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Morrigan DeLane
Guild Violent Noise
Gender Female
Race Troll
Class Hunter
Faction Horde



Morrigan DeLane, formerly of the Second Gurubashi Empire and assassin for the Forsaken capital; Undercity.

General Information

  • Profession: Master Swordsmith
  • Age: 18
  • Place of Birth: Unknown
  • Languages: Perfect Orcish, can only understand Trollish; not a big speaker of it.
  • Pets: Gregory, albino bat originating from Tirisfal Glades. Jonathon, Worg tamed in Shadowfang Keep.

Background

Morrigan DeLane was born under the name Tsuna and was the daughter of a successful travelling merchant. Whilst undergoing a business deal her father's caravan was ambushed by humans and Morrigan defended herself and fled into the jungle of Stranglethorn Vale. There she survived for 4 years alone. She forgot her past and even her own name, all she remembered was the night her father's caravan was ambushed and how her father left her for dead.

Morrigan was near the brink of death after being attacked by a Troll guard in a rogue Troll encampment. She was caught stealing food and was wounded in the process. She used the last of her strength to crawl towards the only road in the Vale and collapsed.

The young troll was found by a travelling Forsaken couple. They took her to the town of Brill and nursed Morrigan back to full health. Over the next year they tried to turn the feral girl into a member of society. Morrigan owed her life to the elderly couple and took the name of their deceased child to honor them. The formerly human couple still grieved for their daughter despite being turned by the plague.

Morrigan grew up as a citizen of Brill.

Stories

The Story of Morrigan

Part 1: A ‘Carefree’ Life in Booty Bay

In Booty Bay, there was a young troll girl called Tsuna who led a quiet life. Her father Tsun’Jir was a well known trader in the Troll community, supplying magical artifacts and enchanted weaponry to the mighty Darkspear Warriors. Booty Bay was a prime location, in the beautiful Stranglethorn Vale; home of the Darkspear Trolls. Tsun’Jir knew that Trolls often visited their homeland and revenue was always flowing. Tsuna was an only child, a loner. Her only friends were in Senjin Village, the new home of the Darkspear Trolls. She was always alone and never saw a fellow Troll for longer than a week or so. Fortunately Tsuna’s father was loving and kind, he understood her plight.

“Once I’ve gathered enough money, we’ll move back to Senjin Village and use the money to rebuild our home,” he said every night.

Tsun’Jir was sincere in his words and Tsuna couldn’t wait for the day she could leave the Bay and return to her friends. Although she didn’t know many Trolls, Tsuna was intrigued by the neighbours. These small green creatures known as Goblins enjoyed making beautiful explosions and performing the odd practical joke or two. There was a particular Goblin she became fond of named Grizzle. The two of them were both only children and Grizzle was a bit of a performer. He loved to amaze Tsuna with his tricks and devices, on her birthday he gave her a small device.

“Be careful with this lady! Only use it when you’re in real bad trouble! You could blow an eye out with it!” Grizzle warned Tsuna as he passed her the Grenade.

One night Tsuna was lying on the roof of her hut, looking at the stars. She was dreaming of Senjin Village and the glorious habitat she would create for her friends and family. Her mother used to sing a lullaby to help her sleep, it was about the origins of the Trolls and the great empires the tribes used to have. Tsuna replayed it in her head… until there was a crash downstairs.

Tsuna opened the roof hatch to the hut, it creaked open and revealed Tsun’Jir lying on the floor. He was sweating profusely and his cape was drenched in blood, on his arm was a great fang bite. In his hand was an object, it was dark and seemed to emit an unsettling aura. Tsuna mustered all her strength and picked up her great father. She cleared the bed and laid him down. Tsun’Jir slowly began to lose consciousness, Tsuna desperately looked for something to cool him down. As soon as she picked up some papers from the bed it was too late. A tear slowly began to form in Tsuna’s eye, what had her father done? She heard a drip and looked down at where her tears lay. In her hand were various papers that fell from the bed, on the papers were Troll words and then a weird language next to them. They were translations for something.

Two days after that night, Tsun’Jir woke up. He told Tsuna that he was mugged in Booty Bay but was lucky that the Bruisers scared the culprits away. Tsuna didn’t believe his words, why would someone bite his arm?! Tsun’Jir continued to explain the chaotic night and told Tsuna that he was going to make the final deal – They would finally get to go home! As Tsun’Jir tied the last bits of luggage to their wagon, Tsuna fell asleep dreaming of her mother’s sweet voice and the beautiful town she’d come home to.

