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"...holy shit."
Vol'jin's tense chuckle reverberated in her as she pressed her back into his chest, straining back to look at Orgrimmar's gates as a whole. They were large and imposing, made of a mix of impossibly huge stones and wooden beams. The gates were decorated with steel and bones overlayed by enormous red banners. It really hammered home that Sen'jin was just a little fishing village amidst the sprawl of the horde.
"Impressed, are ya?"
"Hard not to be," she admitted softly, "it's incredible."
“Wish we be headin’ dere under better circumstances.” He grumbled, casting his gaze over the rows of red and blue flags just ahead.
They’d barely received word in time. The Alliance and the Horde were marching on Orgrimmar with intent to challenge Sylvannas’ status as warchief. A letter marked with Anduin’s seal apparated before Orla shortly after a messenger from the horde arrived for the Darkspear. The messenger had been expecting Rokhan but was startled to find the former-warchief present as well. With more pressing matters at hand and little time for explanations, they had merely ushered both leaders to follow.
“It not be lookin’ good, brother.” Rohkan called back from his raptor, “they formed an arena.”
“Mak’gora,” Vol’jin said grimly, ushering his raptor faster with a snap of the reins. “Quickly now.”
“Duel of…honor?” Orla translated slowly, “don’t tell me-?”
Vol’jin merely nodded, confirming the mage’s fear. The messenger hadn’t been sure of who all led the march, but knew of at least two names. Thrall and Anduin.
“Genn’s going to have a damn field day if Anduin’s up there.” Orla muttered, gripping her staff ever so slightly tighter.
“This be a horde matter, Orla.” Vol’jin said curtly, steering around the rows of spike traps he did not remember from before.
“Don’t be so sure, Syl’s always had a weird fascination with the kid.”
That he couldn’t argue. Sylvannas’ motives were always…difficult to pin down. She would certainly not have been his first pick, but he’d never been one to argue with the loa. It mattered little now. The time had passed without him, but he’d be damned before he’d let her poor decisions tear his brothers and sisters apart any further.
By the time they had made it to the front of the masses, a stream of black smoke was sailing away through the sky leaving a large green body limp on the ground in its wake. A familiar blue troll and another green orc ran to his side.
“Brother! Nephew!” Vol’jin called loudly, running to their sides.
Orla dismounted slower, stopping only briefly to exchange a concerned look and grasp hands with the Stormwind king in quick greeting. She knelt at the unconscious orc’s side, skipping introductions for later.
“What’s the damage?” She asked, summoning several counteractive spells. “I assume undead magic, anything else?”
“Nothing else yet,” Rokhan frowned, “though undead magic be known to play tricks on shadow hunters. It hides, lies.”
“Oh, wonderful.” She groaned, “Anduin! A Light blessing would be helpful!”
The king hesitantly approached the tense scene, his hands glowing with the blessing of the Light. He knelt down, spreading his hands into the dirt. A circle of magic bathed in a golden glow appeared beneath them.
The blue troll, apparently Vol’jin’s nephew, wrinkled his nose in disgust. Vol’jin barely stopped him from slapping Orla away from the body. “Who you be to-!”
“She be an old friend.” Vol’jin bared his teeth at his nephew, wrestling him away from the orc, “We can trust her work.”
“Argue somewhere else.” The mage snapped, furrowing her brow in concentration. “That charm barely protected his heart.”
“Charm?” Zekhan balked, reluctantly pulling away from the body. “But-.”
The mage pointed to the sharp stone carved and painted red that hung from the orc’s neck bound in leather and bones. “It probably didn’t start out as one.” She admitted as she worked to quickly counteract the banshee’s undead magic. “It’s rare, but some items -especially jewelry- become so sentimental they evolve into protective charms. Whatever Sylvannas did drained it, but it did its job.”
“I...will he be okay?”
“It’s too early to say.” She said, not bothering to look up from her work. “Rokhan, did you bring any totems? I might be able to use it to recharge that charm.”
“Right,” the shadow hunter ran back to his raptor and dug around in the saddle bags.
Vol’jin knelt down beside her, dropping his voice. “Thrall ran ta’get de healers.”
