Conquest of the Horde

Chapter One: A Rude Awakening

Some time ago....

Vol'ajar ran through the jungle, with no idea of what he was running from, or where he was headed. He could, however, hear that there was laughter behind him...it sounded childish, yet dark. Suddenly, a hand shot from the ground and grabbed him. He screamed, and all went dark.

Vol'ajar awoke a few hours later, to find himself on a tiny island with a boat on it. "...Oh, Loa, what did I do last night?". He got into the boat, and began rowing. "I can't be too far from land, right?".

A few more hours passed, and still no sign of land. The sun was beginning to set in the distance. He took a closer look, and saw dark clouds rushing from the sun towards him. "What the..."

The sky then grew dark as the clouds reached him. The water began to boil and steam. He was soon enveloped in fog. He couldn't see more than a foot in front of him. "What did I do to deserve this?!". He heard a noise in the water, and then his boat swayed side to side. He heard footsteps on the boat, "Who is there? Show yourself and speak before I kill you! I will not be the subject to trickery like this!"

"I am". The fog lifted to reveal another troll, who looked a lot like Vol'ajar but about ten years older. Vol'ajar immediately knew who it was.

"Azab'jin....father?", was all Vol'ajar could say. Azab'jin smiled, "Yes son. And yes, I am still dead. You are in the spirit world right now." Vol'ajar looked around, "I'm dead, aren't I?". Azab'jin shook his head, "No. I am simply contacting you. Azeroth is changing...I wish for you to be prepared for it.".

Vol'ajar laughed, "Prepared? I'm a full-fledged shaman. Sure, I learn new things every day, but I think I could tackle most things life sent my way." Azab'jin shook his head, "There is still more you can learn. You must become a Spirit Champion." "A what?"

Azab'jin smirked, "It's more than a shaman, that's for sure. Few trolls become them, but many orcs and tauren do.". Vol'ajar nodded, "What must I do, then?". His father grinned, and the landscape changed and become their old home on Darkspear Isle.

"Go to the Barrens, climb Thorn Hill, and drink sapta."

Vol'ajar then awoke in his hammock, covered in sweat.

Chapter Two: The Climbing

And so it was that Vol'ajar made his way to the Barrens. And the Loa did smile, and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths, and carp and anchovies, and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit-bats and large chu...(let's skip this part).

Vol'ajar ascended to the top of Thorn Hill, and started a fire. He took out a bowl, and a vial filled with sapta. He poured the vial into the bowl, and then put the bowl in the fire for exactly five minutes. Any more than five minutes and the Loa would be displeased, and any less than five minutes and Vol'ajar would be having an experience other than that of the spirit world. Once the sapta was ready, he drank from it.

Suddenly, he was thrown off Thorn Hill by an unknown force. As he got to his feet, he felt the earth tremble, and Thorn Hill began to grow in size. Vol'ajar could only stand there in awe as the peak of Thorn Hill seemed to go high into the clouds.

"Guess I have to climb it again.". He made his way on to the slopes. For what seemed like the first few hours, the climb was relatively easy. Suddenly, though, the slope became a wall which shot straight up. Vol'ajar let out a sigh, grabbed on to the wall, and begun to scale it. The wall shook, and Vol'ajar was thrown off to the base of this mighty wall. "I'll try again.". And so he did, repeatedly. "...This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to climb and wall that won't let me climb it?!".

"You need more faith, son.". His father was standing next to him. "Try concentrating...use your faith as your strength. Perhaps some meditation might help.". Vol'ajar nodded, and sat on the ground, crossing his legs. "Hummmmm.".

Once again he got on to the wall, and once again, he was thrown off. "...". He sat down to meditate, but this time, he tried a different tactic. "Spirits....aid me, please.". And hallelujah! He felt a spirit enter his body. He ran to the wall, and did he scale that entire thing.

At the top, he found his father waiting for him. "Well done, my son. You have learned how to call the spirits to aid you. This will be very useful for you in the future, trust me. Now...". His father kicked him off, "BACK TO YOUR BODY!".

Vol'ajar awoke on the top of Thorn Hill, the fire had burned out.

Chapter Three: Journey aka: So you thought I was never going to make another post again in this thread! WELL YOU WAS WRONG!

Vol'ajar snoozed in his tent, mumbling in his sleep. "Mm...ya...pass dat milkshake please...". He chuckled, "Dat be nice. I t'ink I be wantin' ta kiss Varian too now..". Suddenly, he felt something pull hard on his dreadlocks. He bolted awake, grabbing the axe which was closest to him. There, in the door of his tent, sat the spirit of his father.

"You have not been keeping up with your training!" his father yelled, smacking him over the head with his staff. "You can barely transcend your physical form, or even keep those spirits in your weapons. My friend are all laughing at me because all you do is sit around, meditate, and smoke fade-leaf all day! Well...we are going to fix this..yes indeed.". His father rubbed beneath his chin, thinking. "You are to go to Zandalar Island. There, a shaman will await your arrival, and you'll be whipped into shape in no time!". His father cackles, poofs in a cloud of smoke, though Vol'ajar could still hear his laugh for another minute.

"Every time...when I'm sleeping," said Vol'ajar. He then promptly feel back asleep.

And so it was that Vol'ajar made his way to Zul'Gurub, and found passage on a Zandali ship back to Zandalar. There, at the dock, was an old, old, old troll golding a sign with his name on it. Vol'ajar approached him. "You must be the shaman my father sent me to find?". The troll nodded, "It's about damn time you showed up! I've been sitting here for a year now, holding this sign!". He got up from the chair he was standing on, and beckoned Vol'ajar to follow.

They went deep into the jungle, and came upon a hut. "My home," said the old shaman, "I am Mu'fasan. Your father has told me what to do..yes.". When they entered into the hut, the troll started a fire, and put a bowl over it. He poured the contents of the vial into the bowl. "You are to go into the spirit world.".

Vol'ajar sighed, "Again". Mu'fasan smirked, "This will be different than when you have before. Whereas you were only there for a few hours, you shall be there for two days.". Mu'fasan removed the bowl from the fire, and stirred it a bit, "By coming here, you have already completed another part of your training. Now, drink.". Vol'ajar did so, and has he did Mu'fasan began rooting through some of his other stuff, "Wait, don't drink that.".

"What did you say?", asked Vol'ajar. "I said don't drink that," replied Mu'fasan. "Vol'ajar tossed the now empty bowl aside, "I already did!". Mu'fasan began to giggle, "Oh...oh ho ho...ah man. That's some of the strongest sapta I've ever seen anybody take.". He snorts, "I hope you don't have any plans for like a month.".

Vol'ajar yelled, "YOU SON OF-" but was out of it before he could finish the sentence.

Update! Woo! Yeah, though that would never happen, hm?

Canceling this prestige. I can't in good conscious have one.