Part 2: The Deal

A crash of thunder awoke the young Troll, she sat up and realised that the wagon had stopped. There was a massive stack of glowing shards and mysterious gems in a basket, it wasn’t much different to the usual stuff her father sold, just a greater quantity than usual – This deal looked like it was pretty big. She pushed away the flaps to the wagon and peeked out quietly. She stared at the gloomy figures outside, it was storming and Tsuna slowly made out the shapes… they were humans!

Tsuna panicked, she couldn’t see her father anywhere. That dark object was nowhere to be found. After regaining her composure Tsuna realised that they were being robbed! She looked outside again and saw one of the Humans arguing with the group, she couldn’t understand the language but she knew that tempers were fuming. The wagon began to get wet inside, Tsuna scrambled to keep the view but slipped on one of the crates. The humans pushed away the argumentative one and looked over at the wagon. Tsuna’s heart was pumping as she saw the men coming towards the wagon, where was her father? What could she do?

Tsuna grabbed a barrel of Ale from inside the wagon, as the humans opened the flaps she hurled the barrel into the mob. The men were knocked back and she stormed out of the wagon running for her life. It wasn’t long before that troublesome human grabbed her. She was trying to break free of the firm grasp; she was kicking the man as hard as she could. Tsuna looked deep into his eyes and didn’t see any anger but eyes of sadness. The confusion didn’t last long as the other humans surrounded her. Her captor shouted at the men and an argument brewed, Tsuna had to escape. In the pocket of her shorts was her birthday present, Grizzle’s Grenade. She bit the captor’s hand and broke free. The vile humans stopped arguing and focused on Tsuna for a short while… just long enough to hear the clunk of metal on the ground.

As the grenade exploded the men screamed for their lives, Tsuna was frozen in fear clutching the Grenade Pin as the men were on fire and running in panic. When she was sure they were all dead, Tsuna ran into the forest.

Part 3: Growing Up

For 4 years Tsuna had to fend for herself. Malnourished and always in danger the girl of only 10 years old was living in Stranglethorn Vale, fishing and hunting for food. She often hid by the road hoping that some passers by would take her home – she had no such luck. Every time she heard footsteps it was a dwarf, a human, a gnome… For the 4 years she was thinking about the night when her father left her to those bandits. She wanted vengeance and was not going to die without getting it. Tsuna was devoid of communication with any form of intelligent race, never talking, never loving and never crying; her feelings were suppressed and her memories slowly disappeared. She needed to be aware at all times and there was no room for memories. Tsuna suffered an almost voluntary amnesia, only remembering what was necessary to survive. She even forgot her name.

One day Tsuna was looking for food and managed to sneak into a nearby Troll camp. She wasn’t going to try her luck with these vicious beasts, she had often seen and heard screams in the night – She didn’t want to be the next sacrifice. The plan was in and out, getting enough food to survive the night and leaving unseen. Unfortunately she was spotted and struck by a poisoned arrow. Tsuna managed to escape from the camp, but she couldn’t escape from the deadly venom flowing through her blood. Every day she became weaker to an extent when she couldn’t hunt. She didn’t have the strength to go on. After all this time Tsuna decided to walk to the road and contact the next party that travelled down its path. As she heard the clap of hooves in the distance, Tsuna collapsed with exhaustion.

When Tsuna awoke it was dark outside. On the end of her bed was a man. She looked closely at the person on the end of her bed, he was pale and his eyes lacked colour. Even if it was a human she didn’t have the strength to escape. The young troll, now 14 was in the Forsaken town of Brill. The man on her bed was called Jonathon and he lived with his wife Agatha. This old couple were very sorrowful but extremely kind to her. As the young girl lived in the house she noticed many pictures of a human child with Jonathon and Agatha. Inquiring about the girl, she discovered that her saviours had a child who was killed during the invasion of The Scourge. The girl’s name was Morrigan.

For the last 2 years, the young Troll (formally known as Tsuna) has lived in Brill with the caring couple who found her in Stranglethorn Vale. She took up the name Morrigan as a tribute to the people who saved her life. Even though they were different, Morrigan grew to love this old couple – She owed them her life and she was finally happy with friends and a family. It wasn’t quite Senjin Village, but Tsuna’s dream had come true. Although Morrigan couldn’t even remember what Senjin Village was like, she still heard a gentle lullaby every time she fell asleep. A song about the mighty trolls and the glorious empire they used to have… the Gurubashi Empire.

