In the Days of Hellscream
Garrosh Hellscream
Standing in the center of Sen’jin Village, Vartokk watches as the flames leap toward the sky, engulfing Zuni’s body. The mage controlling the blaze raises the temperature to be sure his armor burns with him. It is customary that, if one makes the decision to be cremated, the armor in which they are struck down in burns with them.
For what seems like hours, Vartokk watches the flames until all that remains of her beloved is the ash that will be buried in his – their – favorite spot come tomorrow. She can feel the pain in her chest as she thinks back to the times they spent atop the mountain where the salty sea air crosses with the dry desert breeze. The smells are always intriguing. She remembers how the scent of the jungle and desert intermingle to create a mixture of sweet desert flowers and dense green undergrowth. It is the only place she knows where she can regain her composure, lost in a sensory bliss as she breathes in the world of smells. Zuni and he had escaped there often.
Snapping her from the happy memories, Vartokk feels a heavy hand being placed on her shoulder. She does not recognize the touch and a flash of fear runs through her body. She freezes, her eyes snapping open, waiting for a voice to match it.
“Vartokk,” she hears the heavy orcish accent. Her muscles relax as she turns slowly to face the orc. She is surprised to see the Horde’s warchief, Garrosh Hellscream, standing behind her, a solemn expression on his face.
“Warchief,” she whispers, giving him a small bow. She can see Vol’jin standing behind him, looking uncertain about Hellscream’s unexpected visit.
“Vol’jin has told me about your successes in your training. Very impressive, young troll,” he says curtly, “I implore you, do not let this deter you from fighting for the Horde. Do not waste your time better spent ridding Azeroth of the Alliance.”
Garrosh walks away, leaving Vartokk with a confusion of emotions. She had almost expected him to sympathize with trolls. After all, they are members of the Horde, and his soldiers.
Vol’jin steps forward, “I thinkits time ya be leavin’ Garrosh. Ya’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Hold your tongue, troll,” Garrosh fumes, stepping toe-to-toe with Vol’jin, “Remember who you’re talking to. I’ve removed you from Orgrimmar. Don’t make me take further actions.”
Garrosh spits on the ground at Vol’jin’s feet, and begins to walk away. Without thinking, Vartokk raises her bow, directing an arrow at Garrosh’s back. Za’tarri springs to action, forcing her arm down before the warchief takes full notice of her hostile actions.
“Now is not da time,” Za’tarri whispers.
A wildfire of anger burns through Vartokk’s veins as she places the arrow back in the quiver on her back. She glares after Garrosh as he climbs onto the saddle of an armored riding worg. Meeting her gaze, Garrosh sees the hatred in them and smiles, a sickening, malevolent grin. Her fingers tighten around her bow, itching to shoot an arrow right into the evil mans heart.
“Remember who you fight for, troll,” Garrosh sneers.
“I fight for da Darkspear. I follow Vol’jin no matta his path,” Vartokk says defiantly, her chest swelling with pride.
In a blur of speed, Garrosh jumps off the wolf and strides over to her. Grabbing her throat and squeezing, he lifts her from the ground.
“Remember who has given your pathetic race a home. A safe haven!” he booms, tightening his grip, “I can just as easily take it away!”
Vartokk’s vision begins to fade to black, but just before darkness consumes her, she is dropped to the ground. Looking up, she sees Za’tarri and Vol’jin standing with their backs to her, weapons brandished. She gapes at the scene as Vol’jin speaks.
“I have not forgotten who has given us a new home. Thrall an’ his warriors were kind ta my people. I will fight ta my demise in his name, not da disgrace of a creature who took his place in absence.”
Silence engulfs Sen’jin Village as Vol’jin’s words sin into everyone’s minds. Looking around as she stand, Vartokk notices the warchief is surrounded by members of the Darkspear tribe, ready to strike him down at the slightest wrong move. She stands, pulling her dagger from its sheath and holding it by her side.
“Ya’ve come to da wrong place ta disrespect da leader of da Darkspear, Garrosh,” Za’tarri scolds.
