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Last Breath	By : kalla Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 5528 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: World of Warcraft, Azeroth and the concept of Blood Elves and Trolls within the universe are not mine. No money is made from this story.

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Full Disclaimer:

World of Warcraft is not mine, nor are the concepts of Trolls and Blood Elves within the World of Warcraft setting. The Setting of Azeroth is not mine.
Tshion, my Blood Elf Paladin, IS mine.

Briyanna, my Blood Elf Priest, IS mine.

Jelah, the Troll Mage, belongs to my boyfriend and is used with permission.

Part of this story is/has been Role-Played in game and out.
The title is inspired by Evanescence, "My Last Breath".

The chapter titles are inspired by The Last Dance, "Once Beautiful".

I claim neither song to be my own.
This work is purely for archival/entertainment, and no money is being made from it.

III. Dream and Not Surrender
Tshion flexed his hand. The ache was starting to get into places not even the mage's magic hands could soothe away. He needed to finish this mess, and soon. He glanced at the clock again. Precious moments were slipping away, and here he was, writing out his life-story instead of spending the time with his mate.
He looked at the mage, and reached up to brush the blue skin of his cheek, just beyond one tusk. The mage closed his eyes at the touch, then nuzzled against the hand there. With a heart-breakingly sweet smile, the troll reached out to take Tshion's other hand to administer a similar treatment, giving the paladin time to enjoy the warmth of the chocolate.
“You spoil me,” the blood elf said softly.
The troll shook his head. “Deserved,” the reply came, the voice muted, filled with emotion. Tshion blinked several times, rapidly. It wouldn't do for tears to destroy the words across the pages he'd been laboring over for so long.
A thumb brushed softly at the blood elf's eye before the hand retreated. Both hands moved to squeeze the paladin's left hand, then allowed the paladin to get back to work with another soft kiss to each of the pale palms.
~~
I say Tempered Steel, but perhaps I should have been a bit more clear. It wasn't the Elements themselves. It was what the Elements were tortured to think, or feel, or whatever it is they have that makes them understand friend from foe. Either way, I'm not sure, even with Jelah by my side, I could have survived what he had to, cast to the Four and needing to find balance within, and without.
Okay, so Air, Water and Earth weren't so scary. Fire? I thought we were going to be roasted into … well. If all of us have that within us, I fear for us all.
Then again, Mr. World Shaman did have quite a bit that he just sat on and let stew. It was a reminder to us all what could happen if we never open our mouths to express a bit of selfish desire once in a while.
Of course, there are some who don't have that problem.
Deathwing himself turned out to be … well, a pussy cat compared to some of the other horrors we faced. Of course, we just had to keep him distracted while the Aspects worked. We kept interrupting his spells and incantations, keeping him focused on the “pests” as the Aspects pooled their considerable power into one focus to finish him for good.
I never want to see the Maelstrom again.
Once again, peace came. Our next trial seemed to be entirely by accident, but was preceded by something I don't even want to put to writing; I'd almost prefer it left to history books. But history books can be altered over time as they are rewritten. At least if I offer it, there is a chance this tome will be found, and my account might match others' to tell the truth.
I speak, or write, of Theramore. Mindless. Insane. Stupid. Pointless. Cruelty beyond anything I could ever have imagined. What was done is utterly unforgivable, and the damage to the entirety of Azeroth is irreversible.
Hellscream overstepped. Everything.
I've seen my fair share of skirmishes along the coast of the Barrens, and Jelah's told me of similar ones off the coast of Durotar. The Alliance encroachments, in truth, were sometimes justifiable, but some were just... Not.
