In his search for a place to hide and finally be left alone, Twiggy might have a fortuitous encounter

Let's break the routine for a story involving Twiggy and discovering more about Zandalar :3

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“Again through de port?”
The question had that hint of frustration and disdain Twiggy would have expected from a Troll who’d just learned about his accent or his lacking vocabulary in Zandali.
But no, this time it was Zinjo who spoke as such, the massive forest Troll still acting like the Drakkari’s shadow as they followed the stairs down to the port.
“I want to see the new arrivals. It’ll help me.”
“What will help ya, T’iggy, will be de priests and de teachings,” commented Zinjo, the hands on his hips for a second before following Twiggy, pushing through the bustling crowd with his elbows and shoulders.

With his sheer size, no one was particularly keen on bothering Twiggy’s bodyguard. Even the Taurens merchants were careful, while only a few seemed to care about the celeste-blue-furred Drakkari who had to trudge and push through the crowd painfully. Some people were prudent enough even to mind his tail. Most, though, saw him as an obstacle towards the ziggurats and markets behind.
Enough for Zinjo to catch up with Twiggy as they landed right at port level. The iodine smell tickled, as well as the smell of sweat, decomposing algae, or fish cooking under the sun.
The place was also a bustling chaos of different voices and languages. The mellifluous Zandali was almost drowned by the brutish Orcish, the heavy Taur-ahe, the gritting Gutterspeak, the high-pitched and haughty Thalassian, and even the hints of commons from the rare neutral individuals who did not belong to the Horde.
They were almost the favorite for Twiggy, like a breath of fresh air, though they were kept away from the ziggurats of Dazar’alor.
For political and military reasons, but also for the difficulties they had to integrate into the Troll society… Much like… Well… Twiggy.

It had been almost a year since Twiggy had set foot in Dazar’alor, in a vain hope to connect with something he had never experienced.
His life, from early on, had been marked by the legacy of a human. His whole story had been written in common and in a language his ancestors would not have sought.
The Drakkaris would have spurned the existence of the Common, hated the Orcish, and despised anyone who couldn’t even articulate their thoughts in Zandali.
Twiggy? He’d bathed in such cultures early on to the point he had been feeling disconnected from his kind in more ways than one.
Dazar’alor should have been a new attempt at his life. A solution to that profound disconnection to himself, to his people, to his legacy.

Yet… As he was surrounded by thousands of faces, all rushing to press against him, enduring the shoulders hitting against his, feeling the weight of a Tauren smacking against his side and spiraling down in a crowd that hastily swerved to avoid him, Twiggy felt like he was breathing again. Ironic, as he smiled while being dusted off by Zinjo once the forest Troll caught up with him.
“What’s so funny, T’iggy?” asked Zinjo, speaking in Orcish much more accented than many a troll living in the Horde.
“Nothing. I’m satisfied,” said Twiggy, trying not to act bothered as his borrowed clothes, wraps of purple and royal blue, were cinched by Zinjo’s careful touch.
“Satisfied? What’s for?”
Twiggy frowned at the question, trying to puzzle back the Troll’s question… Then, as he noted Zinjo’s frustrated glance, the Drakkari turned his back on the forest Troll.
“I felt I was back home.”
“Ya’re home, T’iggy.”

Well, the sweltering temperature of Zandalar ought to say the opposite when Twiggy had to keep his fur trimmed so he wouldn’t overheat when stepping under the sun.
But no… So far. After a year among the Zandalari, trying to learn the precepts of the Loas from the Priests, to understand the customs from the assigned scholars, or to assimilate from the curators expounding on Zandalar’s intense history.
He’d learn everything they could teach him and even his Zandali had improved… But no, it wasn’t home. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t… Him.
So he ignored.
“De priests will always help ya,” continued Zinjo, perorating the exact words.

“Yes… I am aware,” scoffed Twiggy, pushing faster through the crowd, this time no longer caring for his attire as he slipped and twisted and took sharp turns to progress, like a slithering snake.
“T’iggy!”
“I need to see the ship there!” lied Twiggy, slithering faster and faster, taking sharp turns around the stacked crates. Zinjo might be tall and big, but the crowd’s density had grown so much that it favored the scrawnier and smaller build… Such as Twiggy, as if he’d be able to relieve people of their purses if his clawed fingers so desired.
“T’iggy! Dis is not da way! Return!”
“I must see this! It is probably Koatini!”
The walrus-like Tuskarr might only be a merchant with his greed and faults, but he was one of the few capable of feeling for the Drakkari. And one of the best alibis since the Tuskarr often made trips back and forth between his ship and his shop.
If Twiggy wanted to disappear, he only had to say he got lost with the merchants, and a few coins made the Tuskarr eager to lie along. As long as the lies did not bring trouble to his doorstep.

