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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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
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. The NPCs are not mine.
Tshion, my Blood Elf Paladin, IS mine.

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

Members of the Guild <Fatalis> of Feathermoon, other than my alts (Briyanna, Starshado) and my boyfriend's alts (Nozilla, Selarcis, Aminko) used without permission, but I doubt they'll mind much - I lay no claim to them, and they remain the property of their respective creators.

Apologies to Kelanar - You were mentioned, and since I couldn't find a way for Briyanna to Life-Grip you around, I had to mention your love of standing in fire. <3

Part of this story is/has been Role-Played in game and out.

The title and chapter title are inspired by Evanescence, "My Last Breath".

This work is purely for archival/entertainment, and no money is being made from it.
VI. It Ends Here Tonight
The stench of mantid blood was thick in the hallway, right through the sanctum they had claimed. No one had much of a mind to speak, other than the soothing words of healing spells. Tshion slumped against the wall by the doorway leading into yet another passage, his injuries insubstantial enough that he could wait to be seen.
A thump next to him told him he wasn't alone. The clunk of a shield dropping to the floor told him who it was.
“I don't think I've ever had this much fun,” the other's voice said, sounding flat. “When was the last time you had this much fun, Tshion?”
“I don't know,” Tshion replied tiredly. “I would have to say either when Ragnaros set my hair on fire, or the time I was clinging by my fingernails to Deathwing's back.”
Tshion turned his head to look at the other paladin, a platinum blonde by the name of Selarcis, and pulled his helmet off so he could dry his hair and neck. He noted Selarcis was doing the same.
Tshion pulled out a towel from his traveling bag and rubbed along his face and neck, noting that there weren't many dry, or clean, spots left on it. Two-thirds of it was covered in blood, none of it his own. Even he became a combat-medic after a battle was won.
“How much more do you think stands between us and that traitorous bastard who calls himself 'Warchief'?” Selarcis asked, offering Tshion a fresh towel, after wincing at the one his comrade was using.
With a grateful look and a nod, Tshion accepted the clean towel, and ran it over his face. “I don't know. I don't care. I just want it to be over.” He looked up to where the wounded were being tended. Jelah was having a particularly nasty gash in his arm tended where a kunchong had surprised him. “The Healers have to rest for a little, first, before we move on. The others are exhausted, and... though it seems mundane, even stupid, we have been doing this for hours without eating or drinking much. It seems like years ago that we met the Loremaster underneath the palace...”
“I know. Can we afford the time? Saurfang said Thrall went ahead. We still haven't seen him.”
“Can we afford to -not- take the time? Exhausted, the Healers are of no use to us, the hunters can't raise bows, spell-casters can't cast, or may have trouble focusing, the melee will be trampled. Look at the two of us. How are we going to hold ourselves together if we can't even lift our shields with any speed because of exhaustion? We don't know how much farther we need to go, or what other horrors this place holds.”
Selarcis bit his lip, looking around at the rest of their team. The ones who were not wounded were laying down, or leaning against friends or partners or walls. A few were taking the time to drink or snack. The Healers, looking grey, were still attending the wounded. “We can't. You're right, we have to stop for a while.”
Using the wall, Selarcis struggled to his feet, and pitched his voice to be heard through the room. “Everyone, listen up!” A few groans punctuated those lying down returning to a sitting position as eyes turned to the two paladins. “As much as I'm loathe to do it, we have to stop here for a little while. If we don't, we risk exhaustion taking us down.” He sighed. “We make a cold camp here for at least a couple of hours, or we can return to somewhere less,” he looked around at the corpses of the mantid, “less gross.”
“I say we go back to the main chamber, past the chest room, where the last line is.”
“That would make us look weak.”
“No, it would make us look smart.”
“Smart, weak, w'at be de diff'rence? We need ta rest or we be dead before we put up a fight.”
