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Demons.
So many demons.
The world was covered in them. Large ones with many heads, some with three arms and five eyes. So many monstrosities and all were sent to kill any and all who oppose them. More and more appear, and more and more of his Horde is killed. The Alliance aren't exactly in the clear of their chaos either. Whispers were spreading. Doubt was forming as fast as a plague. Councils would meet and ways to protect his people were coming and going. Most not going as well as planned. In the main room within Grommash Hold, Vol'jin paced. One hand falling to his side while the other combed through his beard. Deep in thought and having just cleared the room, was hoping for some peace in his thoughts. But even there, peace would not come.
Dark eyes wandered around his room, maps and legion information scrolls lined around the floor. He made sure not to step on some at first, but after a few missed steps, he gave up on trying and began to pick them up. A distraction, of course. Why else would he consider. After some sorting, the area looked much better. The chair he used to sit in was finally free as well. Using this moment of silence from the world, the Darkspear slumped into the seat. Soreness and exhaustion weighing down on him once again. The feeling of his eyelids try to pull his eyes close as tempting and to just lose himself in sleep sounded like a luxury he could not afford. Shaking his head, the Troll leaned forward, elbows perched on the wood of the war table. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs and his head soon lowered.
"Dis be harda' den Thrall said." Vol'jin's tone was nearing defeat, but the reasoning was more exhaustion and stress. He was not going to give up. He was a Darkspear. Darkspear never give up. Warchief was a difficult position but if the Horde had confidence in him, then he needs to show them the same. Thrall, the Warchief before..Garrosh, has been a good friend to him. Through thick and thin, he's been there. Able to provide good Though, with the chaos infecting the world, he's busy trying to commune with the Elements and seeks power and wisdom on how to stop the demons, but from what his letters have said, they aren't responding. Or if they do speak with him, they're far too short and cold in tone, nor have they been providing useful information. They're silent with assistance and seem to scold Thrall. He finished writing that he believes the reason of this silence was due to the Mak'gora that he had won against Garrosh. From what Vol'jin knows, he used his abilities unfairly, or wrongly. He did not understand Thrall's actions entirely till now with reading the last few sentences of his latest letter, but now he could only cringe, worrying for his friend and his situation, Perhaps things would change for the better. But even with optimism in his mind, it would fade all too fast.
Something was looming over all living being through out Azeroth. More than ever has Vol'jin felt as if a target had been painted on his back and near everyone he's ever known could be the possible archer.
He sighed once more to snap his mind out of his thoughts, shifting Thrall's latest letter onto the pile of many on the left of his desk. Leaning forward, he rested both elbows against the wood.
"Ah don' know what t' do. Thrall's havin' issues an mah people are goin' t'rough hell jus' to get by every day." Part of him felt cursed. He takes on the position only to be thrown from the fire into the kettle. The heat was on and he had to make a decision, and it had to be the right one or he was going to get burned.
Thoughts circled. They could flee, find somewhere safer. Demons were at the back gates. More guards were being slaughtered for the demon's game. Every order lead a good handful of his best warriors to fall to their fel. But many wished to fight for him and all under his command. He couldn't be more proud of his people. Vol'jin also couldn't be angered at himself. Fighting a never ending legion was doing nothing for him. They were becoming cornered. Mice to the slaughter. We could not keep this up. Something had to change. Grunting, he quickly pushed the piles of paper away from him, not wishing to read another word. His mind needed a break. Rest. His eyes needed to close and just shut himself down for a while.
Wind seemed to drift through the hold, brushing over Vol'jin's bare back sending many chills through him. Quickly, he rose from his slump, practically waking up immediately.
"Mmm?" He hummed, turning his head and looking over his shoulder. No one was at the entrance of the hold. Strange. He could've sworn that was wind from outside. Well, sleep did not take him, but it was close. Shaking his head, he shifted out of his seat and got to his feet in full. He paced more, pausing at the map. Another drift of wind and the Troll could've sworn he heard a whisper, but did not register the words. Finally, in his exhaustion, he turns in full, keeping a firm eye out within the area.
"Who be d'ere?" He asks sternly.
.....
Nothing.
Still, Vol'jin spoke.
"Well, if ya don' mind, ah'd like t' be left alone." He ordered and turns back towards the map, seeing the many places that were circled with dark ink. All invasion points. If looked as if two popped up each passing day.
Finally, in the weird silence within the chill of the air, a voice spoke out towards him.
"Forgive me, Warchief, but I come with news."
It was quiet, calm, but held a familiar sense of concern. Just as he had.
"Lor'themar? What are ya doin' 'ere?" Vol'jin asked warily. The Sin'dorei gave a simple tilt of his head as he stepped further in, but made sure to keep his distance from the troubled Warchief. "I simply came with news, and..was responding to your letter." He held up a scroll, but Vol'jin had turned back towards the map for one last look, missing the scroll's reveal. Shaking his head slightly, Lor'themar read it over. "You wished to have the leaders meet in Orgrimmar." He stated blankly. "I'm sad to see you've forgotten your own order." He noted with one small step forward. The Troll huffed out an exhausted breath, not so much a sigh as one big puff of air fleeing his lungs.
