If you want a very friendly and family-feeling guild, this is absolutely the guild for you. I’m a returning member and the current leaders and event hosts are honestly incredible. We have events almost everyday and when events aren’t active, we’re typically having fun in discord! If you’re looking for an active WoW guild that will immerse you in the world of the Trolls, I highly suggest STC.
Even if you’re Bloodscalp 
The moons sailed smoothly through the star-speckled sky above the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale. One green dot among the speckle of many, a lone troll sat at the top of the tree canopy, relishing the feel of the moonlight across her features and the warm thoughts of her adopted tribe. There was much to be thankful for. To cherish.
(ALRIGHT guys! If you were ever interested in looking into a heavy RP, all troll guild, now is an excellent time to do so! We’re steadily growing while in the middle of a lul between our RP arcs as everyone adapts to the new expansion. We will have a new RP arc starting up in January, though! This makes next few weeks an excellent time to get accustomed to our playstyle before we carry your character off into a whirlwind of adventure. Questions? See the first post! 
)
10/10 best guild to fly past when you’re doing your daily Zul’Gurub farm
(You’re hilarious. 
)
If you are looking for an ACTIVE and ENGAGING guild, come join! A couple years ago when I decided to play again, I was searching for a guild like this. I wasn’t even considering playing a troll at all, but this guild is so much fun. We are the best COMMUNITY out there!
These people are kind of cool. Though they won’t let you summon Hakkar. 0/10 for Hakkar Worshippers. 
Ever wanna Taz’dingo? You can Taz’dingo for free here!
You be takin’ in old trolls? I still got some bite left in me.
Is this the same Shadowtusk Clan from Ravenholdt?
Absolutely! You betcha
A complement but also a bump Shadowtusk have some of the nicest people on the server and they take their RP seriously, they are definitely a guild you want to join as a troll to really get into Troll RP.
Not to mention their leadership are top notch.
We always appreciate the feedback! Thank you.
We have our annual Great Hunt coming up in July. It is a competition for pairs of hunters to go out and face down the terrors of a region. This year I’ve heard there are over 130 unique fights for hunters to encounter.
We are also hosting the Farmer’s Market next week - Friday, July 7th starting at 6ST! it will be in Zul’Gurub so that’s a great chance to interact with a few of our trolls as well!
The Great Hunt will be running from July 10th to July 14th in Dragonblight!
Tonight is the opening for the Great Hunt! It’s a good time to come socialize and see what’s going on. Dragonblight, Wyrmrest Temple, starting at 5ST! Hopefully we’ll see you there!
Hello,
Would you all mind if a Sin’dorei Fur and Leather merchant stopped by ICly to peddle his wares to the good trolls? He has a caravan and his own tents.
He is more than welcome to stop by the gates of Zul’Gurub! We also have the bimonthly Farmer’s Market that is open to the server where you can set up a booth for trading/selling. The next Farmer’s Market will be in September, on the 8th if I am remembering correctly.
It was a good time. Good variety in a cool space.
Today we played Mesotuskian Ball! It was a lot of fun.
Alsoooo we have a whole bunch of arcs coming up! 
If you’re looking for a troll community that’s warm, welcoming, and friendly. This is definitely the one to join. 
[TW: Horror Roleplay. The following is an excerpt from a much longer and involved multi-player roleplay wherein the focal character here is in the beginning stages of training in one of our subclasses, Shadow Walker. She has been driven mad by the use of Hex Dust, the properties of which has given the void parasite she bargained with for power temporary control of her body. Here we find her in deadly pursuit of her Anchor, the one in her life who is supposed to remind her she is, indeed, a Troll and not a monster. If you like psychology, Vou’doun is my attempt to personify and write a story about complex PTSD.]
In practice, there are essentially two types of protectors. The first are born of privilege. They are raised in power, taught that the purpose of those with it is to protect those without from the monsters of the world.
Then there are those who became the monster to survive the ones that tormented them. Their existence is desperate dance to shelter others from the true monsters of the world… as well as themselves.
Vou’doun is the latter of these two.
Several focused steps after They dismounted from the disintegrating lobstrok husk, Vou’doun’s eyes calculated, her hands raised, fingers twitched. Shadows rose, spiked downwards, then fell sharply towards and below her torso, swarming around and slashing with vicious and unrelenting speed. Her robe from the waist down was in tatters, spatted with blood from several hundred small cuts - blood that the Shadows hungrily fed upon.
Their fingers twitched again. Shadows softened, spinning and weaving the shredded clothing around Their marred legs. A memory flashed and was pushed away, intense fear flooded Them. Vou’doun’s lips smirked as the Visitor simultaneously converted that fear into pleasure, into intent. They were driven forward by the adrenaline that surged, driven to remember, to fuel more.
A darkened swamp, " 'Ya have no power here, girl. ‘Vou’doun.’ " a malicious cackle. They picked up the pace to a hurried walk. The unforgettable sounds of bones snapping, flesh ripping, over and over. A jog, arms pumping. Move away. Move faster. We leave that behind. The soul-sucking sound of a blood-clad Ma’da demanding more, from her, from… They took off at a dead run, sprinting full force in the midday, desert sun. Shadows steamed from her, streaming behind, falling off in footsteps that evaporated without a trace. Vou’doun’s face laughed in pleasure. Vou’doun’s eyes were tortured.