The last comment brought murmuring, during which Tshion took the opportunity to pick himself up, and hurriedly whispered to Selarcis. “I say we go back. We can have our gear repaired, replace what is destroyed, get a proper camp set, and Baine's there – we won't have to set watches to become more vulnerable.” Selarcis nodded.
“We go back to where Baine holds the line. They've brought down some amenities that we should make use of, such as Rivett Clutchpop and his expertise.” This brought some chuckles. “Once the wounded are able to move, we go. For now, anyone who can cook, we'll need your assistance once we are there, so think up something we can create to get us all fed and watered. Healers, once you have eaten, you will sleep; we need you too much to risk you. Everyone else, what you do is up to you, but I suggest you take the Healers' orders for yourselves.” He paused. “Aminko, let us know when everyone is in condition to travel.”
“Will do,” the druid replied, the tauren not even looking up from his patient.
The two paladins slid back down to the floor. “That's done then,” Tshion mumbled. “I hate being in charge.”
“Someone has to. Why not us?”
“No reason,” Tshion replied. “it's just not something I like doing. I feel personally responsible for each and every person in this room. Right now I feel we've run them ragged. How many have we killed today? How much rest have we had?”
“Other than the rest we took at the end of each wing of this wretched place, not much, and even that was just so we could tend the wounded and … revive the fallen.”
Tshion coughed. “I'm sorry about what happened when we fought Nazgrim. I.. I didn't see-”
“Stop. We were tired at that point, and if it hadn't been that we could go back up and have others tend us, both of us would have...” Selarcis swallowed. “That was a close call, nothing more. We are trying to prevent that this time, by taking a-”
“Everyone's ready, Sel.” A tauren stood above them, but it was not Aminko.
“Then let's get going. Thank you, Starshado.” The tauren bowed slightly and grinned at him, making Selarcis roll his eyes. “Stop that. Let's go.”
Tshion hauled himself to his feet again, picking up his helm and shield. He picked his way over to Jelah, and offered the mage, who was slumped over, still looking dizzy, his hand. “Squishy,” he said softly. The mage looked up, and took the offered hand. Together, they pulled him to his feet.
“Tired,” Jelah whispered. “Empty.”
“I know,” Tshion told him, one arm sliding around him for support. “We're going to go fix that. Come on...”
All over the room, those who had strength to spare supporting those who didn't, the rest of the team pulled themselves up and headed back to Baine's line, looking forward to food and rest.
Tshion woke with a start, his hand reaching and grabbing at air at his side, still in full combat-ready mode. There were noises he didn't recognize, and he sat up, dislodging the mage curled against him, covered lightly with their cloaks.
The noise that woke him was the clatter of a sword hitting the ground. One of the goblins had dropped the blade while sharpening it. Tshion looked around. Several others had been startled out of sleep, and he saw that they had been joined by one of the other teams. Draping his cloak over Jelah, he stood up and as quietly as he could, made his way to the leader of that group.
“...not to mention the pet … ha. Pet. That thing nearly snapped my head off. If I hadn't ducked... Eh, neither here nor there. How did you fare, Selarcis?”
“Sounds like you and Trekka had your hands full. Tshion and I … well.” Selarcis waved his hands around the room. “We're exhausted. Seeing you and your team was … a blessed sight.” He sighed. “Have you heard from Mmooga or Eternal?”
“No, nor from Erinni or Nozilla.” Mushao frowned, the pandaren appearing to fret for a moment. “I hope they're all right.
“I'm sure they are,” Tshion put in, softly. “Their teams were solid – and if you think about it, I'm sure Noz would have insisted on remaining on the beach to aid Lor'themar.”
“Mmooga may have stayed behind to aid the Sentinels,” Mushao mused. “Either way. Since we're all here, there's no reason to go on by yourselves. We'll go with you, and if there's another split, we'll deal with it then. I have my healing paraphernalia with me, and Trekka brought his.”
Selarcis sagged with relief. “Thank the Light. It may be prudent to allow some of the other Healers to rest, or at least have fewer people to deal with on their own. Who's heading your Healers?”
