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Beginnings of Biancus
Chapter 1: Beginnings
Biancus actually liked learning and thinking things through, just like his mom and dad did, but this did not make him popular with his peers. Furthermore, while his pale hair and skin were regarded as a sign of the Loa’s blessing by his elders, they marked him as a freak to his peers.
Once, when he had been swimming in the ocean, looking for clams, an older boy named Ieason had held him underwater until he nearly drowned. Ieason had actually been caught that time; his father saw the bullying and pulled his son off the younger boy, but the severe spanking Ieason received only served to make the bigger troll nastier when no grownups were around.
After that, Biancus was very careful to stay away from other troll children as much as he could. He listened to the elder’s tales, or he borrowed one of his father’s books, and spent the day reading about the glories of the lost troll empires. He learned about the glories of the troll’s past civilization, and wept for his people’s present state. He also learned that in the aincent Gruubashi tounge, his name meant ‘white’, a reference to his complexion, obviously.
The pale troll child, now about seven, was now sitting in the back of the a hut on , embarrassed by his father. He was holding forth on the glories of the ancient troll civilization. Young Biancus just wished that his father would stick with telling the old tales like a storyteller should, not trying to figure out the “truths behind them”. That was boring, not exciting like a proper storyteller should be- he wanted them to learn things, and to think them through. Right now, he was saying “and therefore, the legend of the Gruuubashi, while true in its outline, is obviously flawed, in that Hakkar”. Then he was interrupted, by a loud, quite adult, voice clearing his throat. Standing at the hut’s entrance was the great witchdoctor, Sen’Jin!
“May I talk to your son for a bit, Fan’ton?”, asked the witchdoctor.
“De boy can speak for himself”, his father replied, and young Biancus’ heart swelled with pride.
“Yes, I’ll go”, said Biancus.
The great witchdoctor took the pale boy outside the hut, and the two trolls walked along the beach for a while, before Sen’Jin spoke, saying “Young Biancus, we’ve always thought dat your white hair meant de blessing of some great loa. You’re smart, you tink a lot, an you know a lot ‘bout de history of our people. An I tink dat when you talk, people will listen. I’d like to take you on as a ‘printice houngan, teach you our magic an’ our ways o’ honoring de Loa for de good of de tribe. But it’s up to you, you have ta say yes.”
Biancus thought for only a moment before saying “yes, I want to become a houngan, for the good of de tribe.” From then on, his training in the ways of troll Voodoo began.
And thus, Biancus grew in wisdom and in years, until he reached the age of twelve. Then the humans and the murlocks arrived, and his people were under attack from all sides at once, it seemed. And then the orcs came, led by the great green chieftain, Thrall. Thrall led a reckless assault on the human base, got captured by the murlocks, and got Sen’Jin captured along with him. Thrall managed to escape from the Murlocks, but Sen’Jin, Biancus’ beloved mentor, was sacrificed to the murlock’s Sea Witch. Not that Biancus learned this for some time, what with the volcanic eruption and all!
Biancus did take part in that battle, despite his few years and his half-trained status. He healed everyone that the orcs sent him, blue furred spearmen, green-skinned grunts and shaman, and even a fellow witchdoctor, using magic when he could, bandages and herbs when he could not. He was covered in blood and gore, yet the boy still managed to not throw up until the battle was over and he and the wounded orcs and trolls he cared for were safe in the hold of one of Thrall’s ships.
It has been a long time since I last wrote in this journal. I have done much, seen much, and learned much.
I have abandoned my dream of revenge on the Scrouge and the restoration of Londeron for now. I have joined a new guild, dedicated to exploring strange lands, in the hopes of founding a new haven for Londeronian culture.
Well, that merchant of Ara’s turned out to be a pretty unpleasant character. He will die in pain, of course. I intend to instill fear in him, then curse him with agony until he dies. Not the most efficient mode of combat, but a fitting end for a rapist. I do suppose I may offer him a chance to surrender and face the King’s justice rather than my own, if Ara so wills it. Of course, as Eoclastia reminded me, I cannot be certain that the merchant was responsible. My beloved priestess (an unrequited love, I fear, and as yet an unconfesssed one) was hurt by a fool who fears neither Light nor Man. He shall fear both when I am through. Then I shall confess my love!
Alchemy! I spent years refusing to learn it and now I’’ve picked it up.