Narrowing his eyes, Garrosh steps closer to Vol’jin. All of the villagers step with him, keeping him within arm’s reach. Inches from Vol’jin’s face, Garrosh threatens, “Watch your back, pathetic creature. Your pets won’t always be here to protect you, and I won’t make the mistake of coming alone again.”
Returning to his worg, Garrosh rides into the pitch black night.It is only long after he is gone that the villagers begin to relax, lowering swords and bows. The tension remaining among everyone causes the eerie silence to linger in the village.
Vartokk turns from the group, focusing her attention on Zuni’s ashes. Gathering them, she sweeps them into a carved wooden urn she made while his body was being prepared. On its face, intricate tribal carvings surrounds Zuni’s family crest. On each side, pictures of Vartokk and Zuni wearing warm smiles like they had every time they saw one another.
As she sweeps the last ashes into the urn, Vanira approaches her. She’s wearing a weary smile as she outstretches her hand. In it is a necklace with a carved wooden pendant.
“Here,” she says, her voice shaky with grief and exhaustion, “this has been passed down through generations in our family. Zuni would have passed it on to his son, but under these circumstances I know he would want you to have it.”
“Vanira I-I can’t take this…” Vartokk whispers, shying away from Vanira’s hand.
“If you love my son the way he loved you, then there is no one more suited to wear this pendant,” Vanira says, her voice stern as she steps forward. Maneuvering the leather strap over Vartokk’s hair, Vanira steps back, admiring the necklace for a moment before walking away.
Vartokk lifts the pendant from her chest, and stares at the fine detail of the miniature tiki mask. The small black eyes are set back and the bright colors on the face swirl in a beautiful tribal design. Wrapping her hand around the charm, she closes her eyes, fighting back tears. The pendant will be her most valued possession going forward and will serve as a reminder to never leave her heart vulnerable again.
Turning to go up the stairs of the Sen’jin Inn, Vartokk decides to try and sleep. Setting the urn beside her, she lays down, and for the first time all day, allows herself to feel the pain and exhaustion she has been fighting all day. It isn’t long before she slips into a fitful sleep.
For what seems like hours, Vartokk watches the flames until all that remains of her beloved is the ash that will be buried in his – their – favorite spot come tomorrow. She can feel the pain in her chest as she thinks back to the times they spent atop the mountain where the salty sea air crosses with the dry desert breeze. The smells are always intriguing. She remembers how the scent of the jungle and desert intermingle to create a mixture of sweet desert flowers and dense green undergrowth. It is the only place she knows where she can regain her composure, lost in a sensory bliss as she breathes in the world of smells. Zuni and he had escaped there often.
Snapping her from the happy memories, Vartokk feels a heavy hand being placed on her shoulder. She does not recognize the touch and a flash of fear runs through her body. She freezes, her eyes snapping open, waiting for a voice to match it.
“Vartokk,” she hears the heavy orcish accent. Her muscles relax as she turns slowly to face the orc. She is surprised to see the Horde’s warchief, Garrosh Hellscream, standing behind her, a solemn expression on his face.
“Warchief,” she whispers, giving him a small bow. She can see Vol’jin standing behind him, looking uncertain about Hellscream’s unexpected visit.
“Vol’jin has told me about your successes in your training. Very impressive, young troll,” he says curtly, “I implore you, do not let this deter you from fighting for the Horde. Do not waste your time better spent ridding Azeroth of the Alliance.”
Garrosh walks away, leaving Vartokk with a confusion of emotions. She had almost expected him to sympathize with trolls. After all, they are members of the Horde, and his soldiers.
Vol’jin steps forward, “I thinkits time ya be leavin’ Garrosh. Ya’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Hold your tongue, troll,” Garrosh fumes, stepping toe-to-toe with Vol’jin, “Remember who you’re talking to. I’ve removed you from Orgrimmar. Don’t make me take further actions.”