“Briyanna.”
Tshion's eyes went wide. “I thought she went with Noz and Erinni!”
“No, we sent Moejoe with them since we had Beireth.”
Selarcis grinned. “That just means that we'll have one slight advantage – if she can't pull us out of anything with the team we have here, then no one can. Could you have her talk to Aminko and get the Healers organized? Since you and Trekka are going to go on as Healers, I think a few of them can either drop out here, if they need to, or they can switch to combat 'casters.”
“Done and done.” Mushao bounced to his feet and moved off to speak to the other Healers.
“That's that done then. With that, our Healer team has just doubled.”
“Yes,” Tshion said, quietly, “but so has the overall number of us.”
“We'll be all right. If Bri and Star can't organize who we have with us, no one can, and now that we have Skelington, he, Varoka and Rynzia can handle the ranged groups. I'll have a talk with Helyon and Vixxinn to get the melee fighters organized. We're going to have to keep a sharp eye on communication now that there's so many of us.” Selarcis hauled himself to his feet and went to find those he mentioned.
Tshion sighed and moved back over to Jelah, sitting down beside the mage and reaching out to touch him. Jelah murmured in his sleep and turned to wrap an arm around Tshion's leg. The slice down the sleeve of his under-robe and the slowly fading scar beneath was much more visible at this angle, and Tshion leaned to inspect it. If it had been deep, the scar wouldn't be fading this quickly, even with Jelah's natural regeneration. It was only a glancing slash, but the blood around the edges of the torn robe was enough to tell Tshion that it hurt, and was a distraction. He only hoped that the armor, once mended, would be enough to keep him a bit safer.
The niggling feeling that he needed to do something was returning, though he'd watched for it, or rather felt for it, while in combat, he had not felt it until now. He wished he could sort out the fuzzy images the dreams had sent over the years, but every time he tried, they vanished like smoke in a stirring of wind.
The paladin ran his fingers along the mage's face, which was not as calm as he would have liked, but in the circumstances, everyone was on edge. He wondered how Jelah could sleep through the noise. He smiled slightly, shaking his head. Jelah could sleep through another Cataclysm, wake up, and ask why it was so early.
“Tshion.” He looked up to find a bowl and mug in front of him. “Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't eat before you passed out.” The tauren stared at him, pointedly. Considering how large he was, Tshion didn't dare argue.
The paladin took both bowl and mug from the druid's hands. “I did have-”
“A few fish sticks is not enough to keep your stamina up, Paladin.”
Quailing under the tauren's glare, Tshion set the mug down, and poked the sticks the tauren handed him into the bowl, prodding a stuffed lushroom. “Thank you, Kel,” he said quietly.
Kelanar softened. “You're worried. We all are. Don't fret so much; we'll all get out of this. You'll see.”
Tshion grinned. “Well, you will if there's no fire to stand in.”
“Hey! That was uncalled for.” Despite the words, the druid was grinning. “Bloody meatshield.”
“Walking buffet,” Tshion countered.
“Flouncing fop.”
Tshion couldn't help it. He laughed despite his worry, despite their location, and despite everything he'd been through. Kel patted the paladin and wandered off, presumably hunting down others who had not eaten properly.
Tshion shook his head and applied himself to the food. Once he had set his bowl aside, he picked up the mug, which was still steaming. He blew over the top and sipped at it. Ginger, he decided. Ginger with a hint of sweet... peaches? Something behind it... Of course. A healing-elixir. Clever Healers make for fussy cooks.
A few moments later, the same tea had been distributed to the waking members of the team, while others were being awakened. Reluctantly, Tshion nudged Jelah's shoulder. “Squishy. Jelah, wake up.”
“No.” Jelah cracked an eye open and glared at the paladin, then closed it again.
At least some things never changed.
