#they look at him with distaste and mistrust right off the bat

[erikatsu]

im so sad over itto wtf

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

pls write a fic where Ligani meets Sylvanas I love stubborn troll grandmas

Your wish is my command.

Year 33, Sen’jin Village, after the Legion war, before the Forsaken/human meeting.

I am so weary of drums, Sylvanas thought to herself as she watched the Darkspear procession unfold before her. Shadow hunters staged a reenactment of a battle upon the Broken Shore, drum beats meeting every strike with a low clap on leathery stretched skin fixed to a drum body fashioned out of driftwood. She’d had the same thought in her previous journey to Thunder Bluff. The raw hammering of hands that bored her intensely seemed repetitively mind numbing. Nevertheless, she found it somewhat endearing that they’d arranged dancing and chants for her visit, even if the experience was mundane. Always composed on the exterior, she was even more aware of her expression as she felt the side-eyed stare of an old troll fixated upon her. Ligani had come across as a no nonsense character, which Sylvanas could appreciate, but her constant unspoken surveillance left a small bloat of uneasiness in the undead’s gut that no one else had managed to conjure for some time. The fact that the crone was almost blind, yet still observing her reaction to the festivities, mildly agitated the Queen even more. Ever since the loss of Vol’jin the Darkspear Tribe had found itself leaderless, thus turning to its elders for guidance. As one of the oldest members, Ligani was almost unanimously silently chosen and swiftly upon her arrival to the Echo Isles, Sylvanas noted yet again to rectify that. Ligani was no fool and not a woman to be pushed around; her blunt attitude almost disregarded the banshee as anyway important at all, irritating her greatly. She’d given the queen an uninterested greeting and allowed other members of the tribe to entertain the Queen before plonking her hunched frame down onto a bench to keep an eye on Sylvanas during the event. She couldn’t be used as a puppet, the Queen concluded, so let her have he mistrust and distaste. She wouldn’t be a figurehead for much longer.

As the warriors departed the makeshift stage, spirit callers entered the lime light; reciting a chorus of Zanalari prayer, thrusting coloured dust into the bonfire flames to change the flickers from a warm orange to neon green, bright blue and violet purple. Ligani’s gaze did not move from the Warchief. Nathanos Blightcaller, who sat to his Dark Lady’s left, evidently also felt the narrowed stare of the troll to be discomforting at the very least. He’d opened his mouth a couple of times to protest, to ask the troll what she wanted, but a quick shot of Sylvanas’ eyes had kept him quiet. She’d spent little time around trolls bar Vol’jin, however knew some of their culture. Undead were treated with grave suspicion; seen as a product of stealing dead souls from a loa, whose name she could quite not recall. She’d already heard of Ligani vaguely before this encounter: the great Spirit Walker of the Darkspear, known to be a stubborn and cranky individual, even towards her own people. Sylvanas would have preferred to have met her late husband, Akuji, famed witch doctor and voodoo master who practiced all the dark taboos, including necromancy. This was of course before the trolls cast out the old ways. He may have been more open minded to talk to than this strong-willed old bat. No matter, she contemplated, she’d already privately resolved to herself that Ligani wouldn’t be an issue in the long run.

A younger troll carrying a jug of what appeared to be wine approached the three, nodding to each one. Ligani held out a coconut shell, posing as some sort of mug, and allowed the wine bearer to fill it up with the rich red liquid. Nathanos scowled.

“It is customary to offer your guests a glass before you take your own,” he grumbled, “especially if that guest is a Queen.” Ligani let out of short cackle. The woman was infuriating, Sylvanas thought.

“Boy, I be old as bones,” she chuckled, “but you be dead already. Wine be for the livin’, not walkin’ debts to Bwonsamdi.” Nathanos’ eyes widened in a glint of anger at the insult, but Sylvanas waved a hand at him, signalling him to stand down.