A Refreshing Night in Tirisfal

The night in the Tirisfal Glades was deadly silent, although the woods were never populated at this hour, the flight of Duskbats or the prowl of a Darkhound would usually break the eerie silence. The moon shone brightly through the scattered trees, casting large shadows over the dull plains and dying bushes. The surface of the lake glistened under the moon like a sword catching the light. All was peaceful and quiet on the water’s edge. The surface was broken by the smallest of bubbles then restored back to tranquility, occasionally a small group of bubbles would rise bursting at the top and lightly echoing over the lake. A trickling sound broke the peace as a dark figure immerged from below the surface. Drips of water formed a subtle melody, running down the pale blue flesh and returning back to the depths with a beautiful twinkling sound. As the starlight shone over the naked body, it reflected and dazzled on her wet skin; a figure of the night as beautiful as the sky itself. She slowly raised her hands up to her face, sliding the excess water over her head and into her dark hair. The peaceful tranquility broke for an instant as she quietly rose out of the water, her hair draining and dripping back into the lake. A light breeze blew past the young troll, the embrace of the forest was welcoming – despite being in the middle of the woods she felt like she was at home. As the final drops of water traveled over her shoulders and down her body, she heard footsteps in the distance.

Morrigan slowly gathered her clothes from the lakeside and quietly pulled her top over her head. Her body was still damp as she attached her skirt and slowly unsheathed a silver dagger. As quickly and quietly as she left the lake she disappeared into the looming shadows of the forest. She removed a dark ribbon from her front pocket and tied her hair up, away from her face. Her movements were elegant and precise with little to no effort, her ears and eyes on constant alert of the footsteps in the distance. The breeze from earlier had subsided as if the forest was on her side… the only noise was the sound of feet on the dark green grass. It wasn’t long before Morrigan had the assailant in her sight. The figure was talk and dark, wearing a beautiful black robe and a hood covering her hair… the only things it didn’t cover were the ears.

“What was an Elf doing in Tirisfal?” Morrigan thought to herself as she slowly crept from tree to tree, peeking from behind the trunks to try and see more details of the mysterious wanderer. Convinced that this robed figure may not be a threat… she decided to immobilize instead of kill. Morrigan was only feet behind the Elf, the lake she previously occupied glistening in front of her prey. The Elf suddenly stopped and knelt down on the side of the lake, this was Morrigan’s chance. She raised her hand into the air, the silver ended handle of her blade pointing directly at the Elf’s neck, ready to deal the crippling blow. A breeze quickly whipped past her, much stronger than any of the others. The troll looked up at the sky, the clouds were unmoving but the breeze was growing ever stronger. Morrigan shivered as it caught her wet flesh, making an icy chill shoot through her body. There were suddenly moans and screams quietly in the back of her mind, her hand weakened its deadly grasp and her dagger fell to the ground as a beautiful voice spoke to her. A voice from inside her head…

“Morrigan I presume?” spoke the voice. The troll was confused and frightened, the elf was still and silent when the crashing blade would have startled anyone. “I am not an enemy, young one.” Morrigan fell to her knees in a mix of disbelief and fright. The hooded figure slowly stood up and turned around, she was paler than most elves, her eyes holding no emotion or light – an unsettling aura was about her, despite her beautiful Elven face. “Was she undead?” Morrigan asked herself. The silent screams in her head ceased as the woman began to speak.

“I often like to get away from the city. The air is much clearer up in Tirisfal, it makes thinking a little less heavy on the mind,” said the young woman, “I believe we haven’t met, I’m Sylvanas Windrunner.”

Morrigan was speechless; she’d only heard stories of the great banshee queen – leader of the Forsaken. Despite being in a state of arrest, Morrigan quickly knelt on one knee and bowed her head to her leader.

“I know of the Troll’s hatred towards elves, but do not worry I have no sympathy for my former cousins. I am leader of the Forsaken, and elves are just another threat to our people,” Sylvanas said softly “How old are you young one?”

“I am 16 years of age, Queen Sylvanas,” whispered Morrigan, regaining some of her composure.

“Your skills are impressive, not many members of the Forsaken can sneak up and get that close to me.” Sylvanas smiled as she saw the young troll’s reaction. Morrigan was in awe. Despite being welcomed by her foster parents she still felt like an outcast in Brill. Being called a member of the Forsaken by the banshee queen was the greatest of honors.

“Thank you my queen, nothing means as much to me as acceptance from you.” said Morrigan, delighted and captivated by the queen who stood in front of her.

