[Story and bio] Varakki and Grunt

[Deleted]

The thirteenth day of the Snake Cycle, age 44

My name is Varakki, and I have been exiled by my tribe. I am lucky to have escaped with my skin. They took my things and burned them right in front of me while I screamed at them. I have been reduced to stealing if I want to survive, for I am no mighty hunter or warrior. They would not even give me the honour of a clean death.

They fear my voodoo.

***

The fourty-fifth day of the Snake Cycle, age 44

I have been found out. The damned whelp of a child yelled as he saw me steal several pieces of parchment. I was caught and paraded through the village, but before they could execute me I struck one of my captors with bloody boils and fried the other with fire. The fear in the villagers' eyes was delightful. It shames me to confess however that I ran from them before anyone could take hold of me again. I managed to grab a couple of things on my flight though.


There is some poetic justice in me writing this on the stolen parchment with the blood of the one who had betrayed my presence.

***

The ninth day of the Earth Cycle, age 45

The cave I have found will provide shelter enough for my weary frame. I have never been strong, and my recent fever has made it all the clearer. I can almost see my bones beneath my skin, as though my muscles had turned to sludge and dust. Still I cling to this mockery of life.

I am having thoughts of suicide.

***

The twenty-fourth day of the Earth Cycle, age 45

The fever has passed, finally. Some of my strength is returning, but it still feels as though my mind were only half-present.

I dare not sleep anymore. The nightmares won't leave me be.

Damn you, Zora.

***

The thirtieth day of the Earth Cycle, age 45

The villagers have fled. I have plundered what I could from the village, including the witch doctor's chest. The magical defenses around it have proven quite formidable.

I feasted like the Emperor in days of old! Yet all that food made me lazy and my concentration slipped.

I dreamt of her again. My beloved, thrice-damned sister. May she rot in her grave.

***

The first day of the Eagle Cycle, age 45

What supplies I managed to salvage from the abandoned village are dwindling. The pile of food looked so imposing the first day, but after that first experience with an over-full belly I have turned to rationing the remainder. Most of the fruit has rotted now, and the meat is smelling more and more rancid.

It will have to do.

***

The fifteenth day of the Eagle Cycle, age 45

I have thrown away the food. I'd rather starve to death than have one more of those dreams.

Zora, don't you see? There was no choice, not really.

***

The twenty-third day of the Eagle Cycle, age 45

I have finally found the spell that would unlock the witch doctor's chest. Within I found elixirs and herbs, feathers and claws... and mojo. Lots and lots of mojo.

I can resume with my work.

***

The thirty-first day of the Eagle Cycle, age 45

Some of the supplies are tainted. They will not do at all. I will have to search for more as soon as possible.

I have managed to beat back the hunger and fatigue through a special morrowgrain elixir. The nightmares are strengthened by it, but that doesn't bother me as long as I don't even have to sleep. Another victory of modern voodoo!

***

The thirty-sixth day of the Eagle Cycle, age 45

The morrowgrain elixir has proven a horrible curse disguised as a boon. I do not sleep, yet I dream... I see... in the shadows, they are alive... their eyes follow me, their deceitful tongues whisper lies... I never did any of those things, not really... it was life I craved, life... life from death... death for life...

***

The twelfth(?) day of the Panther Cycle, age 45

I assume the date is right. I cannot safely say, for I have spent most of this time half-crazed and half-delusional. Still, I assume the date is right.

The elixir has worn off, but the withdrawal is destroying me from within. I believe I will have to move soon and find some real food.

Morrowgrain tastes bitter and vile, but when the craving kicks in there is no nectar sweeter than this leaf.

***

The twentieth(?) day of the Panther Cycle, age 45

I am leaving the cave for a while. I shall seal it with voodoo so noone can enter as long as I am alive. I hope to return soon, with food and supplies for my experiments. And morrowgrain, if the Loa are good.

***

The seventh day of the Snake Cycle, age 102

There is a special power in beginnings, and to think I have managed to find this place again after all these years fills me with joy.

When I read my old notes, I realise just how foolish I was. I felt regret, fear, perhaps... even remorse. Those mean nothing to me now, nor does my sister. No nightmares assault me now, for he who has stared into the abyss and felt it stare back will never again fear the dark.

I say this as a fact: I have killed my sister. I have cut her into bloody pieces while she was still alive. I have flayed away her skin with my bare hands and licked the blood off the ragged straps. She did not understand that her sacrifice would not be in vain, and neither did the tribe. Monster, they called me, yet every one of them desired the same as I did: life eternal, and power over death.

I am old and weak now, and my sight has left me. Yet in ways, I see more than the pathetic mortals who think themselves invincible. They will learn... in due time.

Now, the time has come for my ultimate experiment. To that end, I have captured some whelp from one of the jungle's tribes. He promises to be a strong fellow... but I can make him even stronger.

