance, and held their places like blades of stone.

He reached down to his belt. The small murloc-skin pouch had begun to glow. The Muisek within it began to sing. He touched the rough surface gently, knowing better than to force the hoodoo within. The Loa are fickle, vicious, jealous. Each deed has a price, every bargain must be paid. Better it be his debt, than Master Je'neu's.

The wind that was not there was growing louder in his ears. He touched the rough wood of his death mask. The sky, he saw, had eaten the sun. It would not be long. His stomach burned in agony. The voices ceased their incessant shouting. They were watching him. They were fickle, vicious, jealous, and curious. His blood pounded, the only moving thing in all the world.

The echo in his veins drummed, sped, crested, stopped.

He fell forward, thudding against the spear-tipped grass.

The wind that was not there screamed in hunger.

"I greet you, T'chali Loa. I bring you ale. I have come to bargain."

ike nearly all Darkspears, Tsathoggua was born on the Darkspear Isles off Stranglethorn Vale.

When the Darkspears were driven from their new capital in the Echo Isles, Tsathoggua's parents were amongst the many who disappeared trying to reclaim the Isles from Zalazane.

Adopted by "Uncle" Bom'bay, his affinity with the Loa became evident, and under Bom'bay's and Je'neu's tutelage, he has joined the ranks of the Earthen Ring. The Loa Mueh'zala has extracted from him a promise to find a cure for the Plague of Undeath, that the dead might rest in their graves once more...

ey orc mons call him Lo'gosh, but dey no' be dey chosen of dey loa.  Tinda'los swift legs, Tinda'los sharp tooth.  In da before time, Tinda'los fought wit' dey de'mons dat dey elfs called out of da worl'.  Before da worl' was broke, and da water filled da hole, Tinda'los hunted in da jungle dat is da Barren Land now."

The younger troll watched him carefully.  She watched his vacant eyes, full of Sapta.  He was mad.  Everyone knew he was mad.  He was touched by the loa.  His eyes are always in the Spirit World, Un'Thawa had warned her.  He does not see what you see.

"Tinda'los fought dey de'mon, and Tinda'los died.  In da before time, Tinda'los walked into da Spirit Worl' with his wounds bright, and stood before Mueh'zala.  No mon livin' knows da Bargain dat Tinda'los struck wit' Mueh'zala.  No mon livin' knows."

Scars traced across his shoulders beneath the paint.  She could see the marks of wounds that must once have been mortal.  Yet here he was, breathing, talking.  Drinking.  He took another pull of Sapta, before he continued.

"When dey orc mons bring us to dis Barren Land, and we meet dey cow mons, dey tell of Lo'gosh, da wolf ghost.  Dey tell the tales of Tinda'los in da worl', fighting dey elf de'mons.  Dey orcs, dey think he is strong.  Dey orcs, dey think he is like dem.  Dey think dat even death no' stopping dem, so dey make Tinda'los Lo'gosh dey hero.  Dey call to him.  Dey orcs, dey want to be just like Tinda'los.

"Dey ride dey wolfs into war, to be just like Tinda'los.  Tinda'los, he running still, sharp tooth, swift legs.  Dey orcs, dey want to be just like Tinda'los."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and ran a finger along his etched tusks.  That pattern carved into the ivory, she had been told, was a veve to the loa Mueh'zala.  He seemed older than his age, old with a weight of vision.

"Dey orcs, dey want to be just like Tinda'los.  But no mon livin' knows da Bargain dat Tinda'los struck wit' Mueh'zala.  No mon livin' knows."