“Why would I not accept you? Are you not Forsaken?” Morrigan was silent as Sylvanas spoke her words, “You see Morrigan, we Forsaken all have the same goal... survival. You were abandoned by your father and survived alone in Stranglethorn Vale for years. Yet you say you’re not Forsaken? Young Troll, it doesn’t matter what race, creed or colour you were, we’ve all made mistakes in our past lives that cannot hold us back in our new one. We are all the same, we are all Forsaken.”

The Troll who survived through terrible traumas and plights looked as innocent and helpless as a child. Despite being incredibly mature for her age, Morrigan felt a tear come to her eye as the graceful figure spoke to her. She no longer felt like the only Troll in Brill, she knew she was a member of the Forsaken. Her neighbours and friends weren’t undead, they were Forsaken; just like her. Morrigan realized she still had a lot to learn about life, losing much of her childhood to the jungle did not go unnoticed. She never had a mother, never had someone to listen to her feelings or give her comfort in times of need. Although Sylvanas was an Elf, the mortal enemy of Trolls, Morrigan could see someone inside, past the Elven exterior. Jonathon and Agatha had been good to her, but she didn’t feel that they understood the loneliness and despair of being the ‘different’ one. “Sylvanas was the only Elf in the Undercity, maybe that’s why she’s so kind to me,” thought Morrigan.

“Varimathus must be wondering where I’ve got to, I do not think Demons sleep for very long! Do feel free to come to the Undercity, you will be surprised at how welcoming it is young one. Goodbye Morrigan.” And with those words Sylvanas slowly wandered into the forest before vanishing without a trace. Morrigan was frozen in a mix of awe and confusion. She didn’t hear the flight of the Duskbats or the prowl of a Darkhound. The deadly silence was broken as Morrigan came to her senses. She looked up at the stars which sparkled in her eyes. Morrigan hadn’t smiled in a long time, but as she walked back to her home in Brill she reflected on the evening’s events and couldn’t help herself.

Inner Conflict

Stone wasn’t the most comfortable material to sit on, but common sense gave her the impression the Undead don’t really care about their backside as much as the living. Undead was a bad choice of words describing the Undercity, the place was possibly the most alive place on Azeroth. The mass of footsteps on the cold stone, the booming voice of the resident traders and of course a yell or two from the Deathguards. Sylvanas wasn’t lying about the Undercity being welcoming, salesmen weren’t particularly picky when it came to customers. As soon as she speedily walked past the Abomination guards she was greeted by a wall of sound, an old woman had constructed a makeshift stand opposite the entrance selling various trinkets and homemade necklaces – it wasn’t long before she caught the young troll’s eye and beamed a great big smile. Maybe it was her Troll instincts but guilt wasn’t one of Morrigan’s strong points. The old woman’s grin slowly changed into a scowl as the Troll ignored her.

Morrigan’s mind wasn’t paying attention, anything to take the focus away from the numbingly painful furniture. She was sat in a bland room with 2 other people, all undead. The girl next to her looked about the same age, she had a wild haircut and was drumming her fingers on the edge of her seat – she seemed as impatient as Morrigan, her name was Cynthia. On her other side was a middle aged man called Geoffrey; he wore a hood and was leaning back on his chair. He was clearly focused on this lecture, possibly the most boring lecture of the whole term – maybe death had removed a large portion of his brain. Morrigan giggled to herself.

“Do you find something funny?” said the small man in front of her. He glared at the troll and continued talking. “Now if you find yourself caught in enemy territory it would be best for you to commit suicide.” Morrigan felt herself falling asleep as the man droned on about the consequences of getting caught. She signed up to Assassination Training because she felt that she should have some sort of purpose in life. The only people she knew were Forsaken and she wasn’t keen on paperwork. Knowing how to hunt and survive she decided to enlist as one of the Undercity’s elite assassins. Every day for the past week she had been to her class, but every day had been sitting on a cold stone chair being lectured. The new lease of life that Sylvanas gave to her was slowly starting to wane. She wondered what was for lunch… for dinner… for breakfast. Despite thinking hundreds of random thoughts, the minutes still felt like hours.

After counting the 242nd flagstone in the eastern wall, Morrigan was startled as everyone began to get up from their seat. The young troll shot up and followed the class out of the room. Every step ached up her leg until she eventually regained the feeling in her buttocks. She could see why the Forsaken were always so grouchy. Cynthia was in front of her, “Where are we going?” whispered Morrigan to the girl.

