it's about Zennshi, my female troll hunter (new) who's stable theme is troll loas and spirits which have come to her in her travels! If you like this, be sure to check back for new chapters every once in a while! 
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Fall of my 19th year:
Today I become a woman. The ceremony will be held in the center of the island, as I and a few others of my age are welcomed into adulthood. Bloodhunter is also going to be an adult today. That raptor has grown so much since I got him. Well, I must go prepare for the ceremony.
Zennshi finished writing on the parchment, and then placed the charcoal back in its holder. Writing clearly and with proper spelling in orcish was difficult, but she somehow managed it. Smiling proudly at her finished work, she rose from the floor where she was seated. Zama, the old female troll who had adopted her into the Darkspear tribe, looked across the tent at her daughter, smiling around her tusks.
“You goin’ ta be ready, Zennshi?” She asked, tilting her head to one side.
“I tink so. I’m goin’ ta step outside, mon.” Zennshi sighed, trotting outside at a quick pace, the rough leather kilt she wore swirling around her blue legs. Once she got outside, the young troll whistled to Bloodhunter, her bright red bloodtalon raptor she had had since becoming a Darkspear. He trotted up to her side, grooming her red mohawk with his hands’ claws and cooing softly.
“ ‘ey dere, Blood.” Zennshi smiled, stroking his neck lovingly. Shaking his head, Bloodhunter nuzzled her side with his blunt muzzle, snorting. Today was a good day. Steamy rain streamed off of the dried leaf roofs of the trolls’ houses, splashing into little puddles in the mud-like sand. Despite the rains warmth, Zennshi shivered. She was nervous, but was not about to tell anyone besides Bloodhunter. Zama already doubted her on many fields, and she was not about to make her courage another of them. Turning, the young troll jogged down to the beach away from the village, sitting in the sand and letting the cool ocean water lap at her feet. Bloodhunter flopped down beside her on his stomach, legs flat out behind him, and his hands folded under his head. To Zennshi, he looked like something one of the dwarven siege tanks had run over.
“ ‘Ey Bloodhunter?” She asked quietly, running a blue hand down her raptor’s smooth back. He raised his head, looking up at her with his bright turquoise eyes, and making a kind of questioning snort.
“I don’ belong ‘ere, but choo do.” Zennshi sighed, shaking her head. Bloodhunter tilted his head to one side, as if wondering what she meant.
“My fa’er was a Bloodscalp and Gurubashi, an’ my mudder was a Drakkari and an Amani…I’m a mongrel, mon. I am of five tribes…so I belong to no one.” She said quietly, looking over the ocean sadly, “I don’t know what loas are real. I don’t know what to believe, what to think, where to go…I don’t know nuttin’, mon.” She quietly told Bloodhunter. The raptor perked up his head, looking back over his shoulder at the village and cawing quietly. Zennshi could hear the rest of the trolls moving about and preparing for the ceremony, despite the rain, so she rose and turned back, deciding it would be a good idea to start preparing herself and Bloodhunter.
A short while later, Zennshi and her raptor stood with a few other young trolls by a bonfire. The entire village was there, spread out around the bonfire in a circle, though giving the younglings some room. On the opposite side of the bonfire was an old troll shaman, and Zama, who was also a shaman. The old troll tossed some leaves and incense into the fire, making the flames shoot up into the stormy sky with a blast of blue fire. Zennshi looked down at herself, making sure she was properly dressed. She wore a simple, tan leather kilt, with feathers on it ranging from a dusty tan, to a bright, burnished gold, to a dark, rich brown. On her chest she wore a simple brown leather harness, though it had many bones, feathers, and brightly colored rock-beads, all of which she had gathered herself and lovingly sewn into the harness. Around her neck was a necklace of crocolisk teeth on a cord of leather. Her bright red hair was bound up in little knots with sharpened sticks and bones in it. The other younglings were dressed similarly, all with decorations which they had gathered themselves and applied. Zennshi smiled nervously, smoothing her kilt absentmindedly and laying a hand on Bloodhunter’s neck for comfort without thinking. Her raptor made a purring, cooing sound very quietly and stepped closer to her, looking up at her comfortingly. He had grown quite a bit, but she was still taller than him. No doubt he would keep growing and pass her up very soon. Her attention was snapped back to the present when the old troll cleared his throat and rose to his full height (not hunching any more) so everyone could see him.
“We’re gathered here to welcome dese younglings into adulthood, where dey will become the next generation o’ hunters, and shaman, and warriors, and dey will be makin’ da Darkspear proud. So, we must-…” He began, but Zennshi’s thoughts trailed away again, watching a Daggercap hawk, small against the big, rolling grey clouds, flutter around above the group. ‘Strange…those don’t live ‘ere…dey come from Howling Fjord if I remember right.’ She thought, confused. She felt as if it was watching her alone, out of all the trolls there, and it gave her slight comfort for some reason. Once again her thoughts were jolted back to the present moment as all of the trolls spread out evenly around the bonfire in a half-moon shape, and began to dance, some of the elder shaman wearing voodoo masks and other tribal wear. The flames began to shift color, changing from orange and red to bluish purple, and finally a bright, vivid green with blue-green streaks throughout. This tribal dance continued for a few moments, and then the old shaman leading it all called a halt.