“Good, cause I’m barely holding a pulse.” She swore under her breath, summoning another slew of counteractives. “Her magic is attacking on all fronts. It’s a battle of attrition just keeping it from spreading. Even with the blessing I don’t have enough power to take back ground.”
“You’re lucky,” Rokhan called, a choked laugh escaped him as he all but slid to join them. “I had one left.”
Vol’jin nodded, “You dismantle, I transfer.”
“Understood.”
Charms were a delicate practice in both their making and unmaking. Beads of sweat trailed down the mage’s face in rivulets, stinging her eyes with salt as she shakily held the counteractive spells. If the counteractive broke and Sylvannas’ power surged during the delicate transfer of the totem’s power to the charm, the orc was as good as dead. Graciously, the concern was unfounded. Years of working as a team lended well to the task, and the pair of trolls moved as if they were one. The totem was split perfectly down the middle, not even a hiss of power lost to the split as Vol’jin guided the misty magic to its new home in the orc’s momento.
Orla’s load lightened considerably, and just in time. The doors to Orgrimmar were quickly thrown open again and a gaggle of healers all but sprinted through. Orla was unceremoniously shuffled out of the way to make room for the professionals who bathed the orc’s body in a blinding amount of light. Averting her gaze, Orla took Vol’jin’s hand and shakily got to her feet.
“Who was that, anyway?”
“Varok Saurfang, a very old an’ respected member o’de Horde.” Vol’jin answered quietly, ruffling her sweaty hair. “You did good.”
The mage chuckled breathlessly, “I hope so, I feel like shit .”
Vol’jin choked back a laugh as Saurfang’s body was quickly stabilized and carried inside. There would be a time for celebration and merriment later. Much later. Vol’jin nudged the woman forward where Thrall waited for them at the doors. The mage trailed behind him, her shyness overtaking any sense of fatigue.
Thrall hesitantly reached out and grasped Vol’jin’s shoulder. The troll returned the gesture in kind. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, brother, but your arrival came as quite the shock.”
Vol’jin chuckled good-naturedly. “I apologize fer’ de lack o’ forewarnin’, we meant no offense.”
“And none was taken.” Thrall shook his head and stepped back, “though I am curious as to the story. Not many return from the funeral pyre.”
“I would also like to hear the rest of the story, if you don’t mind my joining.” Anduin nodded respectfully to the group and offered a warm smile to Orla, “I’m glad they were able to help your injuries where we could not.”
Orla’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, uh, that ended up being a much bigger process than we bargained for.”
Thrall looked between the group, lost but keenly curious.
Vol’jin patted the shaman’s arm. “It be a long story, perhaps better shared in de evening. Give things time to quiet down.”
Thrall nodded. “Very well.”
Orla wasn’t sure what she expected an average orcish dinner to consist of, but pork stew and steamed rice wouldn’t have been her first guess. Apparently pork was one of the very few meats the orcs preferred cooked over raw. Vol’jin lamented the lack of raw liver strips and cubed heart meats in the dining hall and she genuinely could not tell if he was joking.
Chances were leaning towards probably not.
By the time they had left the dining hall night had fallen and the desert air had cooled considerably. Orla shivered, folding her arms and shuffling closer to Vol’jin. The troll chuckled, squeezing her shoulder.
“Nervous?”
Orla shrugged and shook her head. “Not particularly, you’ve always had good things to say about Thrall.”
The pair climbed the steps to Grommash’s Hold and found Thrall and a Tauren hefting a table into place off to the side. Anduin stood in the corner, hands folded politely behind him. Orla suppressed a laugh at his poorly masked desire to help. There was little the young king had grown to hate more over the years than the feeling of standing off to the side when there was hard work to be done.
“Baine!” Vol’jin called warmly, pulling Orla over towards the Tauren, “it be good to be seein’ ya again, brother.”
The Tauren whirled around, catching himself before he fully stumbled. “By the spirits, Vol’jin.” He caught the troll by the shoulders, giving him an intense look over. “Is it really you?”
“In de flesh, brother.” He chuckled, “it feels good to be back with de horde.”