If the Alliance was settled somewhere, the Horde tended to settle across the map from them. It wasn't peaceful, per se, but it was respected. The reverse was also true. In this way, we co-existed, in sometimes bloody ways, sometimes peaceful ones. It depended on the temper of those involved, the time of day, the phase of the moons, the rise of the tide.
Theramore was one such established place. It rested in the bay in Dustwallow Marsh, far south of Durotar. Thrall had long cultivated a peaceful co-habitation with the harbor town, mostly due to his tentative peace truce with Jaina Proudmoore. Never had Theramore launched an attack on Orgrimmar, nor had Orgrimmar launched an attack on Theramore, even though it would have been easy for either to occur.
Not only did Hellscream attack, he double-crossed the Blue Flight to do so, and he didn't just go after the harbor, after armed warriors. He leveled the entire city, killing the Archmage of the Kirin Tor, Rhonin. This was a blow to every soul on Azeroth who had ever set foot into Dalaran. Rhonin never cared what side we were on, just that we kept peace while we were in the city, which, as I'd mentioned, was so pivotal in our defeat of the Lich King.
Hellscream's actions caused that to fall apart. Any of the Horde working in Dalaran were either killed or imprisoned if they couldn't escape when the Purge began sometime later.
He nearly killed Kalecgos, the Blue Aspect of Magic. He barely missed Lady Proudmoore, who, we came to find out later, had been rescued by Rhonin in his dying instant.
Hellscream dropped the Eye of Eternity on Theramore, detonating it, and leveling Theramore to mana-dust.
Warriors. Citizens. Children.
It makes me sick just thinking about it now. Remember how I'd mentioned earlier that some were killed for not sucking up? After Theramore was destroyed, Hellscream ordered a celebration to honor the Horde for destroying the threat.
Threat. A peaceful harbor town, honoring a peace treaty of sorts with Orgrimmar even after Thrall had gone.
Those who did not celebrate, instead spending time in the inn of Razor Hill, were killed when charges were set in the inn itself, and the inn was rebuilt without a word, and the dead were not honored, apart from those who also disagreed. Quietly.
It was the final straw for many of us.
The only distraction was the discovery of Pandaria. We may have been ordered there to “paint it red”, but for most of us, Pandaria was a journey of self-discovery, more than a conquest. Truly a land like no other with a people that taught us more than even the most senior of us more than we had learned in our entire lifetimes. At least, it was for me for certain.
For such peaceful place, it had its own conflicts, and a very unique way of dealing with them. Life in Pandaria has seemed like a dream. So much rich history to learn, from times the rest of Azeroth has forgotten, so many places to explore of the like we have never seen.
Some of the Pandaren there seemed to shun us as outsiders, but gradually, even they found that all of us fight with ferocity and were not adverse to aiding with even the simplest of tasks. How could we say no to a people who found us on their shores, at war, but still accepted us, allowed us to learn from them and their ways, and shared knowledge, history and the way to find ourselves?
I thought I knew myself fairly well – a paladin of the Light, follower of the Sun, basking in the glow of the Sunwell, descended from elves of old, some thousands of years old even to this day. We Blood Elves are a proud people.
But Pandaria taught me a little more. I am vain. I do not appreciate all that there is in life. I look down upon others who are just as noble, just as rich in history, and just as deserving of respect. Of this, I am not proud, but I have found myself changing here. I have found my opinions of other peoples changing.
