Zhill: Rebirth Part 1

[As a disclaimer, I must say that certain names of places, races, and other material appear in this story for which Blizzard and World of Warcraft completely deserve credit.  I have merely attempted to create my own story based off concepts depicted in that game for no other reason than personal entertainment and expression of creativity.  All credit for material that, likewise, relates to Guild Wars 2 should go to ArenaNet and should not be considered in any way in the same way as those elements that are my original work.

So read it for enjoyment and nothing else and don’t sue me.  Kthx!]


As an explanatory first post, I will say this will be a fanfic.  My goal here is to connect the character I loved so much with the new character I love so much, those being my WoW Rogue with my GW2 Slyvari Warrior.

Yes it will take some very creative liberties to jump from that world into this one, but I just can’t make a new “Zhill”.  It wouldn’t be right.  So then I have to find some way to connect them.  This will be the log of his life (or unlife since he was undead), death in the world of GW2, and rebirth as a Sylvari.  This obviously breaks certain aspects of the lore.  But I say “screw lore!”  Seriously I have a way to tie it in that should be at least half-way acceptable. 

One last piece of info before I begin.  I came up with the name “Zhill” when I was using WoW’s random name generator.  I dont remember what the suggestion was, but imagine it was something like Zilitus.  I tried to shorten it to Zil, but that was too short.  Zill was taken.  So, throw in an “h” and a legend is born.

Part 2 – The Shadow Embraced/Human Foe

Part 3 – Invasion

Part 4 – Trespasser

Part 5 – Hero

Part 6 – Calm

Part 7 – Storm

Part 8 – The end…

Part 9 – …of the beginning

Part 10 – Rebirth



Mirky clouded thoughts.  But most definitely rage.

Like a beam of light peircing a dark room, furious rage boiled within, making its presence known even through the fog in his mind.

Words were spoken, but he could not comprehend them.  Someone, appearing only as a dark blot on his vision was standing before him with hand extended.  He wiped his eyes and wobbled as he stood to his feet.

“Zhill,”  the voice said, much more clearly.  A tingling sensation passed over him and instantly his senses began to sharpen.  “Go forth and serve the Forsaken.”  More driven than compliant, Zhill, immediately sensing that the name was his own as it was spoken, shambled forward out of the dark and molded crypt into black night.  Though there not a moon visible in the sky, he found that everything he could see seemed more perceptible as if illuminated by some invisible light.


A wolf.  It crept silently towards rotted buildings that were decrepit from time and abandonment, but Zhill had seen it.  Possessed by the burning fire that demanded satiation, Zhill sprinted to the wolf and pounced upon its back, stabbing clawed fingers deeply into its throat causing hot sticky blood to spew.  Though it tried to struggle, soon it was lying motionless as he bit into its side and tore flesh away, exposing steaming organs to the cold night air.  Feasting ravenously upon its innards, Zhill had no thought than the quenching of the madness that had seized him.

The sensation began to pass as blood pooled around him, kneeling at the creatures belly, and Zhill sat back looking at a gaping hole that looked more like a wound that had errupted from within.  Slowly his senses began to return and he gazed down at pale white hands covered in thick red blood.  Instantly slapping his hands to his face, he knew, somehow, that it was not his own.  As the horror set in, he could not keep himself from uttering his thoughts aloud.

“Who am I?”

“What have I become!?

The dark of night, as he would grow to learn, was very slow to give up what secrets it held.

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