Seated inconspicuously in the back of the inn in Ratchet, Zijil sipped his arcane water casually. Narrow eyes rolling over the comers and goers, he pondered his new assignment.

His new employer recruited him from the Revantusk tribe. Unassuming, calculating and without emotion, the troll was seen as perfect for the tasks needed. Zijil agreed, and the payment was just right.

Lowering his flask of water, Zijil rubbed his chin in thought, figuring it was time. He rose from his seat and casually walked out the door, brushing his sleeves off as he inspected the area. It was safe, well, as safe as he could imagine.

Walking behind a building he stood casually in the shadows, the form of a quivering succubus holding a note out to him. Zijil never could understand the behaviour of that strange demon, always appearing nervous and afraid, and obviously not afraid of him. She could, he was sure, make short work of him, or if she desired, make his final time long and painful. He’d figure it out someday.

Taking the note he tore it open quickly and silently with a sharp nail, reading the letter inside before combusting it in his hands and letting the ashes drop to the earthen soil. He brushes the ashes from his gloves.

Fixing his tie, Zijil nodded to the demon and turned about, walking back into the busy streets of Ratchet, disappearing in the crowds.


Zijil enjoyed Orgrimmar. Sure he hated the heat and the dry sandy area around it, but any fool could disappear in its masses. Capital of the Horde indeed! Hordes of orcs, taurens, trolls and undead filled its every crevice at almost all times. Zijil needn’t try at all to blend in, though this day, one odd looking orc managed to stand out; at least to the prying and ceaseless eyes of the green haired troll.

As Zijil headed towards the front gates of the mighty warrior city, there stood the wild and weathered looking orc, Toregene. To most trolls, or non-orcs, he’d probably be seen as yet another barbarous green-skin. Zijil was more observant however. Standing off by himself in an oddly aloof position, Toregene seemed to be staring towards the sky at nothing.

Zijil’s pace slowed as he carefully eyed the suspiciously strange looking fellow. Obviously a warrior, he thought. Strong? Oh yes. A blunt instrument at best, he was sure. The orcs hair was wild and uncared for with a long untrimmed beard hanging down beneath his agape mouth.

Stepping up to him slowly Zijil spoke in a casual tone “Lok’tar warrior. What brings you to the big city on such an evening?”

Toregene slowly broke his distant stare and turned to the slender troll, “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

“Indeed you don’t. I am Zijil Revantusk, and yourself?”

“Toregene” the orc seemed to froth at the mouth slightly.

Zijil rubbed his chin in thought, “Have you seen much fighting?” To which Toregene nodded slowly. “Of course you have How would you feel about some Work?”

The slow-witted orc responded “Sure. But I cant if it means going into Durotar. They don’t let me in there anymore.”

Zijil raised an eyebrow curiously, “Oh? Why’s that?” Zijil wasn’t sure why, but he could easily take a guess based on the crazed-looking orcs appearance.

“I don’t want to say… What’s your name? I don’t know who you are.” The orc stared at Zijil dumbly.

“Of course you don’t. Works better that way.” He smiled a smile that would’ve been a sinister grin on anyone else. “Farewell then, I shall contact you when I have work.”

“How will you do that? “ Toregene looked confused as he scratched his filthy scalp.

“That is my duty. You just wait.” Zijil ran off into the red sands of Durotar, pleased with his new discovery. He was an excellent judge of character, and he knew this orc would make a perfect, if very blunt and slow-wielded, instrument. His employer will be quite pleased.

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