At first, I found the Undead – the Forsaken – rather disgusting. Shallow. Each and every one of them overcame a grave (nearly literally) affliction, regained their own minds, and each of them may be a little odd, but they do not shirk anything laid in front of them, ignoring whispered insults, and pulling their weight when it comes time for them to do so. So much weighs on them that I would crumble under the constant burden, yet they have risen up above it all, and I value their friendship as I would anyone else.
The Orcs I found brutish barbarians, savages who did not even know that they should bathe. I learned a little of them in Outland, but even then, I did not appreciate their history, how they have evolved. I thought they were all stupid. But how could such a people produce Shamans throughout their history, lore-keepers and storytellers? How could those who use magic have learned the arts of the Arcane that I take for granted among my people if they were not intelligent? How could such a people have produced someone such as Thrall, whose sharp mind and quick reflexes aided the very Aspects to defeat Deathwing? They do not hunt for sport, and I hear them thanking the very spirits of Life itself for the provision of food, leather for homes and clothing, furs for warmth, and bones for tools and ornamentation. This is certainly not the behavior of savages, nor is their reverence for their ancestors, which they hold in the highest honor.
I had overlooked Goblins for years, since many of the cartels are neutral; but having them within the Horde was a bit of a blessing for us all. There was so much we could do with so many minds, all focused on not only being thrifty but also with the invention of so many things I never thought possible. Instead of the greedy little shrubs I once saw them as, I see them now as quick thinkers who can come up with solutions from just what is at hand for so many situations. They can create things from practically nothing.
The Pandaren I found very... frivolous in their ways. I am no stranger to fine foods and fine drink, but they enjoy with almost indecent sincerity. Their passive, leisurely way made me think they were lazy, but they have a philosophy that essentially states that one should work hard, but never too much, and take the time to enjoy what is around them, play hard so that when it is once again time to work, one is not resentful that they did not have time to rest, relax and enjoy their lives. By learning to live with that, I think we have all – well, almost all – become better people, even those of the Alliance!
The Tauren have long been a joke among my people, and only in Pandaria have I realized that far from being walking barbeque menu items, they are a people of rich nomadic history and reverence of the very places they are. From the Sky to the Sun to the very Earth on which they walk, the creatures they hunt, they revere each and every one, as the Orcs do. I would gladly have a Tauren at my back any day, for they are loyal and fierce fighters.
The Trolls are another story altogether. Like the Orcs, I thought them unwashed, cannibalistic barbaric savages who wanted little more than to slaughter anything in their path, and then eat it. Then again, I grew up battling the Amani, who are a very different people than other tribes. The Darkspear, by comparison, are as civilized as we are. They may practice some unorthodox magics, and perform blood-sacrifice, but just like every other race in the world, they have their extremes to one side or the other. Of course, at this point in time, I may be biased, considering Jelah is rather cleanly, well-groomed, and has very little Troll accent, other than when he is very tired, or drunk, which is rare. The spirits they serve are no different that revering the Elements, the Arcane, the Earth, the Sky, or the Sun or Moon.
Even the races of the Alliance I have learned are not just the entitled whiners I have thought they were all this time. I once worked with humans and dwarves. I didn't much appreciate the way we were used at the time. Over time, I think we all have learned something, and they aren't as demanding, it seems. The Alliance as a whole has become more united, and I'm certain that Pandaria had a hand in that as well.
We have triumphed over many things here, native problems such as the Mogu, the swarming Mantid, the Sha themselves, and now...
And now...