“It was merely impolite,” he muttered, sinking back into his chair, annoyed. She pondered what to say to the old troll. With all other leaders, they’d been sure to be respectful and careful with their words, but this was commonly laced with false flattery. Ligani was no more pleased to host the Warchief than Sylvanas was to be there and did not attempt to impose disingenuous compliments upon her. Of course, there would be no place for the crone to have real power in the Horde, but humouring Ligani may be more entertaining than the show in front of them. Especially if she knew any more of her dead mate’s craft, and she knew it’d be easier to catch this old bug with honey rather than bitter vinegar.

“It is so good that both our people could come together, despite quite opposing ideals of course,” she hissed under her breath, so as not to disrupt the show. Ligani raised an eyebrow at the Queen’s uncharacteristic attempt at chatter. It wasn’t friendly, barely lukewarm, but it wasn’t her usual cold quips and stony comments she was known for. The Queen continued, “although, from my studies I know we do share common ground. In your old ways.” The troll’s eyes squinted into slits.

“I be not messin’ wid da bad mojo, if that be what ya mean. No voodoo, no juju, no stealin’ from loa.” Although she was blind and required a walking stick to move her hunched body around, Ligani was still as sharp as ever. Sylvanas gritted her teeth into a forced smiled.

“Of course not. Completely… theoretical. I’ve heard many stories about Akuji, your deceased partner.”

“He messed wid da spirits alright,” Ligani replied coldly, “but he be makin’ deals with Bwonsamdi, borrowin’ souls, returnin’ dem as quick as dey rose,” Sylvanas’ gaze was forced directly into Ligani’s failing eyes as the troll stared right at her, “they not be stayin’ undead for long.” Sylvanas maintained her unnaturally exaggerated smile in tact. It wasn’t a secret she sought to maximise the life span of her people. More versed in war than necromancy, Sylvanas has delved into all the methods she could lay her hands on, all efforts still remaining fruitless. Her lips curled into a blank stare as she returned her attention back to the spirit callers in front of her, all knelt down around the fire pit, speaking in a language she was unable to decipher. Ligani also looked onward, taking another sip of the blood red vintage that had been imported recently from blood elves for solidarity of the Darkspear losses in the war. She savoured the unusually sweet flavour in her mouth before allowing it to pour down her throat. It would be some time before the trolls would be graced with a rare and extravagant gift such as this. She let a uncommonly seen grin muse upon her face as trolls came up one by one, offering bowls of fruit and cut meat as a tribute to the elder and Warchief. A rather impractical donation for their undead leader, Sylvanas had silently noted, since their own resources needed replenishing drastically since the Legion war and she had no need of it, but a kind pleasantry all the same. She nodded as each one was presented, and Sylvanas too inclined her head to the humble presents.

The night droned on until the last drum beat sounded and the last gesture given and the last troll withdrew from the centre of the ring. Ligani hoist herself up, a gnarled cane stabbing into the sandy earth as she pushed herself up, tired from the night’s events. Sylvanas rotated to see Nathanos leading a reined bat towards her to take her home. She looked back to give the elder a wry smirk-like grin.

“It was gracious of you to host me, Spirit Walker,” she said, fake gratitude lacing her words, “I’ll return in good time to organise the Darkspear’s current… predicament.” Ligani’s eyes winced, knowing the protection of her people - while she held no true power to do so in reality - would be cast onto a more malleable host. Someone who respected Sylvanas. Someone who could be controlled by Sylvanas. She gave a stiff nod.

“Spirits be good ta ya,” a parting sentiment imitating the same sham appreciation she had received. Sylvanas turned, cape flowing out as she hopped onto the large bat’s saddle and whipped the reins. Nathanos copied his Dark Lady’s lead with a bat of his own, and Ligani watched as both champion and Warchief flew off into the cool night.

“I see no reason you put up with that woman’s arrogance, my Lady,” Nathanos commented as he rode side by side with his Queen. She smirked.

“Pick your battles, my champion,” She retorted, “that one won’t be a problem for much longer, as long it it is nipped in the bud before the roots take.”