War in the Ghostlands

"Tell us! Tell us what ya see, ol' man, Be dis da en' time?"

The old Amani shaman focussed his mind once more and gazed out from the hills, his magic taking him far away.

"I sees a big army o'da Bright Ones. Dey gather in dat village dem dead fellas smashed."

"Dey comin' fa us?" 

"Maybe, maybe. We all gotta die some day, even da loa."

But this army was not for the Amani. A force was coming from the south: humans, dwarves, more elves and those tiny children they send into battle as a strange sacrifice. Even trolls gods aren't that cruel.

These two armies fought for hours, over a stretch of barren wasteland. Nobody was defending their home, nobody was defending their family. Just fighting over flags. The shaman though back to the tales he'd heard of the old Gurubashi Empire, their ancient rivals. Their world fell like that... fighting, brother against brother, until nothing was left but a few ruins.

"Dey fightin' each othas! All dem new-fellas are fightin' 'emselves. Akil'zon be laughin' tonight!"

The troll watched as the Alliance army advanced, confident of victory from the initial skirmishes, then was driven back as they encountered the main Sin'dorei forces. Back down the road, back to the Plagueland. He watched the final insult, as they killed the prisoners and didn't even eat them. Consuming your foes is respect - it shows their strength is worth stealing.

"Dem Bright Ones be crueller dan any troll, dat's fa shu."