***

The twentieth(?) day of the Snake Cycle, age 102

In the eternal darkness of the blind, the days seem to meld into the nights. Time holds no meaning anymore, though that may well be because of all the... changes that have befallen my body during the years.

The whelp's screaming is becoming louder with every passing day. I believe it is time to teach him obedience.

***

A day, age 103(?)

The morrowgrain is working. The youngblood's mind is completely vacant most of the time. He has grown to immense size with the help of my potions. He is larger than most Gurubashi even! I have taken to calling him 'Grunt', for that is the only sound he has proven capable of producing.

As I brush the line of that jaw with my ancient fingers and feel the muscles straining against his skin I cannot help but smile knowing all that will be mine someday.

***

Some day, 103(?)

Grunt has broken free of his chains in the night somehow. He lurched towards me, his heavy stride ringing in my ears. In a panic I tried weaving a hex to stop his advance, but my mind slipped.

I found myself staring from behind heavy eyelids at a pathetic ruin of a troll, pale and weak, with wide milk-white eyes looking at me expresionlessly. I was looking at myself... through Grunt's eyes. I held a large fist to my new face and flexed the fingers. Something was struggling against my control, but feebly, and growing weaker still.

As I withdrew from Grunt's mind, I could feel something else escaping too. It was the little remainder of the large man-child's mind. He is but an empty shell.

And I can control his every move.

***

»This... this is disgusting.« Clara Whiteshield wiped her brow with a handkerchief. She was no stranger to troll texts, but this... this went even beyond their usual brutality. Her companion Jeran seemed distressed too. »I-I call it a bluff,« he managed to stutter. Clara arced an eyebrow at him. »Well, this is too horrible for anyone, I mean even the Bloodlord himself... no, I refuse to believe it.«

The woman examined the last piece of parchment closely. It was less weathered than the others. It bore no date, and the message was very short. »I see you,« she read aloud.

»And besides,« Jeran said loudly, obviously to cover up his fear, »there was no hex on the door, so even if he were alive... I mean even if he existed at all, he would be dead by now.« He tapped his nose in what he probably thought was a knowedgeable gesture.

Clara was not listening to the boy. She crouched on the ground to pick up something that was glittering beneath the dirt.

»So by means of logical deduction, I have come to the-« The woman lifted her find, and the boy paled. »Jeran. Shut your damn mouth and let's just get out of here!« She let go of the broken chain and it landed on the floor with a muffled thunk.

A cold laughter echoed through the cavern. Someting huge was outlined against the entrance. Jeran uttered a squeaking sound just before a large rock mashed his head to pulp.

»Da boy... wuz clever...« It sounded like two voices speaking at the same time, one deep and brutal, the other barely more than a wheeze. »Dere wuz... no reason ta be afraid, after all... dere wuz no hex...« Again the creature laughed.

Clara wanted to run, but found her body completely unresponsive. Even when the large troll grabbed her and flung her to the floor she could not gather the strength to fight back. »Don' bother... My power over ya... pathetic mortals be absolute...« The large troll kneeled atop her chest and she could feel every rib creaking beneath the weight.

Grunt ustrapped something from his back and reverently placed it beside the paralysed woman. At first she took it for a grotesque doll, all white limbs and tatered clothes. Then its head moved on its own accord and it flashed her what must have been a smile. Its mouth looked like a gaping wound, its teeth were gone, all but the tusks, but it was still barely recognisable as an ancient troll.

»Me be Varakki...« wheezed the terrible being as it slowly leaned over her. The troll's eyes were white as snow, and strangely luminiscent. A pale tongue touched her cheek. »Lemme see your eyes...«

Inwardly, Clara Whiteshield screamed as she saw that horrible mouth move closer and closer to her right eye, sore-covered lips smacking, tasting, sucking.

***

Name: Varakki

Allignment: Chaotic Evil

Race/Class: Troll Witch Doctor

Physical appearance: Pale and weak, Varakki is barely more than a corpse now. He has been blind for decades. Grunt is a giant among Trolls, a huge bluish-green berserker imbued with magical elixirs to increase his strength.

Personality: Insane. Addicted to morrowgrain. His greatest wish is immortality, something he believes is attainable through continuous sacrifice of the sentient races. His current plan is possessing the body of Grunt when the time comes for his old body to die, and then search for a new host for when Grunt's body begins to deteriorate.

Skills: Adept at mixing elixirs and mind-control. Grunt's strength is on par with a Dire Troll.

Languages: Zandali, Common, Orcish.

[Mythodiir]

[I]His greatest wish is immortality, something he believes is attainable through continuous sacrifice of the sentient races.

That's how I've been alive since 1,242 B.C, been killing people for 2,253 years.