“Don’t ask me, I was counting the stones in the wall!” giggled Cynthia. “You could ask Mr. Serious over there.” Morrigan smiled as the young girl gave her a wink. As the group stopped outside the city, Morrigan slyly positioned herself next to Geoffrey, she whispered to him, “Excuse me, but what are we doing? I think I fell asleep!” The man slowly turned towards her and shook his head, “Hmph… kids!” he sighed and lowered his voice, “We’re about to start a hunt.”

The trainer led the group to the throne room just above the Undercity. There was a constant groaning and screaming in the back of Morrigan’s head. The haunting room sent chills up her spine. As she looked around at her companions they didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest, yet another benefit of being Undead. The circular room was tall and beautiful, huge arches meeting in the centre. And there was the throne itself, a simple but powerful reminder of the past. In front of the throne was the teacher, a small man who had an aura of death surrounding him. Despite his stature, he demanded respect; helped somewhat by the large machete on his waist and the dark dagger strapped to his ankle. Although he was quite intimidating Morrigan didn’t feel any fear in his presence. It was probably her Troll nature because her undead counterparts seemed to speak every word as though it could be their last. Maybe it was because Morrigan was asleep during his demonstrations; she didn’t really see any proof of his strength.

“Ok, to the people who weren’t listening in the training room…” he glanced in the direction of the Troll, “…we are going to have our first field exercise. Every week a small band of traders travels from Booty Bay, through the despicable towns of Stormwind and Ironforge then heads north through the Tirisfal Glades to Brill. These traders are pretty well defended and the route is known to contain many groups of bandits. Mercenaries are hired to deliver the goods so don’t worry about harming innocent people. Your mission is to kill every one of those traders and bring back proof of their demise. As you all know, we Forsaken are not too keen on Goblins and Booty Bay so there’s no chance of killing one of our kin. Morrigan, I don’t know if that same privilege can apply to you.” explained the Master Assassin.

“I live only to serve Highness Windrunner. If a Troll enters her path I will not hesitate to cut it down.” said Morrigan quietly in an emotionless tone. As she spoke those words she felt the heat of the explosion, heard the screams of 4 years ago. She remembered the only Troll she knew, abandoning her to those bloodthirsty pirates. Her hand gripped the dagger on her waist as the memories flashed through her head.

“Good young one, I do not expect any emotions to get in the way of our mission. You have 20 minutes to prepare, you will intercept the caravan on the border of Alterac and Tirisfal. I will be there to observe.”

………………………………

The rattling wheels of the caravan broke the usual silence of the Tirisfal Glades. They clashed against the cobblestones, accentuating every notch and dip in the aging path. The horse’s footsteps were slow and steady, under complete control of the Goblin driver. He shouted into the caravan, “Hey Timmy-boy, can you pass me my hip flask? I think I left it on the crate of melons.” A human poked his head out from behind the flaps.

“Sprock… are you sure you can drive this thing? That flask is empty already!” shouted the human in a merry tone. The goblin stopped the horses and turned around, “Unlike most Goblins, Sprocket can control his drink!” the Goblin smiled at the man, “Now refill the thing and chuck it back up here!”

Sprocket turned back to face the direction of path but suddenly felt an icy cold chill to his throat. He let out a gasp before everything went black. Geoffrey slid his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a violet cloth, he wiped the Goblin blood off his blade and took the reins of the caravan. The target was now under the Assassin’s control and continued down the road. He was silent and focused on his task, he didn’t even flinch when he heard a call from inside the caravan. “Hey Sprocket, the valve on this barrel is stuck! Do you wanna come and fix it?”

The voice came from around the centre of the cart, Morrigan put her ear to the floor above her and tried to calculate where the human must be. “Did you hear me Sprock? You ain’t getting any of grandpa’s medicine without fixing this valve!” shouted the man. Morrigan confirmed her initial thoughts. She dug her bladed toes further into the floor above her and lent back. Held centimeters above the ground only by her legs, she aimed her rifle at where the sound came from. Her face was calm and still as she pulled the trigger, her stomach began to form beads of sweat as it strained – fighting the forces of gravity under the moving caravan. “ARGH!!! My arm!!!” the man shouted from above her. Morrigan reloaded a round and lent back again. Her dark hair was dragging against the dusty floor, her back close to scraping the hard stones below. A second shot was fired and all was silent The Undead driver stopped the horses and the cart slowly came to a halt. The young Troll assassin breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her toes from the wooden floor. She fell to the ground and lay there for a second. Her pale skin was lightly covered in dust, beads of perspiration slowly ran down her stomach as she regained her energy.

