brewfest
Author's Note: Vol'jin, Saurfang, Orgrimmar, Brewfest, and the like are all copyright Blizzard Entertainment, used without permission or profit.
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It was a hot autumn day in Orgrimmar, or more accurately, just outside of it. Warchief Vol'jin reclined on his chair near the keg in a place of honor, lazily watching the Horde soldiers and civilians laughing and drinking.
He had done the ceremonial tapping of the keg for years now, ever since Chen had introduced the Horde to the Brewfest holiday, but this was the first time he had done it as Warchief. They showed him the proper respect, as always, but he was pleased to see they were far more relaxed than they usually were.
The campaign on Draenor was drawing to a close, and his commanders there informed him that that world's Hellfire Citadel would fall soon. Finally another threat would be gone, although it had cost far too many of his people's lives as it were. All of his people, not just the Darkspear, for he viewed them all as his family.
He took a swallow of his own mug and closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing in the sun. There was laughter and yelling all around him as most of the attendees gossiped and bragged. His people were happy for once, and Azeroth was enjoying a rare peace. The rebuilding from the civil war had been painful, but it seemed like it was finally working out.
"Enjoying yourself, Warchief?" a voice asked from behind him.
Vol'jin glanced around and smiled slightly at Saurfang as he approached. "Ya, mon. Ju know dis be my favorite time."
The older warrior approached him and stood beside him, crossing his arms. The various races of the Horde mingled and laughed together. Even the normally aloof blood elves were joining a few of their brethren in an orcish drinking song. Vol'jin took another drink of his beer and watched silently for a moment until Saurfang spoke.
"You should be proud, Warchief. This is because of you."
"I'm sure dey be able to have Brewfest without me helpin'."
"That's not what I'm referring to. I mean all of this," the orc said, waving his hand. "You helped build this."
"Thrall be doin' most of the work," Vol'jin explained. "If anyt'ing, he saved us."
"We would have starved in the desert without the Darkspear before we even got Orgrimmar built," Saurfang argued. "You do not give yourself enough credit. You held us together through some terrible times."
Vol'jin smiled slightly at him. "Well, I t'ank ya for da kind words," he said, looking back over the crowd again. His seat was slightly elevated and he could see them quite well. Many wore tabards and armor that they obviously got from the newest Draenor campaign. The shadow hunter somewhat painfully noted how young many of them appeared to be.
I've been doing this longer than I thought.
Still, that was a concern for another time. Now an incredibly unusual scenario had presented itself - peace. Even the Alliance seemed fairly disinterested in a conflict. For the first time since Vol'jin could remember, his people, his Horde, would be safe and happy, assuming the Draenor campaign wrapped up soon and in the way he expected.
Then why did he feel so ill at ease?
He finished his beer and gave himself a refill, thinking. Despite the relative good mood he was in during the day with the positive situation the whole of Azeroth seemed to find itself in, at night his sleep had been . . . fitful to say the least. He had tried to ask the spirits for guidance, only to find them largely silent.
All he knew was something was coming. He would be ready for it.
A drunk goblin girl bumped into his leg and fell down. She hiccuped an apology to him and he waved her off, laughing. When she left, he glanced over at Saurfang again. The orc had sat down on a crate beside him and was also watching the soldiers run around drunkenly, trying to sample all the beers.
"Varok?" Vol'jin asked quietly. He rarely used the orc's first name. Even if he was his Warchief, it seemed odd still.
"Sir?"
"Do ju t'ink dis can last? Dis peace?"
Saurfang frowned slightly. "I don't know. It never has . . . But I think you would be the most likely to be successful of anyone. The Alliance seems to give you the respect you deserve, or at least pretends to. I think if that's what you want, then you can make it work."
Vol'jin nodded absently, running his hand through his red mohawk and looking at the crowd as they celebrated. They were so relaxed and so happy. Maybe he was over-analyzing things? Maybe the spirits were quiet because there were no threats to be worried about? Maybe the beginning of his rule really would be that sort of impossible miracle as a peaceful world?
Or maybe there was something else he needed to prepare for entirely?
"Saurfang?"
"Sir?"
"Jus' so ya know, I be keepin' da tap for da Brewfest ceremony in a box behind my bed."
Saurfang raised an eyebrow at him. "Why would I want to know that, Warchief?" he chuckled.
Vol'jin looked at him for a moment, then chuckled as well. "Oh, it jus' da beer talkin'. It be nothin'."
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