“De spirits tol’ me what to do. Young ones, form a line.” He ordered. The young trolls did so, and Zennshi was at the back. Each troll stepped forward, and the old shaman painted a symbol on their forehead with paint, and gave them an item according to the path they wished to take. Druids and shaman received formal headdresses, warriors received a blade, rogues fist weapons, hunters a bow, mages and warlocks formal robes, and priests different robes. Zennshi was troubled when the last bow was given away to a male troll a few people ahead of her. She had said she was taking the path of a hunter, right? Glancing up, she still saw the hawk wheeling around in the sky, directly above her. Looking over at Bloodhunter, she looked concerned, and he returned the gaze with one of equal concern, a soft growl, barely audible, rumbling from his throat. Walking forward, they found themselves before the shaman. He frowned down at her, painting something on her forehead with blood red paint.
“You! You are NOT a Darkspear!” He growled. Zennshi shivered in her place, unable to move. Of course she wasn’t. She didn’t need an old shaman to tell her that. But this was something she had dreaded the past year as she had prepared for this. Her worst nightmare had come to be.
“De paint o’ da outcast is on this one. May she turn away and never come back!” He roared, pulling the sticks and bones out of Zennshi’s hair, which cascaded down her face and onto her shoulders in a tangled mess. A gasp of surprise rippled through the crowd.
“Where will she go, mon?” Zama asked, a mask of pure horror across her face. She may have been rough on Zenn, but in no means did she want her adopted child to become an outcast, like Zanzil.
“To one o’ her tribes she’s really a part of. Though since she’s a mongrel, they probably won’ accept her anyways. She’ll probably be a worthless beggar.” The old troll growled. Zennshi was petrified, standing in front of him, her hair a tangled mop, the mark of the outcast painted on her forehead, all eyes on her. Bloodhunter hissed loudly, beginning to step forward with one talon, shaking his head and rattling his neck spines menacingly. Taking hold of his staff, the troll shaman laid him a smart thwack on the nose, sending the young raptor back a few steps.
“Take tha’ untrained monster of a raptor whichoo, Outcast Zennshi!” He said loudly. Zennshi gritted her teeth, spitting out onto the sandy ground bitterly. He could insult her all he wanted, but Bloodhunter? That she could not let stand.
“Fine den. Outcast me, and Bloodhunter wiv me, but you can bet everything you have dat I will be no beggar. You may have insulted me, mon, and taken away any respect I had wit’ dese good people, which wasn’t much, but you did not take away my confidence.” Zennshi growled back, glaring sternly at the old shaman.
“Or your disrespect of your elders, mon.” He retorted, gazing down at her.
“I’m an outcast. You ain’t mah elder any more, mon.” Zennshi snorted, turning on her heel and walking purposefully away. She may have no place in the Darkspear, but she never did. She would fine no home with the Bloodscalp or Gurubashi, as she was part of both, and the Amani were far too far away. Drakkari would probably not accept anything but a full blooded troll of their own. She realized with a touch of fear that she was alone. Glancing over her shoulder, she was happy to see that the gathering of what once had been her neighbors was out of sight, and now she broke into a run. Bloodhunter kept up with her with long strides, the feathers bound to his arms fluttering in the breeze. Diving into the cold ocean, she swam to the shore of Durotar, leaving the Echo Isles behind, probably forever. Upon reaching the orange and dusty shore, she took a moment to breathe, but then began to run again. Passing Sen’jin village without a thought, Zennshi hurried into the Valley of Trials. Young orcs, training to join the Horde’s army, looked at her with curiosity, peering through the rain to see if the disheveled young troll was truly there, or was just their mind playing tricks on them. Zennshi’s red hair flew out behind her as her blue feet beat a tattoo on the land, kicking up little droplets of sandy muck that the rain left. Clamoring up the Hidden Path, quite out of breath, she came to the earth stone that many new shaman of the Horde came to to have their first communication with the earth spirit. Even though it was not the normal setting one would desire to pray to a troll loa, it would have to do. Kneeling on the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, Zennshi held her hands palm upward, and tilted her head back to look up at the sky.
“Akil’zon, eagle god o’ da Amani. Though I am but part of your people, still, please hear my cry, mon, er, Loa. Da eagle represents freedom in some cultures, and in my own heart, and I, as I am under no laws, belonging to no one, some would call me free. So, I be askin’ joo for help. I need a guide, someone ta show me what to do. Azeroth is frightening to be alone in, m- Loa. Give me aid, I beg o’ joo.” Zennshi took a deep breath, “Please!” She cried, feeling a few small tears rolling down her cheeks. After a few moments, she heard the flap of wings, and opened her eyes. The Daggercap Hawk was looking at her, her black feathers shimmering in the rain, and her bright, intense black eyes looking Zennshi up and down.
“Akil’zon…” she breathed quietly. Thunder roared in the distance, and lightning split the sky, making her jump. The hawk hopped up onto Bloodhunter’s back, who strangely didn’t seem to mind. A note was tied around one of her talons, and Zenn untied it, looking at it with slight confusion.
“Atal Alarion…” Zennshi read quietly, “Devoted Guardian. Akil’zon sent you to protect me?” she asked. The hawk nodded her head as best she could.
“Well, I suppose we should get a home, right, mon?” Zenn asked her animals. Neither replied, but she didn’t really expect them to.
“We’ll be patient, den see what happens. I tink I need ta reconnect wit my tribes, an’ learn what I can about dem witout gettin’ myself killed. But now let’s find shelter for a few days.” She decided, stroking Bloodhunter’s neck, and the bird’s headfeathers.
And so began the adventures of Zennshi, Outcast of the Darkspear, she of four tribes
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((What an evil, evil old troll
Do you think he just had a bad day? 
The next one will probably have pictures, or something of that sort too
))
she didnt deserve what that old coot did and I'm glad to see it didnt break her, looking forward to her future adventures.
old world raptors don't have neck spines 