Morrigan was angry, she should have killed that human in the first shot. She closed her eyes for a second and human screams rang in her ears, at least it was one less human. When she opened her eyes she saw Cynthia, the young girl slowly walked towards the wagon. She had her bow trained on the opening in case anyone else was inside. Her electric red hair matched the colour of the canvas, covered in human claret. Morrigan watched from below the caravan as the undead girl pulled back the cover of the caravan.

The silence of the forest was broken with the sound of punctured flesh. The young assassin flew backwards and crashed onto the soft grass. Dark red blood seeped over the light green floor, twinkling in the dew like dying red stars in the night sky. Cynthia’s head tilted to look at Morrigan, her eyes were filled with fear and blood began to drip from her dark lips; the large sword had pierced her heart. Morrigan’s hands shot up and covered her mouth, tears started to well up in her eyes which were as fearful as the dying girl’s. She wanted to scream, but that would mean certain death. Morrigan began to feel dizzy as she witnessed Cynthia’s last words, “Be safe” whispered her final breath.

Geoffrey roared with fury, he tore the canvas from the caravan and drew his shiny steel blade. The man was dwarfed by the large Troll, his face and chest were covered in tribal markings. In his hand was a massive club covered in scratches and dents, it looked like it had been in many battles. The hooded assassin leapt through the air and shoved his foot into the Troll’s face. His movements were quick and sudden, like a rabid wolf. The Troll swung his massive club at his attacker. The great undead assassin ducked and dived under the huge swings, appearing behind the sweating and enraged Troll. He leapt into the air and slammed his dagger between the Troll’s shoulder blades. There was a deafening roar as the blade pierced the monster’s skin. As the Troll began to go berserk, Geoffrey held on to his blade; stuck in the back of his victim. Blood was spurting all over him as he held on for his life. The Troll never gave up, he gripped his club tightly and span around. Despite the blade almost tearing his back in half, the Troll didn’t even flinch. His club smashed Geoffrey’s skull in a sickening blow. The sky turned red as the hooded man’s head seemed to explode in mid air. During the fight Morrigan had moved from under the caravan and was standing behind the wounded Troll. She was sweating and frightened as she had her rifle aimed at the rampaging monster’s head. The Troll roared and span around… he suddenly stopped. He calmed down and his red eyes began to cool to a bright blue glow. Morrigan stared into his eyes; he was confused at the sight of her. She saw her father, the man who left her for dead. She fired her gun at the Troll; it struck him straight in the forehead. The bleeding and battered enemy cried with pain and charged towards her. The ground shook with each of his footsteps. Morrigan dropped her gun and drew her blades as the Troll pounced at her. She lost her breath under his massive weight, her ribs felt like they were going to cave in. The Troll was struggling to move, Morrigan’s hands became sticky and warm as her opponent breathed his last breath.

Morrigan pulled her daggers out of the Troll’s stomach. She was covered in blood and pushed the massive beast to her side. The night was silent once more. Morrigan lay in the grass, the dew felt icy cold against her skin. Breathing heavily the young troll slowly rose and surveyed the scene. It was a grim sight… lying on the floor was Cynthia in a pool of red blood. Morrigan fell to her knees and wept. Although she didn’t know the girl very well there was something inside of her that Morrigan could relate to. Behind her confident exterior Morrigan could see a young girl, passionate and full of life. Morrigan could see herself. The Troll knelt over Cynthia’s corpse and slid a ring off the dead girl’s finger, it was a Forsaken crest ring – Cynthia was as passionate as Morrigan in her duty to Queen Sylvanas. A few metres away was the bloody mess of Geoffrey, if it wasn’t for his skill and bravery Morrigan would have died. She held the dead assassin’s hand tightly. There was a glimmer in the corner of her eye, it was Geoffrey’s pendant. Morrigan tugged the pendant and it broke away from its owner, it was a carving of a Jackal. Morrigan put on the necklace and Cynthia’s ring. She was the only survivor, the only one to continue training, the only one who could serve the Banshee Queen. Morrigan vowed to do her fallen comrades proud.

As she started to walk the long road home, Morrigan stopped. She looked at the sky and closed her eyes, she saw the Troll fighting for his life, his strength and endurance were extraordinary. The young Troll slowly walked back to the dead body of her attacker. She knelt down and kissed his forehead, “Don’t worry, the spirits shall treat you well” she whispered. She removed one of his earrings and placed it on her ear, this Troll had shown her promise. The Undercity was dark and eerily quiet at this time of night; Morrigan entered its halls and returned to class.

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