The Cult of the Raptor

[Sheyja]

Sheyja Al-Azoo "Sand Pearl"
Desert Daughter

Bound by blood, by soul and by bone
Promises made older than stone

Sheyja stepped up to the fire and gazed into the blazing flames. With a swift motion she drew her dagger and cut across her wrist, leaving a dark line of welling blood. Slowly she turned her hand and let the thick darkred drops trickle into the fire. Accepting the blood sacrifice the hungry flames sizzled softly as an answer to her plea to the loa: “Me wants to know me origin, da roots of me blood. Me ask for ya blessin’ for dat journey, loa.” The attending trolls nodded while watching the proud warrioress.

For a long time she had been one of the desert wanderers, going where the wind blew her, where the water offered one more day of life. This had been the way of her family for as long as she could think of. These were the people she belonged to, the people who were her home, but there was...more. Questions rising at the fires in the evening while the warm sand cooled softly down. Where lie our roots? Have we always been wanderers of the desert? No answer. A sad flicker crossing the eyes of her grandmother. The young troll girl grew restless until the wind carried an answer: “If you cannot be the singer, be the song.” And so she left behind everything that was dear to her.

Memories of her family were flickering within the flames of the ceremony fire and she looked up in the faces of the attending trolls. The Cult of the Raptor. Suddenly Sheyja felt the calling of the wind. Her lips moved silently, forming a sentence without speaking the words. If ya canna be da singer, be da song. She nodded.

Slowly she drew a richly adorned scroll out of her pocket, the magic words flirring on the old parchment. It was quickly devoured by the greedy blaze. “Me ask to find maneh storehs on me journey as it be tradition of me folks, da desert wanderers.” She smiled, thinking of the long evenings at the fires with the story telling and singing, the laughing eyes of her grandmother. It would keep the bond to her people. Sheyja’s eyes met Adnaw’s, the Raptah Speakah of the Cult. She would speak to the woman later but could see the consent in her eyes already. She would have kin again, a family...and she would continue to be the song...and maybe one day, she could be the singer.

[Sheyja]

A short description of Sheyja (can be seen in-game as well and will be updated with events happening):

Sheyja's hair is shot colored in different hues of dark shimmering blue and black and leaves the impression of stirring waves gently flowing around her face. Even more so since her braids are adorned with little white pearls of irregular shape, tiny shells and even a small silvery hook. One of her braids is decorated with a tribal raptor feather and fastened with a little red snake, carved from stone.

Sheyja's body movements are fast and smooth and she carries herself with an air of pride and strength.

[Sheyja]

If you cannot be the singer,
be the song.

Absorbed in thought the red haired young troll watched the last sunbeams of the day dancing on the jungleplants‘ leaves. A soft breeze from the Savage Coast made the leaves rustle high above him and gave passage for a single curious lightray. Unnoticed by the troll it hit a shimmering waterdrop and for the blink of an eye let it glitter like a perfect diamond. Softly he touched the little snake carved from red stone he wore on a leather string around his neck.

As unnoticed had the small warband of trolls passed the borders of the Bloodscalp’s lands, seeking revenge for the threat posed to Sen’jin. The soft dance of the lights on the ruin’s stonewalls turned into a wild flicker when he swirled around to face the fury of the troll warrioress who charged him. The grip of his axe felt suddenly damp.

Laughing madly she slashed with bloodsmeared tusks at the male troll‘s throat, while launching a series of quick attacks at him. He staggered backwards until he felt the warmth of the stones pressing into his back. Tiny blood drops ran along the blade when she raised her sword high up to bring it straight down with full power. With a sudden move he lunged to the side, avoiding the deadly strike. Growling softly she twirled around, her with tiny shells and pearls adorned braids making soft clicking noises. Suddenly twisting in mid air she lashed out, her blade curved out and then across in a vicious horizontal slash. In disbelief he stared at the thin darkred line across his bare chest. Distantly he heard a guttural cry and saw the warrioress swing her sword in a flirring graceful arc. Tiny blood drops became small streams, flowing down the gleaming blade.

With a snarl she crouched low over the body and met the eyes of the dying troll. He noticed with a last fleeing thought that the nearly orange corona, which circled the dark red iris of her eyes, mirrored the color of the setting sun. He never felt the yank with which she took the bloodsmeared necklace as a trophy.

Unnoticed by the ecstatic trolls, basking in the glory of their victory, the shimmering waterdrop finally made its way down, falling on the face of the dead Bloodscalp and rolling down his cheek like a single glittering tear.

[Sheyja]

Run with us forever more
Under an endless sky

Sheyja closed her eyes as she felt the warm sand corns grinding against her feet. She pictured the majestic sight of the desert briefly in the mind's eye, then opened her eyes again and enjoyed the wave of happiness to return home slowly washing through her. By the time the sun was setting down she had reached the borders of the desert. Humming slightly the troll warrioress overlooked the thick green tangle of the Un’Goro Crater, the destination of the Cult’s hunt. Carefully she stepped up to the mountain’s edge and untangled a small, richly embroidered leater pouch from her girdle. Letting the soft humming turn into a song, she brought her sacrifice.