“Come on, the others are waking, and the Healers are using us for experiments again.” Jelah muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “screw the Healers”, but Tshion wasn't sure. “Come on, or would you rather stay here and miss getting a piece of Hellscream for yourself?”
That did it. Jelah's eyes opened, and the fires burned in their amethyst glow once more. “Much better.” He handed Jelah the mug that one of the Healers left for him. “We're going to be killed by the Healers if we don't drink this... whatever-it-is. I think it's a healing-elixir mixed with tea, mixed with some kind of drug to make us think we're invincible... or something to make us stupid enough to go on.”
Jelah snorted, then took a drink. “Elixir. Tea.” He looked at Tshion. “Liar.” The insult didn't matter; Jelah was grinning at him, the sleep and food doing him a world of good. “Robes?”
“I haven't heard anything yet. Most of the repair work is done though.”
“Time?”
“We spent about two hours here, and we've been joined by Mushao and Trekka's team.” Jelah brightened at this news. “They're going to join the Healers, and Ryn is going to pick up communications for the mages.” This brought a sigh of relief.
Once their mugs were empty, they brought them and Tshion's bowl back to those organizing the cooking, who were now busily packing, cleaning and seeing that stragglers and all of Baine's troops had eaten.
Selarcis' voice boomed from the doorway moments later. “All right, people – most of you should be ready to head out. I know some of you are waiting on a few details to your armor or weapons. Start limbering up and take care of -anything- else that needs taking care of; once those gear details are completed, we move out.”
“Once more into the breach,” Tshion mumbled, rolling his neck and shoulders.
The sounds of shouting nearby made everyone freeze at the end of the passage. There was light up ahead, and the steady, eerie sound of a heart beating.
They had found the heart of the maze.
“... down the mantle of Warchief. We can end this here, now, with no more bloodshed.”
Thrall.
Ignoring the verbal battle going on in the room, Selarcis and Tshion waved hand-signals to the rogues to move forward, to scout the room.
“You are an Orc no longer, and speak for none but yourself. You betrayed our people...” Tshion snarled at Hellscream's voice. /Who betrayed who, you selfish, hateful bastard?/
“It's just Thrall and Hellscream,” Vixxinn reported. “No one else is here.”
“Damn, that means we'll be the front.” Tshion sighed.
“Should we wait for the others?” Selarcis whispered. “I mean they must be on their way... Vol'jin said he was going on, so he must have found another way in.”
“...face off against a real Orc Warchief. So be it.”
Tshion raised the hand-signal for silence. The clash of weaponry sounded from the next room. Vixxinn moved back into the room, only to emerge a few seconds later.
“We need to go in, Thrall can't call the elements after what those worthless Dark Shamans did!”
Selarcis frantically signaled the rest of the team's leads, and they poured into the room and down the ramps leading down into the hold.
Both paladins held up their hands, signaling for the groups to stop. It looked like Thrall had the upper hand, and none of them were stupid enough to step into a duel between two orcs.
Hellscream picked up his leg and kicked, sending Thrall across the room and to his knees.
No one needed the signals. Several shouts of negation and anger sounded. Selarcis ran forward, intercepting Hellscream as he moved to finish the shaman off by flinging a Light-made shield at his chest.
Tshion took a deep breath and followed. Together, they backed the orc away from the former Warchief, and the rest of the group spread out into the room, setting themselves up as best as they could. There was no time to talk about tactics. There was no time to talk about anything. There was only time to react.
Tshion could feel the sweat trickling down his neck and tried to ignore it. That feeling was back, and it haunted him. He knew now that it was here that he needed to be and It was here – whatever it was that he need to do, whatever it was he needed to stop. Hellscream's resolve was stronger than any of them had imagined, and coupled with the power of an Old God...
The battle had taken more of a toll than anyone expected. Several had already collapsed from exhaustion, and backed away to recover. Selarcis and Tshion did not have that option, and they both knew it.
Every time they thought they had him, Hellscream recovered, and took on more of the Old God's power. Y'shaarj's voice haunted them as they fought through visions made reality. If they had to keep this up much longer... if reinforcements didn't arrive...