"Ah'm sorry, mon. Seems mah t'oughts are a bit distracted wit' alla dis." He waved a hand towards the Map as he turned completely back towards the Blood Elf.
"Ah t'ank ya for comin' in. If it be anyone else, ah woulda snapped at 'em." He seemed to chuckle, only to stop and look back to him with a worried expression. "Ah didn' yet, did i?" Lor'themar answered with a shake of his head. A sigh of relief fled the Troll.
"Good.. Good. He moved towards the throne of the Warchief and sat down with a loud thump of the plush from under him.
"I saw Baine Bloodhoof making his way here, he should arrive shortly. I can be sure to tell the others that arrive to leave you be." He bowed his head quickly as Vol'jin nodded in return. "Dat won't be needed." He informed. "It be good for me t' have comrades at dis time. It's ah little different den bein' told more of ya men died dis day." His tone shifted near the end, showing grief with each breath. Lor'Themar nodded, his eye shifted down towards the ground as his thoughts went towards the many men and women fighting for the Horde. From what he gathered, the Alliance was complying instead of adding to their numbers of death. That was a plus of some kind. Hopefully, after this invasion ends, there'd be a chance for peace between the Horde and the Alliance. Hopefully the King would be willing to listen. So far, he seemed willing. And Vol'jin couldn't help but blame his son for that. From the little he's met of him, he knows that his strength in the light has helped balance his father. Rather than being temperamental, he's expressed desire to speak and discuss possibilities. Both have helped one another and Vol'jin can very much respect that. Still, human's way of leading can bring much grief, as can an Orc's. All this wonder for all of Azeroth and it was a refreshing realization that their battle has been put on hold. He was saddened that it was an invasion of a greater threat to cause this pause in it all.
The leader of the Blood elves remained in place. Patient, looking at the thought filled Troll with concern. "Vol'jin, have..have you rested at all?" He asked as if a curious mother would their offspring. Vol'jin snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head.
"Too long, mon. Too long. Ah'll git by, but it is gettin' t' me." Vol'jin leaned to the side, resting his head on his hand, fingers tightening at his chin as he held himself upright. Shrugging his shoulders, Lor'themar stepped closer, bowing his head once more. "It will be some time for the rest to arrive. I can try and keep them at bay, sort them for you and let you get some sleep. I'm sure your subjects will understand." He nods with a small smile. Vol'jin quickly shook his head.
"No, no, my friend. It is my duty to-" "And I knew you'd say no." Lor'themar interrupts the Warchief with a shake in return. "You're not doing yourself any favors by sitting there and stressing about tomorrow. You must rest. Sleep in your throne for an hour or two, close your eyes. Meditate. Something. Just stop thinking about all of this-" He opens his arms towards all the maps and scrolls that were just rearranged, "- and think of yourself."
Vol'jin sat with wide eyes, shocked at his friend's words. Lor'themar felt as if he had stepped over a boundary and clears his throat with a quick huff. "If the head of the pack is not well, then the body will follow suit. You need to think of yourself, Warchief." He added, speaking with a far softer tone. Smacking his lips and shifting his seating, the Troll leaned forward, both hands interlocking with one another as he stared the elf down.
"Are ya sure?" He asked, temptation for rest looming over him. The Blood Elf nodded, his smile still strong.
"I would not have offered if I felt was incapable. My people are safe for the time being and their well being is not the storm cloud over my head. You've got all my people, plus the entire Horde making a thunderstorm over you at all constant times. Youo know it is your duty, but you seem to forget you are one of them." Vol'jin raised a hand, shaking it to ease the leader's words.
"Ah undahstand, friend." He sighed and raised himself from his throne. "Ah will do eet. Jus' cause ah know 'ow ya are. Ya wont stop till ah leave. Or ah fall asleep from it all. Ah'll head to my study and meditate. Often, I sleep well afterwords." Lor'themar stood by, but made sure to be out of his way as he stepped from the hold.
"I've lead people well into my long life, Warchief. Rest assured. We'll get the plans together and make ready to leave by late morning tomorrow. The Legion wont know what hit them." Vol'jin seemed to sneer near the end of his sentience. "Dey know, mon. But we can give 'em 'ell an try t' save our world. Ah will not let any more 'arm come to my people. Ah wont allow us to die-"
"And we wont, Vol'jin. Please, go rest. We'll see you in the morning." He pressed his hand ever so gently to the Troll's side. He felt the muscle tighten at the touch but it began to relax with use. Patting once, the blood elf pulled himself away, eyes seeming to look away, not of discomfort, but maybe some hints of shyness. Nodding once with a deep breath, the Troll made his way out.
"T'ank ya, mon. Ah owe ya an ale when dis all is ovah." He smiled as he left through the door.
Lor'themar's smile slowly faded as the figure left his sight.