Here we are, on this eve of battle, once again looking at trouble we never asked for, but found ourselves in.
Jelah and I have been through it all together, and though I cannot state his thoughts, I know that we both have learned from our experiences.   This day, this night, we spend together now, knowing it could all end tomorrow.
We go to Orgrimmar tomorrow. Orcish history will tell what has happened to lead up to this. Garrosh MUST be put down. Hellscream is a maniac, and not even the Orc I could respect back in Warsong Hold. Once again, an Old God has gotten involved, and while I suspect it is not entirely the Orc's fault, he has fallen prey to it, proving he is not as strong as he has always claimed to be.
It will be difficult. It will probably be painful, not physically, to see Orgrimmar like this. Yes, the Orc city had become like a second home to me over the years, as I tend to follow Jelah more than he does me.
Pandaria's denizens have asked us all, time and time again “Why do we fight?”
We fight to protect the things we love. We fight to honor those before. We fight so we may live another day.
We fight so others do not have to.
I fight for my guild companions, my comrades-in-arms across both Horde and Alliance, and most of all, my shield-mate, for not only him, but for all that we both stand for.
I fight to see justice done.
And it will be done.
Justice will come.
~~
Tshion put the quill back in its holder again, then sanded and pressed the last few lines and then blew them to brush the sand away. Once he was sure the ink was dry, he closed the book and his ink bottle.
Arms wrapped around him from behind. “Finished?”
“Yes, I'm done. I just... I hope-” A tusk slid across his cheek and lips pressed firmly against his own, silencing him.
“Said... enough.” The lips moved against Tshion's ear, sending shivers down the paladin's spine. A soft bite promised more to come, and Tshion melted into that touch, just as it vanished.
Blinking, Tshion turned around to where the mage had been, but was no longer. He was across the room, curiously poking at a platter of pastries.
Tshion sighed, and shook his head as he moved his lap-desk to the chair beside his and moved to join his companion across the guild-hall's common room. “Tempting me with sugar now?” His answer was a plate filled with several pastries. Upon closer inspection, he saw that they were not sugary, but filled with many different things. Tshion chuckled, sensing a certain priestess' hand in this appearance.
It wasn't uncommon for food to randomly appear on the common room's buffet tables, after all. There were many cooks among them, and no one cooked only for themselves, and no one felt obligated to cook at all. Platters, tureens, bowls and racks appeared with regularity, but at random intervals.
Tshion had once offered to aid in the kitchen, but instead of being a help, he had set it on fire.
Jelah had proven that he was at least somewhat capable, so had not, like his mate, been banished from the kitchen.   Knowing his mate had an incurable sweet-tooth, however, meant his contributions were often in the form of something portable, such as cookies or finger-cakes.
The pastries that had appeared were a particular favorite of one of the guild-mates, and one that she shared often and without discrimination. Flaky pastry wrapped around meats, vegetables, cheeses, or fruits baked until golden were one of the priest's specialties, liking finger-foods, but wanting variety. Each pastry was shaped according to what was inside – meat ones were square, vegetables triangle, fish diamond, cheese round, and half-round for fruit. The plate Tshion now held contained a variety of shapes, and the mage lifted an eyebrow at him as he blinked at it.
“Okay, okay, I'll eat.” The paladin rolled his eyes, and moved to put his plate down on the table between the chairs the two had occupied before returning to the buffet tables. There were always drinks set out, courtesy of the retired mage who tended the halls – iced and hot both. He filled two glasses with iced fruit juice and carried them back, setting them on the table as well.
Jelah was busy with the concoction for his mind. Tshion frowned. He didn't like the need for it, but understood that it frustrated his mate to be unable to carry a normal conversation without it.
A few moments after they had settled, they were joined by the priestess in question carrying a plate and a glass of her own. “Mind if I join you for a little?”
“Of course not!” Jelah replied as he put his things away and settled himself in his chair.
Tshion smiled at the priestess. It was pure happenstance that they had met so long ago, and her words had kept him going for so long, and he had thanked her the moment he realized he joined the guild she was in. It was this priestess, with hair of red-gold who had once blessed him and told him to just keep going; to be strong. He never asked her who it was she lost, and she never offered the information, but they shared a knowing look at one another often, knowing they had each lost someone dear to them so long ago.
“Nervous?” Briyanna asked quietly as she sipped her drink.
“I'm not sure about nervous. It's the eve of a great battle. I feel the same way as I did before taking on the Lich King or Deathwing.” Tshion replied. He frowned as he picked up a square from his plate. “No. I feel more determined, if anything.”
“The Lich King and Deathwing were never people we were supposed to trust and follow,” Jelah added, quietly.
The priestess smiled sadly. “I'm angry, and beyond. I have a feeling many feel the same, but if we let anger dictate what we do...”
“We may as well not go. It will make us sloppy and vulnerable.” Tshion nodded, nibbling at the square. “It's not as though we have not all trained for this in some way, shape or form. The Pandaren have taught us all quite a bit.”
“It's the Alliance that makes me nervous. How many of them will take the opportunity to wipe us out along with Hellscream?” Briyanna sighed around a bite of pastry. “I mean, after Theramore...”