Orla wandered over to Anduin, leaving the pair to catch up. She stood beside him, lightly elbowing his arm. “So, how the hell did the alliance end up in Kalimdor?” She raised a brow and offered a lopsided smile, “I didn’t think I was down and out for that long.”
He elbowed her back with a smile, “we forged an alliance with Saurfang in the hopes of liberating the horde of Sylvannas. He has been very displeased with her leadership, and the Alliance has been eager to end the war.” Anduin’s expression hardened. “If the battles had raged for much longer, we would have had no one left to fight.”
Orla nudged him again, reassuringly. “Well hey, here’s hoping for a peaceful couple of years to come, yeah?” She held up crossed fingers, “may time’s forward march bless us with good fortune.”
Anduin looked at her funny, tilting his head slightly. “Is that a saying from your homeland?”
“Oh, uh…kinda? Maybe.”
Anduin snickered, nudging Orla ahead as Vol’jin gestured them towards the table. She stood by his side, summoning a small platform to stand on so her body more comfortably cleared the height of the table. It bounced for a moment under her weight, but quickly settled.
Thrall cleared his throat. “It’s Orla, isn’t it?”
“Uh, yes sir.” She nodded.
“I am Thrall, son of Durotan.” He gestured to the Tauren, “and this is Baine Bloodhoof, son of Cairne.” He trailed off, his expression hardening. “I…struggle to find a delicate way to put this, but we have some difficult questions for you.”
The mage shared a concerned look with Vol’jin, “questions?”
“In the wake of Sylvannas’ command of the horde, it is…notable that the late and former warchief of the horde made an unannounced appearance upon her departure.” Thrall said uncomfortably.
“You think I’m working for Sylvannas?” Orla frowned, “I’ve never even met her.”
“We can’t confirm that.” Baine loudly thumped the table, “men don’t just return from the dead raised by mages no one’s ever heard of.”
“I can’t deny it all sounds a bit suspicious out of context.” Orla admitted, wringing her hands. “But I promise you there isn’t anything nefarious at work as far as I know.”
“As far as you know?” Baine scoffed, folding his arms.
The group jumped as Vol’jin rapped his knuckles loudly against the table, glaring at Baine. “It would do you well to speak kindly, son of Cairne.”
Baine’s scowl held, but he looked away. Anduin cleared his throat.
“I can vouch for the majority of Orla’s journey. Archmage Malto referred her to our care and we have had her progress under close study at the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences.” Anduin said carefully. “According to their studies, Orla’s claims of being a Seraph mage are well-founded.”
“Seraphs are nothing more than legend.” Baine huffed, unimpressed.
Thrall raised a hand, “I am unfamiliar with the concept.”
“You won’t find many accounts to verify this. I mostly speak from experience and what little was known before my arrival.” Orla sighed, cracking her knuckles out of habit, “a seraph is similar to a champion. They are chosen to act on the behalf of the will of a patron and are given access to a large bound of magic. The catch to this being that those chosen must not have come in contact with any form of magic prior to being appointed. It is considered a bold, high risk, high reward act as the few seraphs known died not long into their journeys.” Orla rubbed the back of her neck, “I was summoned to perform three acts and then I will be allowed to return home.”
“That makes no sense!” Baine thundered, “There is not a corner of Azeroth that magic does not touch.”
Orla fell silent, sharing uncomfortable glancing looks between Vol’jin and Anduin. “Well…yes, that is true.”
A heavy silence clung to the air, but only for a moment.
“You are not from this world either.”
Orla’s eyebrows shot up at the rather matter-of-fact way that the orc had put it, and honestly perhaps she should have seen that coming, especially from him. She stayed quiet for a long moment, startling slightly when Vol’jin gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“...yes.” Her gaze remained transfixed on the table. “It’s not something I want widely advertised. I would appreciate it if you kept this a secret.”
Baine made to say something, but Thrall held up a hand to silence him.
“You must understand, this is difficult for us to believe.” Thrall said softly, “Though given that your quick actions today may have very well saved Saurfang’s life, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I would be more than willing to surrender you copies of the reports of our scholars at the Academy. Jaina and Khadgar have also taken to observing her and contributed to those reports, if it helps any.” Anduin quickly added. “I am more than comfortable vouching for her character as well.”