Memories flooded her, both beckoned an unwanted. On and on, they sprinted, full force. Beyond. Driven. The dying, desperate prayers of parents heard by the young, the confused. Helpless. Countless vicious wounds healed on demand, only to be torn open again. Flashes of blood, of dark, of light. Another run through different scenery. Sickly moist plant life ripped at her and caught her as she desperately tried to escape. The burning eyes of Bwom’samdi, who had no interest in her… alive. On and on the memories fed Them, drove Them. Faster. Faster. Dark Shadows were spent behind Them in greater waves.
This was not our bargain.
We must catch him.
We- No, -I- was to set the pace.
He will not escape us.
You are consuming Us. -I- can feel it. We will not last.
We will catch him… Her brother’s pleading face rose before her eyes. Her heart pounded as still more effort was pulled from her. …or We will return and find another. His dying words spoke softly in her ear, “Not again, Ma’ri. End it.” She choked, tears streaming. Faster. His lifeless eyes staring at her. Tears mingling with Shadows that drank them as eagerly as blood. More. Those same eyes, now staring from the face of Vrak’nal.
A screaming “NO” of absolute rage rolled a wave of Shadows from her. Vou’doun stumbled and fell. They scrambled awkwardly and grasped Their head, shambling forward once again, towards the Prey. “No,”, quieter, assertive. Another wave of Shadow was sent to evaporate in the sun, dropping Them to their hands and knees. They crawled one pace, then two.
We will-
-I- will not be forced to do that again. Vou’doun collapsed, her face half-burried in the sand by the impact. “Vrak’nal… does not… deserve…” Silence.
In the harsh Tanaris sun, unfed by emotions, the cooling Shadows that enveloped her body slowly dissipated. More than one creature eyeing the once-fearsome, emaciated form began to wonder if they had, instead of their own death, found their next meal.
The jungle was stifling despite the heavy downpour. Its floor steamed around him as the dark-furred troll squatted, peering from behind the cover of the broad elephant ear fern at the base of a copse of umbrella trees. He watched the mouth of the temple from 100 yards away; deep and dark as the entrance to a crypt. Not a soul had come or gone for the several hours during which he had sat, crouched, motionless and completely silent. He frowned, rain streaming down his heavy brow, at the pattern of his thoughts. Crypts, souls: he was nervous and could not afford to have his edge dulled, not tonight. He quickly ran through the well-practiced litany of emptying his thoughts and clearing his mind. His purpose came back into sharp focus as he exhaled slowly, blowing out the anxiety with the steam of his breath. Settling back in, he continued his vigil, peering unblinkingly with golden eyes into the blackness of the temple as if he could pierce its shadows with his will alone.
Dusk fell, casting the entirety of the jungle into an uniform inky blue. What showed of the sky glowed indigo and violet, a backdrop for the canopy of sharp, black silhouettes. A shadow slunk along the margin of the small clearing, blending back into the twilight as it came to rest at the gaping hole that opened into the silent temple. Nothing for several minutes; frogs sang, monkeys howled, then torchlight blazed a dull orange deep within as the troll made his way toward the central chamber. Bones lined every inch of the corridors, some fresh, more moldering and moss-choked: an ossuary spanning untold generations. Their zig-zag patterns led him deeper into the dank, mildew-scented halls of the sullen catacombs until he finally found himself at his destination: a great, grey plinth of stone peaking through stacked towers of tusked skulls. Pictographs depicting skeletal horrors had been worn by the ages, but were now given new life by the flickering contrast of firelight and shadow.
He rummaged through a large, beaded bag of fine leatherwork and produced a flat, vaguely rectangular stone. Placing it on the ground he began to trace out a series of concentric circles made of salt. Candles and a bronze bowl of incense and dried aromatic herbs were placed upon the small altar. A second ceramic bowl was then placed and filled with a dense powder and two curved tusks. A third bowl was placed and a tuskless, purple-skinned head was balanced atop it, its eyes and mouth stitched closed by a deft hand, its green hair gathered and brushed into a long top-knot. A broad knife flashed from somewhere unseen and took its place reverently next to the bowls, the obsidian blade glinting in the torchlight. More candles lined the circles as the troll stepped slowly and deliberately around the room. In one swift motion, he took the knife from its resting place and slashed deeply through his palm. Dipping his fingers into the pooling blood, he painted symbols in thick, rich lines of crimson red at four evenly spaced areas around the outermost circle: two were holy, two profane. Satisfied, he settled into the second ring of salt and lit the incense and herbs, then the candles. He inhaled deeply, stilling his trepidation, the acrid smoke of his offering filling his senses. He allowed several moments of absolute silence as the shadows and bones smothered all sound and seemed to claw at the quavering light of the candles. Then, in a firm, clear voice, he shattered the silence, calling forth the one for whom he’d come, “Bwon’samdi! Iyam here! Will you speak?” His words fell dead as soon as they left his mouth, no echoes in the soundless dark. He had never answered before….but, by Zelaji, he would now.