"He's ahead of his time, and with all the logic and brains he holds in that head of his, I wonder if he even understand that." He shook his head and walked out, letting the first guard he sees know of the situation and who would be taking orders for the evening.
-------------------------------------------------------
Vol'jin remained knelt in his room, armor removed and eyes closed. Candles lit and comforting smoke filled the higher roof. He breathed deep, letting the spices cleanse his body from the inside out. Slowly, his mind wandered.
"Spirits.." He whispered, keeping his hands against his knees and letting himself concentrate on communicating with the Loa. Sometimes dream-like sequences can happen. Sometimes, it's just a thoughtful conversation. Other times, he's met with nothing. He's hoping here there'd be a little of it all. Pacing each breath, the Troll focused on each once. More and more of the spices filled his lungs, almost tasting it as well. A comfort in of itself. After what felt like forty five minutes to an hour, Vol'jin began to feel something. A sense of dread and sorrow seemed to surround his mind. No. Please. His fears. Were they to come true? Were they his fears being questioned? Or were they an ever constant prediction?
Flashes beamed from under his eyelids. He flinched and grunted at the sudden surprise but he remained still and focused.
Visions flooded with mind. Blood. The cries of his men in anger and pain. Death. There was so much fel fire. Green and endless. His breathing picked up as he continued to look around within the vision. There was so many demons and they were becoming surrounded. Things grew worse and worse with every scream. With the rising beat of his heart, so did Vol'jin's voice. It was muffled to his ears, but he knew the gravity of his words. They were dying, cornered by demons of endless supply. It was bad. Chaos was consuming all logic.
"Pull back-!" His voice broke through the muffled sound only to but off by the stabbing pain in his side. He had looked down in shock and horror, seeing a large blade having been jabbed into his flesh. Blood oozed from the wound and the world became even fuzzier than ever. "nhhH-!" He swung his blade back, breaking the contact from the demon that harmed him. His body fell and a tusk had broken from the impact. Body going limp entirely. As his vision shifted, he felt his body being lifted by a gloved hand. He did not recognize them at first, but he felt a need to speak, to plead with the one who reached for him.
"Do not..let da Horde die dis day.." He breathed weakly, eyes closing entirely with darkness greeting him.
A sharp gasp and a collapse of the Troll's form and he scrambled to grab his side. No wound. Blood was no where in sight. Still, his panic of the scene remained. Looking around and over himself, he saw his old battle scars, but nothing as fresh as...what he saw.
Death will come. It comes for all.
The pain will fade but you must run with the wind. Find the Windrunner. Find the Windrunner!
"Nh.. Ya...can't..be tellin' me da truth." He huffed in pain, feeling the after shocks of the vision still pulse in his form. He didn't understand. Was he to die? Was he to die and have the Forsaken leader take his place? Was this truly supposed to happen? It wasn't long before that dread grew into great sadness. Slumping to the ground, the Troll began to mourn. He recalled seeing Thrall there. Baine. So many, fighting under his command. And his vision showed...that he was to fail them. His destiny to fall. Terror racked through his form. He shook and shivered, and it was not from any cold. Tears beaded under his eyes and his head remained bowed. Nose barely touching the dirt floor.
"No.." He grunted through pain.
"No..!"
He did not want to die. He had been so close before. It was not of fear for his life, but of the chance at failure. He wanted it to be untrue. He wanted it to be a lie. But in his heart, deep down, he knew it was far from it. There was comfort to know what would happen. But the anger to know he would be unable to stop it from occurring. His Horde would be broken by this Legion, and here he would not be able to stop it. After what felt like a good hour or two, the Troll had woken up. Eyes squinted in adjusting to the dim light as his candles remained burnt. He did not know when he had succumbed to exhaustion, but his mind was grateful for it. Slowly, he set himself down where his meditation first started. Arms at his sides and fingers locked in the proper place. The candles remained, albeit there was not much left to them, still, there was some use.
"If dis be mah fate... den Ah'll do it. Ah know ah have to." His voice, tired and broken, spoke up to the sky, hoping the Loa would bless him for his trials and trust in their guidance for his demise. If it is to be, then it is to be. There was added comfort knowing that someone would speed for him, get to his side in chance of assistance. He knows now that he had asked the right people to aid him in this trial they would all soon face. Hopefully he could speak with Thrall and have a few more good laughs with him. Perhaps even try to understand Sylvanas. If the spirits words are true, he'd have to try and understand her, even if he had little time to do so. With the heat of the moment and the thought of it all, perhaps one last night of good sleep is in order. With a heavy groan, the leader of the Darkspear roamed to his bedding, laying down slowly and finally becoming still in his form. Eyes closed and his breathing slowed, he began to let himself fall into the comfort of sleep.
His dream was filled with laughter, no screams of pain and terror. No fel surrounding him. Just a field of lush flowers, dancing with the constant breeze. A perfect personal heaven.
A final comfort. A final peace.
A Darkspear never gives up.