The Bloody Distance (Abotu)

The sounds of battle echoed through the ancient valley as two relentless forces clashed for what seemed like the millionth time. Azeroth was a land soaked in the multi-hued blood of its many races over the course of countless cruel and bloody millennia, but on this hot and misty day the fighting seemed extra fierce, as if a feeling of doom had washed over the bloodied faces of the battered soldiers of the Horde and the Alliance.

As the sun drew low in the Azerothian sky, the Alliance was pressing its advantage. Their numbers were superior, and this land was familiar to them. Hope seemed lost for the mighty Horde, and yet they fought to the last, orcs and taurens shoulder to shoulder with the cruel undead and sometimes the trolls. One by one they fell to the slashing swords and bashing maces and flashing spells of the combined forces of the mighty Alliance.

But then onto the battlefield strode a lone figure, tall and gaunt, with hair dyed the color of blood and twisted into braids that danced high in the air like snakes, cruel and seductive. A troll woman, clad in red armor that glistened crimson in the mist of the evening, a cruel glowing sword grasped in each hand. This was Abotu, great assassin of the horde, feared by even her allies and more so by her enemies. Her reputation for cruelty matched that of even the blighted Forsaken whose hollow eyes shone with the light of death itself, or the corrupted Blood elves whose hunger for arcane magic drove them to feats of untold evils. Among them Abotu stood out as a being forged of pure malice, her gleaming swords soaked in the blood of a hundred thousand elves, and their allies of the alliance.

The army of the alliance paused at the sight of her, their bloodlust turning to cold fear with her slow and deliberate approach. And then, suddenly, she was gone, vanished before their eyes using the secret arts of the rogues of orgrimmar. Suddenly a night elf exploded in a fountain of violet blood! Out of nowhere she appeared, her swords hacking into enemy upon enemy, their numbers crushed like insects before the unstoppable might of her whirling enchanted blades of death. They came upon her in waves, but her cruelty drove her ever onward into the thick of the battle, the blood of her enemies staining her leather armor a deeper crimson, her cruel face twisted in a grimace of pain and pleasure of the kill.

Then, suddenly, all was silent. Abotu the mighty, orphaned daughter of the lost trolls of zoram, stood victorioius. As she gazed around her at the mounds of dead enemies that surrounded her, their thick blood oozing about her red boots, a wry smile crossed her thin lips. The sun had gone down, and the moon had come up. And long ago, somebody left with the cup, but he's striving, and driving, and hugging the turns, and thinking of someone for whom... he... still... burns... HE'S GOING THE DISTANCE! HE'S GOING FOR SPEEEED!

- Written by Abotu