The Curse of the Sands (Part 1)

The desert, where you have no trace, is where your history is buried. Things that happen in the desert tend to stay in the desert; nothing rises back up from the sand. Among things buried in the sand, stories remain buried when laid to rest. This story is unlike the rest. This story refuses to simply lie down and be overcome. This is the story of Zii.





The desert was gold, and glowing, no plants grew from the ground, only the tall reaches of the fans of Gadgetzan, and a lonely town not too far from Gadget. The lone town had only twelve buildings, eleven now, and that is where our story begins.


The walls were black and scorched, one wall burned down leaving the home exposed. Inside stood a man, a man from far away but upon closer inspection you’d notice his ears. Standing straight up and thinning more towards the top, his left ear had a two platinum earrings pierced into it that jingled occasionally whenever he moved his head too fast. His hair golden blond and trained back, while two locks fell to the sides of his face where his bangs should be. His face bore a dark red scar of a blood-tattoo of a symbol of his clan on his left cheek.

A black leather mask, hiding his mouth and lower jaw, covered the lower half of his face.
He looked down at a shard of what was once a mirror and saw his own reflection, pulling his mask down he noticed his reflection smiling back at him. He sighed and asked

“Well? What happened?” the reflection looked back and replied,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Frustrated and only one question into the conversation he told the mirror.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You did it again, and I didn’t even feel it this time. You’re the one taking over; at least tell me what it was you made me do.”
His reflection’s expression changed to a serious look, as he replied,

“No it’s something you need to figure out on your own.” And with that his reflection faded away. Angry with himself for not having enough control, he kicked the shard, spraying sand all over the blackened walls.

The forsaken camp was stationed in Silverpine Forest, not too far from the Keep of Shadowfang. Its forest was black and cold and its residents were not much different. The Forsaken or, Undead, as they were known, held small camps and a way station in the forest for travelers and those in league. In the camp of Desolation there were three forsaken only, a small troupe yet highly skilled in their profession. One in particular was Amerie, a “young” forsaken woman who hardly bore the scars of death. Her skin smooth and as pale as the moon, her eyes yellow and glowing like a lantern. She was a rogue by profession, like her brother, though her brother still lived. She did the work for the Defilers, and was paid well, though she wanted more from what she did.

“I made that one scream good, hehe” One forsaken said near the camp’s bonfire, his partner sitting next to him.

“I donno’ Dirge, I don’t much like screamers, they make my job too hard.” Dirge laughed at him and replied,

“Pest’, I hope one day I’ll understand why you take your job so seriously.” Pest’ looked
at Dirge and snickered a little, with a heavy rasp in his voice,

“I take my job seriously so that one day I’ll have enough money to repair this skin of mine, and maybe pass as a human for a short while, and for the last time, stop calling me Pest’!”

Dirge laughed harder, his skin was near perfect, nothing torn, nothing eaten away. Dirge was lucky enough to have been brought back to the world not too long after he was killed, the bugs never got to his coffin.

“Alright Pestilence. I tell you, too serious.”

The two continued talking as Amerie entered the camp quietly, stowing her weapons in their sheathes, and her left arm covered in blood.

“I hope you two are happy with this one” As she threw down a large, dead bear in front of the two. “This one put up a fight.” The two forsaken men looked shocked, but pleased at the same time as they began ripping at the fur of the bear.

“Finawy’ shome good foodsh” Dirge said through a mouthful of bear.

Pestilence sat back with a large chunk of the bear’s leg in his hand,

“Why aren’t you eating any?” he asked.

“I’m not all that hungry. Since I was to hunt, I ate before hand…He was a tasty human.” She replied.

“I’ll shay I’m jealous.” Dirge commented. Amerie broke off from the group and headed to her tent. The truth was, she hadn’t eaten, and she hadn’t slept either. The Forsaken didn’t need as much sleep or food as a normal being but something was off. Something was bothering her, and she knew it was Zii.

Gadgetzan was a bustling hub of commerce and diversity. Goblins and gnomes walked along the same roads together as did Horde and Alliance. The city of Gadgetzan was a port as well as a trade-center. Ships docked in the Steamwheedle Port, and it was only a short path up the dune to Gadgetzan. Zii walked this path quietly and boldly. He hadn’t found out what was wrong with the house, or what had happened, but he knew his body was used to cause destruction again, and was concerned as to whether anyone saw him.
The gates of Gadgetzan (Clearly goblin-made) were wide open. People and their mounts walking freely in and out of the city, horses, wolves, raptors, and mechanical-cockatrice, all holding steady, the trader’s, and their goods. Zii walked alongside a kodo bearing crates and goods heading into the city. Looking to his right he noticed one crate was one of fruit. He looked behind him as he walked slowly in time with the massive beast, and saw no one there. Punching in a corner of the crate he grasped an apple and pulled it from within the crate. The sound was too much; another merchant ahead of him noticed and opened his mouth to yell. Too late, Zii reached into his left leg pocket, had grabbed a black vial, and flung the white sand that was in it, into the merchants face. Blinded and silenced the merchant stumbled to his knees as Zii ran at full speed towards the merchant, leaped off of his back, onto the overhang of the gates, over, and out of sight.
Hopping from rooftop to rooftop with no particular rush, he ate the apple whole-heartedly with content. Looking over the city noticing nothing too out of order, he headed to his favorite tavern.

“Many different potions for sale here! You want to become invisible! Guaranteed to last an hour at the least! You feeling tired? We can juice you right up! Come on down!” one merchant yelled.