“Tshion!”
Tshion whirled, bringing his shield up and blocking Hellscream's axe from hitting Selarcis, forcing the orc to face him instead. “What's the matter, dumbass? Forget who you were fighting? Did the pathetic, puny little pansy elf lift up a shield and make you miss?” Hellscream roared and swung at Tshion instead.
The shield dented under the blow, and Tshion winced, thanking the Light that he'd had the straps repaired before they came through this way. He had a feeling his arm would fracture if he had to take much more than this.
“We have to finish this. The Healers are flagging!” Selarcis shouted.
Tshion winced. If the Healers were losing their strength... His eyes darted to the side and he barely manged to duck another swing, and another. Hellscream was bleeding, and it seemed he had become the cornered, desperate animal, fighting with nothing to lose.
Tshion ducked again, then caught the butt of the axe in the arm. He rolled, and scanned the wall where those who could no longer fight had retreated to.
On his other side he barely caught the flash of color.
Color?
“Jelah! What the hell do you think you're-” Ryn stopped abruptly.
The pyroblast screamed past Tshion, who put his foot out to try to trip the orc, but it was too late. He was swinging his free arm around, eyes on the mage who dared send the blast of fire into his face.
Time slowed to a crawl as Jelah, instead of running, sent out a last spell. Hellscream's body slowed. Everyone else moved normally, tearing into the orc in a last desperate attempt to stop him, to take him down.
Time Warp.
Tshion screamed another insult, hacking desperately at the Warchief's arm, but nothing seemed to stop its movement. No blade or claw could pierce it. No spell affected it. The sha-infested, Y'shaarj-enhanced arm continued to move.
The spell's effects faded.
The hand collided with the mage, and Tshion's heart stopped. So did the rest of him. His eyes followed the progress of the multi-colored blur until it hit the wall several feet off the ground with a sickening crack. Tshion's eyes widened as the body fell to the floor with another sickening crunch.
“Jelah..” he whispered. Hellscream's axe crushed part of his shoulderguard.
Selarcis turned and saw Tshion transfixed, staring at the wall, and quickly intervened, blocking the next swing, aimed at the paladin's head.
“Tshion! Snap out of it! We have to finish this!” Selarcis shouted, right next to him. “Damn it, Tshion, wake -up-! If you don't wake up, damn you -we're all dead-, do you hear me?!” Tshion shook his head at last.
Turning back to the Warchief, he realized with a gut-wrenching jolt of guilt that Selarcis was weapon-locked with the orc. Before he could thrust his own weapon into the fray, Selarcis managed to kick himself free, and found the back of the axe bashed into his face. Tshion snarled another insult as Selarcis dropped to his knees, his blade hitting the floor as he grasped at his throat, his helm bent and crushing his throat.
Tshion saw red. Abandoning his training, he threw himself at the orc, slashing with complete abandon, using the flat of his blade, the pommel of his blade, his feet, his elbows, anything he could use. It didn't matter anymore. The feeling of needing to stop something was gone, and in its place was a screaming, wailing place of Failure.
He drove Hellscream back, toward the center of the room, and he realized that those that were left standing were winning. Ignoring his own pain, he flung everything he had at the orc, blade, shield, Light-guided, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered other than seeing this atrocity fall, once and for all.
Hellscream staggered backwards. Tshion pulled his blade back, aiming for the orc's heart, but the Warchief stumbled, and fell forward. Tshion dropped his blade, tucked it into his chest and rolled out of the way.
“No... It cannot end... like this.. What I... What I have seen...” The orc fell on his face, and stopped moving.
Everyone left standing stopped moving. Spells died on the 'casters' lips. The melee group cautiously lowered their weapons. Tshion stood up, moved forward, and nudged Hellscream with his foot. He didn't move.