We call to da Earth
Drummin’ da song of strength
In a steady rythm

We call to da Wind
Whisperin’da song of freedom
In a soft breeze

We call to da Water
Carryin’ da song of life
In a gentle wave

We call to da Fire
Howlin’ da song of blood
In a wild dance

We call to da Loas,
Hear our song of da hunt
Under da endless sky

[Sheyja]

Hear our song of the hunt
Under the endless sky


The cold morning wind in Nagrand played lovingly with a strand of the troll warrioress’ dark hair. The muscles of her body tensing, she spun around smoothly and let her blade swing in a graceful arc. It filled the cold air with a hissing sound. Without breaking the rythm of her blade dance, she brought her sword up high while smoothing the hair back behind her ear. Drawing her breath in sharply, she twisted in midair and curved her blade around in a flirring strike.

The wind ran through her hair and pulled out the little strand of hair again. For the blink of an eye it caressed her cheek before it was blown across her face. Growling slightly she lashed a series of quick attacks at the wind and finally ended her morning sword training with a deep bow. She felt ready for the hunt this evening.

[Sheyja]

[Sheyja]

Me haf spoken wit’ da spirits
Take a piece of da sun an’ go


Slowly Sheyja unfastened the straps of her bright burning shoulderplates and let them drop to the ground. With a sizzling sound the greedy sand corns of the desert engulfed the little flames and quenched them quickly. We had been friends togetha in sunshine an‘ in shade. She raised one hand to gently remove the glowing, floating circle of light she had worn on her head during the costume party and betted it carefully on the golden sun dress. She had been stabbin‘ me wit‘ her envy, drvin‘ it like a glintin‘ blade in mah heart. The cool sand of the desert felt soothing beneath her feet. She needed to cool down as well. Sistahs dun do dat to each otha. With smooth movements she brought her blades high up in a perfect circle to begin her sword medidation. Soon the troll warrioress was lost in thought while she worked herself through the different steps and moves...


Frantically she had been rummaging through the different dresses the auctioneer had to offer. She needed a costume for this evening! Next to her a troll woman was smiling at a little baby in her arms, whispering softly. A smile crossed her lips, when she suddenly remembered the lullaby her mother used to sing to her. Me haf spoken wit’ da spirits. Take a piece of da sun an’ go. Her hands touched the golden, shimmering fabric of a silken dress. Yes, this evening she would be the promise of life and growth, the dancer of light and happiness, and the warmth of laughter – she would be the Sun!

The air had been filled with laughter and joy, people admiring each others’ colorful costumes and having a good time. Sheyja was glowing with happiness like the rising desert sun in the morning, when she heard that her costume had won the first prize. In the laughter and rising cheers she felt the wind whisper softly in her ear. Take a piece of da sun an’ go. A sparkle crossed her eyes like waterdrops glinting in the sunshine after a warm autumn rain.

The soft happy morning sun had suddenly turned into a burning ball of rage, blazing with fury, when Jahleen had attacked her for winning the costume contest, slapping her and calling her names. With enormous effort she tried to restrain herself when she felt the treasured memory of her mother’s voice fading away. Take a piece of da sun an’ go.


The troll warrioress tried to absorb the soothing coolness of the nightly desert sand and make it reach her heart. The sun, the moon and the stars, they all moved in silence. She needed silence, so her soul could be touched again. Silence, to feel the piece of sun in her soul. A stray moonbeam danced for the blink of an eye on the glittering blades of her swords as she swirled around in a whirlwind of sand.

[Sheyja]

If on your journey
you should meet God,
God will be cut.

Standing in the holy place deep in the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale where once Kukul’kan, the Feathered Raptor, himself had stood, Sheyja felt the wind carrying the song of the loa to her. It spoke of battle and honor, of blood and strength, of vengeance and freedom. If you cannot be the singer, be the song. Slowly Adnaw, the raptorspeaker, drew a red spiral on the troll warrioress‘ cheek, leaving a moist blood colored trace which the warm jungle wind dried as quickly as it had dried the tiny blood drops on her hands earlier. Every life taken is a bond broken. Every bond broken is a bond taken. Every life taken is a promise fullfilled. She would serve the neverending circle of life and death until one day her song would end.
Taking a golden colored stick from her pouch, Adnaw added a golden circle with rays across the middle of Sheyja’s face to represent the sun. The soft breeze rustled the leaves and allowed a stray sunbeam to peek through the thick jungle trees, making the golden color glow for the blink of an eye. Desertborn. Daughter of the Sun. Desert Daughter. Finally Adnaw drew blue waves on Sheyja’s other cheeks to symbolize water. The gentle jungle wind ran through her dark hair, making the tiny shells and pearls tingle softly. May you find shade and water today. Briefly the troll warrioress closed her eyes and let the song fill her soul. She felt ready to face the tasks the other cultists would ask of her to become a true follower of Kukul’kan. The strength of the raptor would be with her. Run with me forever more. Under an endless sky.

„Ya be ready for ya final task, sistah?“ The troll warrioress squared her shoulders and locked eyes with the raptorspeaker, slowly nodding. „Ya, me always haf been readeh.“ The small band of trolls left the clearing and set out into the jungle, the wind gently rustling the leaves high above them.