“I don't think so. I think anyone in this battle must know that any Horde members present did not want what happened there,” Jelah pointed out.
Briyanna's expression cleared a little, and she nodded thoughtfully, picking apart a triangular pastry in her fingers.
Tshion remained silent as he picked his glass up. Finally into the quiet, he spoke. “There is more pressure on us all, I think. Tempers running rampant, and not just at a common enemy, here. The Lich King and Deathwing, and many other things have not only targeted one or the other. In a way, this should be our fight, and ours alone.”
“But it's not, because of the magnitude of what Hellscream has done. It's complicated,” Briyanna nodded.
Jelah snorted. “When isn't it?” They all chuckled, and ate quietly for a few moments. “Either way, I think we will all win, in the end. For once, our anger is not with the Alliance or a common enemy, and their anger is not with -us-, but with the Warchief. This makes him a common enemy, doesn't it?”
Tshion shrugged. Briyanna nodded. “It does, in a way. First Theramore, then well, us. And to top it off, the Vale. Not only has he gone after the Alliance, but he went after his own people, and then destroyed the sacred ground of yet another people.”
“I heard from one of the others that he actually intended to slaughter not only the humans, but the night elves, and continue to decimate every race on Azeroth until only orcs were left to rule it.”
The silence following Jelah's words was deafening. Briyanna paused with a round pastry halfway to her mouth. Tshion turned his head to look at the mage, his eyes narrowed, hand hovering over his plate. Jelah stared down at the plate in his lap.
“He intended to kill the other factions of the Horde?”
“He intended to kill neutral factions?”
“Not just the warriors either. Everyone. Like Theramore. Innocents, children, commoners, everyone.”
Briyanna's hand shook, and she opened her mouth, but put the pastry in it before she could speak her mind, clearly using the few moments she spent chewing to calm herself.   “We should spread that word,” she said finally. “To everyone we see, Horde, Alliance – EVERYONE.”
“Won't that just raise tempers?” Tshion asked, shocked. “I mean, if we piss everyone off, won't that negate the calm strike we're aiming for?”
“I don't think so,” Jelah said, gesturing with a square of pastry. “I think it will solidify the resolve of what's really at stake, and also it will remind members of the Alliance that we're not their enemy in this strike. We have as much to lose as they do.”
All three of them went silent again.
Briyanna broke the silence with a string of soft curses in Thalassian. Both the mage and the paladin stared at her, wide-eyed. “That arrogant, tiny-headed dick of an orc needs to go,” she finished, then added in a softer, half-pleading voice, “I wish Thrall were back with us.”
“He's already there, from what I've heard,” Tshion pointed out. “He and Saurfang went in to try to get anyone on our side out of Orgrimmar.”
Briyanna swore again. “I hope to the Light he's still alive.”
Jelah chuckled. “He survived worse.”
“Has he though?” Tshion asked. “He went in there with little support. He wasn't present at the final controntation of the Lich King, Tirion was. He had the support of not only all of those who fought Deathwing, but the Aspects. Sure, Hellscream's 'just an orc', but he has the backing of an Old God.”
Briyanna shook her head. “May everything we revere go with him, and with us, then.” She shuddered. “C'thun was bad enough. Yogg-Saron was weakened. Who knows what this one can do?”
The sobering thought followed the three as they finished their meal. Briyanna stood up and took her plate and glass back to the kitchen. “I'm off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day; Loremaster Cho expects us before dawn.”
The mage and paladin bade her goodnight, then looked at each other as they sipped thoughtfully at their drinks.
“I'm not afraid,” Tshion finally said, quietly. “I think we can do this. Every soul on Azeroth must know that far from the threat anything else has sent us, this one is a bit more close to home. Those of us going in tomorrow know what's at stake here. We will take him down.”
“And what of the Horde after?” Jelah stood up and took his and Tshion's plate back to the kitchen. Tshion smiled at him, and thought about an answer.
“If Thrall is still alive after it's over, I would assume he would take the mantle back, at least until someone else suitable presents themselves.” The paladin frowned in thought as Jelah returned to his chair. “Though, at this point in time, I can think of at least two others who have what it takes to lead us, even temporarily.” Jelah raised his eyebrow at him. Tshion chuckled. “After all of this, wouldn't you think the one who led the revolution is fit to lead us? He technically has for months now.”
“Vol'jin?” Jelah blinked. “I would have thought you'd suggest Lor'themar.”
“He's the other I had in mind, but he hates leading.” Jelah choked on his juice. “No, I'm serious! If you ever talked to him, he's always said leading is not where his strong point is. It's always been on the front lines, letting his sword do the talking, and his strategy on the battlefield his law.” He was quiet for a moment, then voiced something he'd kept behind his teeth for months. “At this point, considering what I've heard from the other side, I wouldn't even mind Wrynn.”
“Most would though,” Jelah pointed out. “There are too many that would never take a human.”
“I know, I know. At this point, only tomorrow knows the answers.” Tshion stood up, and took their empty glasses back to the kitchen, then returned to offer the mage his hand. “However, there is still some of today remaining, and I'd like to confirm just what it is I'm fighting for.”
Jelah laughed. “You just want to get in some reputation with the Darkspear.”
“Maybe I just want to get in a Darkspear.”
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Last Breath