There. Twiggy smiled… Smiled as he ran through the crowd, no longer caring if Zinjo caught on with his little game.
Behind the Forest Troll charged, producing a commotion and many cries.
“T’iggy! Back!” ordered the Forest Troll, perhaps like a master calling out his pet. But Twiggy knew the distance was too much, and soon, the commotions changed from frightened cries to enraged shouts when the guards must have caught Zinjo.
Perhaps then, the bodyguard or minder would point fingers towards Twiggy, explaining he was sent to protect a VIP or something. But Twiggy was gone, already gone by the time Zinjo explained himself.

Twiggy had already fled the port, no longer having to slither between the crowd. His feet bounced on the pavement, then the rough stone, the pebble stones, the ground, and then the forest soil.
He made sure to step in the present footprints, turning his track into an almost impossible effort as he chuckled, gagged, and then burst into laughter. At the same time, the pristine and golden-riddled streets of Zuldazar turned into a forest canopy with branches and roots and vines overtaking everything that was not moving. Stones and houses were quick to be devoured, taken, swallowed back by what nature produced.
The powerful and pristine Zandalari perfection was soon erased by the green and brown, by a night pitch-black darkness the canopy cast over the depths.
And even then… Twiggy was almost at rest as he exhaled and slowed down, unbothered by the darkness, as his golden eyes had adjusted the moment he disappeared in the jungle.
“So much better,” commented the Drakkari Troll, dusting off his flowing robes and admiring the jungle around.

His ears stood up, his yellow eyes danced from one plant to another, watching and searching for any scratch marks on the tree’s trunk. But he found none. Even as he continued his path ahead, Twiggy continued to observe for the traces of the non-existent and hunted-to-extinction fauna.
At least, so close to the Capital. In return, the heavy silence cast within those parts was as soothing as it was unnerving.
Soothing in the absence of sounds, of cries, of voices, of steps. Unnerving in the absence of life, of movements. That jungle was as dead as it could be… But not as much as Twiggy continued to flee Dazar’alor.

With the Ziggurats as far from the mind as from the eyes, life began to sprout back. The croaking of toads happily bathing in the puddle constantly refilled by the rainforest. The growl of distant felines hunting and fighting for their territories. The birds' song began like a few notes before becoming a chorus coming from all directions. The distant chittering of insects. And then… the cracking branches.

Twiggy’s ears twitched as he instantly spun on his feet and bounced away from whatever was coming. The steps were heavy, far too heavy. It was not a predator, but perhaps a troll. Someone who might have managed to track Twiggy’s steps?
Without even thinking, the Drakkari bounced behind berry-bearing shrubs, trying to make himself as small as he could be.
He’d covered his tracks, didn’t wear the perfumes like the Priests had offered him to, and he’d been light on his feet. Sure, his purple and blue robes were not discreet, but it shouldn’t have been enough.
Yet, the steps were coming closer. And closer… And closer.
Someone knew he was there, and Twiggy’s breathing became shallow, like a whistle, as he tried to consider his options. Run? If it were a soldier, he’d be caught in a matter of minutes. Hide? It wouldn’t work, it didn’t. Talk his way out? Impossible, all the guards always dragged Twiggy back to the priests.
Remained one option. One, as his feet tensed, his claws dug into the ground, and his breathing hastened. Fighting. It wasn’t the best option. But it could work. Work perfectly if Twiggy could surprise his opponent. He planted his claws in the soil and prepared himself to pounce.
Another step… Closer. So closer. Then, the shrubs were pushed aside.
There!

With a feline roar, almost a jaguar, Twiggy pounced out of his hiding hole.
Instantly, his eyes were met with icy blue eyes befitting a Zandalari. Lavender braided hair. A rugged face with a coloration that was odd on a troll. The skin was darker than most trolls, but the color was dull, practically gone. Which, in turn, made him stand out more in the jungle and practically made him look clearer to the Drakkari’s perception as he jumped towards his opponent and planted his claws in his shoulders.

At that instant, the Zandalari dropped the basket he held and pushed back against Twiggy’s weight.
But even then… With his legs joined under his body, adding to his weight, Twiggy couldn’t budge so easily. And as soon as it started, Twiggy took down his opponent.
The Zandalari, or so Twiggy had assumed, was on his back, writhing from the pain as one foot seemed to have twisted at a wrong angle during the fall.
And he cried. The Zandalari cried, shouting, with such a thick accent that Twiggy barely understood what was said.
“Khaa’l! – Right! Home!”