Zii knew better than to buy anything from a street-merchant in Gadget’. None of it worked. Dropping down in front of the door to the tavern, he took off his mask, and turned to the right, baring his tattoo to the guard.

“Welcome back Zii. Nice to see you again.”

Entering the tavern again, and stowing his faceguard in his belt, he headed for the bar, and asked for his effects. The barkeep handed Zii a large sack, and Zii took it with a slight smirk on his face. Pulling an old-style pipe from his sack, and stuffed it full of Firebloom. He lit it up, and relaxed near the fire as he waited for the overseer of his clan to appear.

Amerie was cold, and if she was cold, it was below freezing where she was walking. Her horse whined loudly as its hooves flamed. Its flags showed a heavy purple and its horns sharp. She bore the flag of the Forsaken, and wasn’t afraid to show it. It inspired fear in her enemies and saved her the trouble of killing them. She rode at full speed for Southshore. A human port. It was going to be a tricky process, and she would have to leave her steed behind, but it was worth it. She last heard of Zii being in Tanaris. Why anyone would want to live in a desert like that, she had no idea, but if that’s where he was, that’s where she was going. She needed to see him again, to find some answers to what happened. Her dreams had led her to him, seeing him stab her in her dreams had confused her to no end.

The bar was alive, and full of people, only a few weren’t from the clan, the rest of the bar awaited their leave. Zii sat in the corner now, quietly working on the latest of etchings in his dagger. He had killed again and had to mark his blade in due respect. The blade itself shown runes and was oddly shaped, lethal still.

Whom he killed, he didn’t know, and that was the problem. He thought about it as the last of the people who weren’t from the clan filed out of the bar. One of the elder rogues gave the barkeep a nod and watched as he headed to the door, and locked it. The entire bar sat and talked in low voices in wait for the overseer. Zii finished the etching of red in his blade and stowed it away, as one of the newer rogues of the clan approached him.

“Itoga du’kara friend.” The newer member greeted him. Zii nodded in kind as the rogue took a seat.

“Have you seen the overseer before?” he questioned with an anxious tone.

“Aye.” Zii replied.

“I’ve heard he is a massive man, with immense power, though he conceals it with great grace.” The rogue told Zii.

“I’m not to say how he looks. I’d much prefer you see him for yourself.” The rogue looked trumped at this, and nodded silently at Zii. The rogue removed his mask bearing the blood tattoo that Zii had, and set it into his sack. In doing so he noticed Zii’s dagger.

“You’ve got hardly any inscriptions on your blade... Are you new to the clan?” the rogue asked. Zii laughed heartily at this, and patted the rogue on the head.

“Child, I’ve been in this clan since Ori Detch’kage started it.” The rogue’s jaw dropped as he said so,

“Yo-..You’ve been here for seven hundred years?!” he asked, startled. Zii smiled as his laugh died down,

“Yes child. I’ve been here for seven hundred years.”

The sound began to slowly fade as the fire in the fireplace turned darker, almost seeming to go out. Suddenly, a large blue flame erupted in the fireplace as it formed a doorway. A tall woman stepped out of the doorway followed by an immensely large man.
The woman’s hair was dark, short, parted down the middle, and looked like silk. The man’s was cut into a mohawk, but not spiked; it simply sat atop his head, frayed and black. The man bore a large sword on his back, the blade bright orange, and the hilt large enough for three men to hold. On his back at his waist he had two daggers-sheathes, one held within a bright red and almost glowing spike with a hilt jammed into it. The other was an onyx color and decorated with red cloth dangling from the bottom of the hilt. His face was smooth yet large, he had a large scar running from the top of his right eye, down to the bottom of his cheek bone, on the left was the blood tattoo. The woman, by far shorter than the man, had six daggers strapped to her tightly. Three on each leg, and a katana held loosely at her back. Her eyes searched the room as they glowed a low green, looking into the souls of each and every warrior in the room. The larger man stepped forward, making small earthquakes every time he set his foot down. His eyes were opaque, blacker than the night sky; he stared straight ahead and spoke with a low, deep voice.
“Itoga Du’kara, Detch’kage.” he regarded the entire bar. The bar stayed silent as the large man spoke, “It is good to see most of you alive still, considering that we are now a threatened band.” His eyes remained forward the entire time, never straying from directly ahead of him. The woman behind him remained silent, occasionally glancing around the bar with a serious, stone-set look on her face. “You all understand what threatens us, and what we must do to prevent the disbanding of this order. I do hope you will all remain loyal and do your job as a proud killer for the Detch’kage.” The woman stepped forward this time, and spoke with a voice that could command armies, “You all are here as loyal fighters for the order, and you all know this. There is a great unfortunate message I must bring you all though.” She took a deep breath, and it was then, that her expression changed. Her eyes seemed to droop to the outsides, something was wrong and Zii knew it. He stood at the back of the bar, as the woman spoke once more.

“The Detch’kage-..We-…We are all that’s left.” She said as a green tear fell from her left eye, rolling silently over her tattoo. The bar erupted into silent chatter as the younger rogues all gained a troubled look, the elder rogues’ expressions did not change. The man spoke this time with a command,

“Silence. The Detch’kage is not dead yet. You are all that’s left, so do your order good and keep us alive. We still spread like an infection, so do not let this news come as an excuse to not do your duty.” The larger man turned and headed into the fire, the woman followed quietly after. The fire closed and the bar erupted into chatter again as the barkeep unlocked the door.