Garrosh spits on the ground at Vol’jin’s feet, and begins to walk away. Without thinking, Vartokk raises her bow, directing an arrow at Garrosh’s back. Za’tarri springs to action, forcing her arm down before the warchief takes full notice of her hostile actions.
“Now is not da time,” Za’tarri whispers.
A wildfire of anger burns through Vartokk’s veins as she places the arrow back in the quiver on her back. She glares after Garrosh as he climbs onto the saddle of an armored riding worg. Meeting her gaze, Garrosh sees the hatred in them and smiles, a sickening, malevolent grin. Her fingers tighten around her bow, itching to shoot an arrow right into the evil mans heart.
“Remember who you fight for, troll,” Garrosh sneers.
“I fight for da Darkspear. I follow Vol’jin no matta his path,” Vartokk says defiantly, her chest swelling with pride.
In a blur of speed, Garrosh jumps off the wolf and strides over to her. Grabbing her throat and squeezing, he lifts her from the ground.
“Remember who has given your pathetic race a home. A safe haven!” he booms, tightening his grip, “I can just as easily take it away!”
Vartokk’s vision begins to fade to black, but just before darkness consumes her, she is dropped to the ground. Looking up, she sees Za’tarri and Vol’jin standing with their backs to her, weapons brandished. She gapes at the scene as Vol’jin speaks.
“I have not forgotten who has given us a new home. Thrall an’ his warriors were kind ta my people. I will fight ta my demise in his name, not da disgrace of a creature who took his place in absence.”
Silence engulfs Sen’jin Village as Vol’jin’s words sin into everyone’s minds. Looking around as she stand, Vartokk notices the warchief is surrounded by members of the Darkspear tribe, ready to strike him down at the slightest wrong move. She stands, pulling her dagger from its sheath and holding it by her side.
“Ya’ve come to da wrong place ta disrespect da leader of da Darkspear, Garrosh,” Za’tarri scolds.
Narrowing his eyes, Garrosh steps closer to Vol’jin. All of the villagers step with him, keeping him within arm’s reach. Inches from Vol’jin’s face, Garrosh threatens, “Watch your back, pathetic creature. Your pets won’t always be here to protect you, and I won’t make the mistake of coming alone again.”
Returning to his worg, Garrosh rides into the pitch black night.It is only long after he is gone that the villagers begin to relax, lowering swords and bows. The tension remaining among everyone causes the eerie silence to linger in the village.
Vartokk turns from the group, focusing her attention on Zuni’s ashes. Gathering them, she sweeps them into a carved wooden urn she made while his body was being prepared. On its face, intricate tribal carvings surrounds Zuni’s family crest. On each side, pictures of Vartokk and Zuni wearing warm smiles like they had every time they saw one another.
As she sweeps the last ashes into the urn, Vanira approaches her. She’s wearing a weary smile as she outstretches her hand. In it is a necklace with a carved wooden pendant.
“Here,” she says, her voice shaky with grief and exhaustion, “this has been passed down through generations in our family. Zuni would have passed it on to his son, but under these circumstances I know he would want you to have it.”
“Vanira I-I can’t take this…” Vartokk whispers, shying away from Vanira’s hand.
“If you love my son the way he loved you, then there is no one more suited to wear this pendant,” Vanira says, her voice stern as she steps forward. Maneuvering the leather strap over Vartokk’s hair, Vanira steps back, admiring the necklace for a moment before walking away.
Vartokk lifts the pendant from her chest, and stares at the fine detail of the miniature tiki mask. The small black eyes are set back and the bright colors on the face swirl in a beautiful tribal design. Wrapping her hand around the charm, she closes her eyes, fighting back tears. The pendant will be her most valued possession going forward and will serve as a reminder to never leave her heart vulnerable again.
Turning to go up the stairs of the Sen’jin Inn, Vartokk decides to try and sleep. Setting the urn beside her, she lays down, and for the first time all day, allows herself to feel the pain and exhaustion she has been fighting all day. It isn’t long before she slips into a fitful sleep.