Twiggy blinked, expecting something else from his opponent. Maybe to call out his name, or to ask the Drakkari to return to the temple in that rehashed speech in common.
A surprise, for sure, the Zandalari exploited to press his hands against Twiggy’s chest and throw him away, sending the Drakkari rolling in the mulch and leaves until his robes had lost some of their pristine.
“YOU! Problem?!”
The Zandalari had already twisted and began to recover, shouting at Twiggy and even pointing one accusatory finger before he collapsed, and glanced over his shoulder towards his foot.

One opportunity Twiggy took since he was free to move. With a feline-like agility, the Drakkari went back on his feet, though he kept a wide posture, his feet firmly planted, while he pointed a finger at the Zandalari.
“I told the priests I would take my whole afternoon! I don’t care about your orders, I want to be left alone! And you can tell Zinjo not to try to follow me next time!”
“Priests? Zinjo?” the Zandalari spoke, his accent making it even difficult to understand two words. But a second later, he blinked and frowned.
“What’s yer problem?! Ye jump on any who moves?” spat the Zandalari, grunting as he tried to sit down. “Wait. Ye no priest!”
“Yes! I’m not a priest! So…”

Twiggy’s words died in his throat as he glanced at whom he faced.
He’d assumed that guy was a Zandalari. But from what he’d seen, the dark coloration was a dark-purple coloration. He wasn’t a full-blood Zandalari, despite having obsidian-like scutes growing over his exposed shoulders.
Beyond that, though the Zandalari was muscular to the point of looking like a strongman, he was not like the Temple’s oversized servants who huddled around, hulking. He was powerful, yes, but not enough to compare.
“So why were you following me?”
“What? Ye were hiding behind de berries! Loa! De fruits!”
Following the Zandalari’s gaze, Twiggy observed the basket that had been upturned and the fruits that fell during the altercation… or crushed when the two rolled.
Most had been spared, but a few red fruits had been crushed, and the resulting juices were splattered over the Zandalari’s loincloth. And some on Twiggy’s robes.

Still, the Zandalari grabbed the basket and hastily scooped the fruits to put them back in, though hissing as he kept his right leg outstretched.
“Loas got me. Tried to do dat in advance, got a good mood, and got jumped,” growled the Zandalari, frowning, scowling… And finally, shaking his head as he turned to Twiggy.
“Hey, you! Help me since ye broke my ankle! Ye got legs!”
“I-… You,” answered Twiggy, scoffing and shaking his head. “I didn’t do that! You’re fine!”
“Does this look fine?” pointed the Zandalari, the index finger to his right ankle, which looked swollen indeed. Something that looked quite painful, too, as the Zandalari was careful not to move that foot.

“It’s… urgh,” growled Twiggy, shaking his head. “I don’t want to get stuck around. Fine! I’ll help you because you don’t look like a guard!”
“Guards?” continued the Zandalari, outstretched an arm to be helped by Twiggy. “Guards ain’t coming for here. Dey hate de place. Why ye so afraid of guards? Ye look like a priest.”
“I am not afraid of them, they won’t do me a thing,” grunted Twiggy, grabbing the arm and pulling on the Zandalari, who was even lighter than Twiggy guessed. “I don’t want them to bring me to the Ziggurat. I need my day away from them for once. Let’s be quick!”
“So ye jump on any guard coming yer way?” asked the Zandalari. “Rude.”
“I already have one handful of a bodyguard on me, I wouldn’t want to be tracked by the guards. I thought you were one of them.”
“And I thought ye were a wild beast. Da fur and dis claws ain’t nothing.”

The chuckle that followed was almost soft and sympathetic as Twiggy received the basket from the Zandalari. Then… With a huff, Twiggy had the Zandalari’s arm over his shoulder and the weight pressing against him.
Again, the Zandalari was lighter than expected. But it was still a big and powerful guy whose presence made Twiggy tilt in the opposite direction.
“Ok. Fun aside. I will bring you back to the city. You can find a healer and say… uh… Twiggy did this? The temple will pay for you. I’ll leave in the meantime.”
“A healer? Why would I need a healer?” scoffed the Zandalari. “Nah, man. Bring me dere.”
The Zandalari then pointed further into the forest, right amidst the thickets and the towering trees.
“Why there?”
“Ma place is dere! I have what I need to heal dere.”