Orla smiled in spite of the tense atmosphere. “Thank you, Anduin.”
“Are you all mad?!” Baine thundered, gesturing broadly. “This woman stinks of death, appeared from nowhere with ties to both the Alliance king and our former warchief and you want to give her the benefit of the doubt?” He scoffed.
“Watch your words, brother.” Vol’jin warned, eyes glinting dangerously. Baine scowled.
“As far as we know she could be some necromancer mind controlling-!”
“How dare you!” Orla shouted, slamming her hands down on the table. “How dare you throw such horrible, baseless accusations! You have no right!”
“I have every right!” Baine bellowed, only barely stopped by Thrall from hefting the table out of his way. “Vol’jin is our brother! If you have done anything to violate his death I will-!”
“That is enough!” Thrall roared over them all, a faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. “Baine! Take a walk.”
“But-!”
“Now.” Thrall glowered, “I will keep you informed.”
Baine shot daggers at the table, but did as he was asked. His stomps echoed heavily on the stone steps outside.
“I apologize for his outburst,” Thrall sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “He is rather protective of those left he calls family, and I believe Saurfang’s near death today has him rattled.”
“It’s…yeah, it’s fine.” Orla said stiffly, still frowning. “No hard feelings.”
Vol’jin gave her shoulder another squeeze and cleared his throat. “With de horde’s alliance with de Zandalari secured, ya should be able to ask one o’dey shamans to look me over. De Darkspear will bear no ‘ard feelings.”
“I…yes, thank you, Vol’jin.” Thrall chuckled, his tone tinged with a lingering awkwardness. “I must admit, I have missed your pragmatic nature.”
Vol’jin’s ear flicked with amusement, a rumble of laughter rolled in his chest. “I can imagine, yeah.”
“I will contact the Zandalari. I assume you intend to return to the village?”
The troll nodded. “Aye, I’ve not given much time to my own affairs as of late.”
Orla shifted guiltily, which Vol’jin must have caught as he ruffled her hair an instant later. “But if you call, I will come.”
“Very well,” Thrall relented, “With any luck, I will call on you soon.”
With that, they dispersed. Anduin followed the pair outside, leaving Thrall alone in the hold with his thoughts. The night had grown even colder during their talks. Orla swore under her breath and rubbed her shoulders.
“Thank you, both of you, for having my back in there.” Orla smiled awkwardly at Anduin, “you’ve done so much for me over the years, y’know? Don’t hesitate to start cashing those favors in any day now.”
Anduin snorted, “I’ll bear that in mind.” He gave the woman a quick hug and patted her arm. “Don’t be a stranger, Orla. You are always welcome in Stormwind.”
“Thank you, really.” She waved him off, blinking tears out of her eyes.
“Always liked the cub, much more den his faddah anyway.” Vol’jin murmured, watching as the young king wandered towards the shipyard. “Got a good head on ‘is shoulders.”
Orla nodded, sidling up to his leg. “Yeah, he’s great. Uh, can we go? It’s freezing out here.”
A laugh bubbled in the troll’s chest and he picked up the poor woman, holding her close to his chest. “Don’t ya worry, Bal’a, ol’ Vol’jin won’t let ya ice ova’.”
“Bal’a?” She repeated, crinkling her nose as she attempted to translate. “Haven’t heard that one before. What’s it mean?” He replied with a lopsided grin, eliciting a groan from the woman. “Yeah, yeah, ask you some other time. I got it.”
“We’ll have ya speakin’ Zandali yet.” He snickered, succumbing to the urge to nuzzle the top of her head. She half-heartedly batted away his face with a small smile on her own.
“Please tell me we’re not leaving for the village tonight.” The mage whined, another shiver snaking its way up her spine. “That would be actual hell in the cold.”
“Course not, we be meetin’ Rokhan at the inn. He be waitin’ for us dere.”
“Ugh, thank god.” she sighed, letting her head thunk against his chest with a yawn.
Vol’jin smiled down at her, “go t’sleep mage, I’ll wake ya in de morning.”
“Mm, you’re the best.” She mumbled, falling asleep right there in his arms.