Pain rippled through him and he felt dizzy, but refused to sit down as his body longed to. He ached in places he hadn't ached in since his training days. He looked up as he heard movement, and realized that the rest of the reinforcements had arrived, from both the Horde and the Alliance. Thrall was getting to his feet, circling the fallen Mag'har.
Tshion backed away, and fell to the ground next to Selarcis as they both watched Thrall raise Doomhammer, speaking words that sounded muffled in Tshion's ears.
There was something happening, Tshion was sure it was important, too. An argument, and something about not killing Hellscream. He looked up, and realized that someone was standing over him, and he felt warmth, then heat, and then things started to clear up again. The healing touch of the Light flowed through him and his eyes cleared. He looked up, frowning at one of the Healers. Female. Paladin. Raega?
“You two really know how to show the Blood Knights how its done, don't you?”
“Huh?”
“You missed it. You missed it all.”
“Huh?”
“Raega! He's not going to understand that right now. You just pulled him out of a grey-out!”
“Huh?”
A hand extended to him, and he took it. Selarcis hauled him to his feet and sighed. “You saved my life.”
“I damn near killed you,” Tshion argued. “If I had been out of it any longer.”
“You had good reason. I'm fine; no lasting damage. I promise you that.”
Good reason.
Tshion pulled his helm off and shook sweat out of his hair. “Where is he?”
Selarcis bit his lip. “The Healers-”
“Where. Is. He?” Selarcis pointed, lowering his eyes.
The helm hit the floor, followed by his sword. Tshion turned from the other two and trying to get the straps of his shield undone as he moved, half-ran toward the wall where he'd last seen Jelah.
He should have been able to tell from the knot of Healers, including both Briyanna and Aminko, and heading toward him, Starshado.
Briyanna looked up from her position, since it's hard to disguise the noise of someone in full plate running across a metal floor. Upon seeing who it was running toward them, she nudged Aminko, and they backed away enough to let Tshion see their patient.
Tshion stopped in his tracks, his heart in his throat, mercifully stopping the cry of negation there.
The first thing the paladin noticed was the blood; an alarming amount of blood surrounded the fallen troll, and the crimson stain was spreading, slowly. The second thing he noticed was the awkward angle of one of his legs, and realized as he started to move again that part of his bone was sticking through the skin of his thigh. The third thing he noticed was that the eyes were closed.
Ignoring the bloody pool, Tshion dropped to his knees, and pulled off his gloves and gauntlets, dropping them where they happened to land. With shaking hands, he reached out to touch Jelah's face, unable to speak.
He realized the skin there was still warm, but was cooling.
“Jelah?” he whispered, terrified to move the mage in any way. He blinked rapidly, clearing his eyes, ignoring the sting behind them.
One eye opened, then the other. Tshion half-sobbed in relief, his thumb absently stroking the mage's cheek. There was no fire in the troll's eyes, as though it had been put out. There was very little life in his eyes either, and the only glitter there was from a glazed half-sight. One three-fingered hand lifted and weakly grasped the paladin's wrist. Tshion instantly turned his hand and slid his wrist out of its captor's grasp to entwine with it instead.
The bare hint of a smile touched the troll's face as the eyes finally focused enough to look at the elf's face. “T-too squishy,” he whispered, and though his tone was amused, Tshion was not.
The paladin squeezed Jelah's hand gently, and opened his mouth to say something, but the eyes closed again. The hand slid away.
Tshion's mind felt fuzzy. His eyes wouldn't clear. He could hear his own voice, quiet at first, calling the mage's name, begging him to look at him again, to tell him he was alive.
Someone had reached down to pull him away, soothing words that meant nothing to him washed over his ears. His own voice stopped working and he gave in – to everything. His body shook, and he didn't fight when he was led away, someone's arm around him. Whoever it was who had him kept him from dropping to his knees as they led him to a quieter corner, and then lowered themselves with him, and he was pulled against someone's shoulder. He buried his face against it and wept, feeling as though nothing would matter to him again.
- 5
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Last Breath