“Wait? You live outside the city?” asked Twiggy, still following the direction. At first, the Drakkari was too fast and almost dragged the Zandalari. But soon, they adjusted the pace and the progress became steady, easy.
“Yeah, I do! Slower! No everyone liv’ in de city. Ye Twiggy?”
“Hmm hmm. I thought every troll wanted to live there. Like it is the perfect place.”
“Who told ye dat? De priests?” asked the Zandalari, scoffing when noting Twiggy’s nod. “Yeah… Figured it so. Dey lied to ye, Twiggy. No everyone wants to go dere.”
“It looks better and far more enjoyable than the cities I’ve lived in,” commented Twiggy.
“Ye. If ye a priest or a guest or… Ye,” said the Zandalari, laughing. “For de little people, dat place is trash!”

As they continued through the thickets, uninterrupted by the predators, Twiggy soon faced a clearing… With a little stone house located at the edge. It was closer to a hunt, stacked against a cliff. But it looked comfy when Twiggy noticed the fire pit by the entrance, still smoking, or the door flap from which came more light. There were even a few windows, but the curtains covered them and prevented Twiggy from peeking inside when approaching the structure.
“Hom’ sweet hom’,” laughed the Drakkari, shaking his head and placing a hand against the stone threshold. “C’mere.”
An invitation… One that was a bit indecent for Twiggy, though he followed the troll inside the one-room house. In one corner was a bedroll, made of feathers, of a tiger skin, and completed by a rough leather bag certainly filled with feathers, too.

On the right, there was a table covered with a pestle, mortars, clay jugs, and baskets full of fruits and ingredients that were in various stages of decay. There was also a bag of salt, quite an oddity in the jungle, as well as some delicate vials that seemed to be imported rather than crafted.
On the left, though, there was another table and a unique chair the Zandalari sat on… Before he snatched the basket from Twiggy’s fingers and put it on the table.
“Can ye help me? Got a few bandages ‘nder the table, dere!” pointed the Zandalari, though it wasn’t like an order and more like a request. One Twiggy took as he bent to search under the table and found… Well, a basket, another, full of makeshift bandages. It was like someone had ripped clothes apart.
“Dere’s also a jug. Red. With a liquid. For de pain,” continued the Zandalari.

Soon, Twiggy had everything placed on the table: bandages, a clay jug, and a mortar filled with green paste.
“Ye know how to deal wit’ sprains?”
“No. I’m not a healer,” mumbled Twiggy, shaking his head.
“Fine. Let me show ye,” said the Zandalari as, with a display of flexibility, put his foot on the table and began a direct course on how to heal a sprain. “Ye ought to if ye wanna flee de city. Survival is key.”
The Zandalari took a swig from the clay jug, rubbed the green paste over the swollen skin until the paste was absorbed… And then, he tightly tied the bandages over his ankle, covering it until the purplish skin couldn’t be seen under the dirty brown fabric.
“Here’s how ye handle dat. Good?” asked the Zandalari, smiling at Twiggy.
“We could have seen a healer for a cleaner result. They would recognize me, and it wouldn’t cost you a thing?”
“What? Ye pity me?”
“No! It’s an offer!”

Yet, as Twiggy was outraged by the critic, the Zandalari exploded into laughter.
“Pulling de leg! I know what ye meant. But no. I won’t ask for a healer to do what I can!”
The Drakkari laughed along, a bit nervous. But soon, the laugh stopped, and the Zandalari dropped his foot on the floor, exhaling since he no longer had to stretch his legs and press on his abdomen.
“You live alone here? In the jungle? Isn’t it dangerous?
“Alone? Na. Got a few friends here and dere living in. But here is ma home,” said the Zandalari, encompassing the place with one hand. “Less suffocating than de city. Got ma food, ma comfort, ma place. Ma temple to meself!”
“Heh,” chuckled Twiggy along. “You’re right.”

Even if the Zandalari’s meeting had been rough and brutal, the Troll seemed kind, sympathetic, more than that, honest. Far more than the priests and their unctuous words, always asking Twiggy to be a good Drakkari, to learn his culture, to prove himself to be worthy of their efforts. Here, that guy was beaten and yet took no offense.
“I could be here to mug you,” commented Twiggy.
“Ye? Mug me? Nah,” said the Zandalari. “Saw yer eyes. Ye don’t have a bit of violence in ye.”
“I easily wounded you.”
“Like a cornered beast! Ye say de guards don’t frighten ye. But it looks like it,” added the Zandalari, pointing to the Drakkari’s fur… Especially as it had puffed up.
Something Twiggy tried to hide by smoothening said fur with his hand.
“Ma name is Khaa’l. And feels like ye need a plac’ to hide. Ye a newcomer.”
“I’m not a newcomer. It’s complex. But I need… I don’t know. Maybe hide, yes. But I need to return before they take it out on Zinjo or anyone else.”
“Who’s Zinjo?”
“My bodyguard.”
“Ohhh! Your guard! The one ye jump on!”
“Body… Guard. I have no reason to hit him. He does his job protecting me.”
“That’s how dey present it. Tough guy not so bright dat follow ye all day? Dey here to watch and report. Not as stupid as you think.”
“How do you know that?” asked Twiggy, tilting his head and stepping back, crossing his arms while leaning against a wall.
“Used to work with de temples. Priests had deir pets and toys. Trolls from oder continents. Like ye. Ye a first, though.”

Twiggy frowned, then scratched his head.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t obviously an anomaly compared to most trolls. Whereas most trolls had a bare skin or a thin cover of moss, Twiggy was hairy. His ears were long and bestial, almost like an odd kind of feline. And he had a tail that twitched and swayed, betraying his thoughts.
He was an oddity. And even Troll-kind, he had been one. Half-blood, some would say. Corrupted others would have. Human-tamed was the worst, though.
But Khaa’l? He didn’t even say a thing.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Bother me what? Not me who got fur and ears and tail and paws and pads,” said Khaa’l. “Not ma problem. But feels like others made deirs yers.”
“You can say that,” nodded Twiggy, looking around. Then lost before an offered hand.
“Let’s go outside.”

Again, it was up to Twiggy to help Khaa’l walk outside and sit on one of the logs by the fire pit. The surprise gone, Twiggy could finally descry the place. At the center, a monolithic rock stood proud despite a tree growing on it like a parasite reaching for the skies.
But around? Flowers formed variegated patches of different colors, going from the striking crimson to the delicate yellow. As for the shy blues, they were on the clearing’s edge, practically one step away from Twiggy. And Twiggy could recognize some: medicinal plants.
A sight far more intriguing and relaxing than anything he’d experienced this entire year.
“That place. It is almost…”
“Calm, yeah,” added Khaa’l as he stretched and began to tease the fire that was about to die, but didn’t throw a log in.
“Was that place a temple? I heard Dazar’alor was bigger before, and then fell into dereliction over the years.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” answered Khaa’l, chuckling. “Da place is old. But we’re not far from da city. If it were a temple, the priests do a poor job!”
Then, with an index finger, Khaa’l pointed at the canopy above.
“Nah. Da place was for peasants, a garden or a market. Don’t think everything is holy here and dere.”

“Everything feels that way, though, when listening to the priests,” said Twiggy, thinking for a second. Then, as Khaa’l’s fingers dropped, Twiggy’s ears twitched.
“ 'Specially da priests that will do a pretty princess outta you.”
“Sorry?” asked Twiggy, feeling his temper flare up and his cheeks burn. Even his pupils contracted. “What did you say?”
“Yer robes. ‘nother thing that made me feel weird about ye. Dey gave you robes for ceremonies. Union.”
“I-…”

For a moment, Twiggy frowned. Then, he looked at the robes. At the fabric covered with dust and dirt. The flowing robes had been a part of typical priest attire, they said. But in the end, whenever Twiggy strolled through the cities, Zandalaris turned heads and wished him prosperity.
He thought it was part of the Zandalari society, but as Khaa’l seemed prone to putting everything in question, Twiggy doubted. He doubted as he stood up, passing a hand on his forehead.
“You’re telling me those are wedding robes?”
“Not like for de humans,” commented Khaa’l, shaking his head. “But close, ye. You wear dem to say you got someone spoken for. And den, when dat guy remove dem, it’s for de duty. But your voice is too deep for dat. Are dey doing funny things?”

Funny things.
Twiggy’s fur puffed up again as he considered this. For a little while, he had been feeling iffy about the practices. The glances he got around the temple, Zinjo’s presence even during the baths, or the questions that were steadily moving on the practice of matrimonial duties.
Twiggy wasn’t blind to it, but had not put two and two together for now.
His tail twitched when considering this… His robes, then himself. He had to ask questions.
“Oh. You got something on yer mind, Twiggy?” asked the Zandalari, surprised to see the tension in Twiggy’s fur and body.
“Yes. I think I need to go back to the temple and… Verify something,” mumbled the furred Troll, frowning… And then looking towards Khaa’l. “May I return later?”
“Looks like ye’ll need to. Ye’re ma guest, I told ye so. But don’t bring problems to ma door.”
“I’ll try my best,” nodded Twiggy, biting his lips… And feel the hair in the back of his neck straighten. “And… Thanks for your help.”
“Heh. I did nothing,” commented Khaa’l, waving his hand.
“You helped me more than you think. I hope I can see you back,” said Twiggy, dusting himself off and turning, ready to run back to the city out of a sudden, to see Zinjo, and maybe to see what other lies he’s been told.

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