7.
Blood and Thunder. It was a common saying among orcs, but today Vol'jin would make it true of the trolls as well. Months of silent, secret preparation were about to come to fruition. The Darkspear were mounting their attack on the Echo Isles. It was time to bring an end to Zalazane's corruption. It was time to return home. Skin war drums were beaten mercilessly by fervent rythmists and a loud, shrill gong called out, it's voice carried on the wind with the prospect of good fortune. Scores of trolls from all over Orgrimmar and at least two dozen other champions sat perched on the shore outside Sen'jin Village, waiting patiently for orders from their Raptor-mounted leader.
Among the congregated masses Vol'jin could recognize many faces. A female Tauren warrior who had aided the Darkspear the day they landed in Durotar after fleeing the Sea Witch. An Orc who had struggled to find himself in battle, now wandering aimlessly in Orgrimmar looking for purpose. And there, atop a massive woolly beast, a tiny face concealed by a mask. Vol'jin swallowed hard, the pressure of the mounting offensive weighing heavy on him. The time to act was soon, he didn't have long to dawdle. He kicked his clawed heel into his raptor, demanding it move.
Upon their mounts Armadda just about came eye-to-eye with Vol'jin. She seemed to be ignoring his presence until he came to a stop beside her. She turned her head to face him, but remained silent. Around them a wave of activity whirled and flew, but between the two there was stillness. A momentary reprieve from the worries of impending war. The Darkspear troll looked upon his friend. Armadda was ready to see Vol'jin's people return to their home. Her voodoo mask had been painted red, a white dash splashed diagonally across the center. It seemed to Vol'jin like a reference to a troll shaman's Fire Totem. His heart sang in his ears that the little blast monk had done some independent work to make the mask relevant both to her and to his tribe. Though Armadda still seemed stirred by their parting a month ago, she winked at him from behind the thick jungle wood.
"Take luck, Chief." she said, an uncharacteristically somber tone in her voice. Many words wished to leave Vol'jin's mouth, confess to her his confusion, confide in her his uneasiness before the battle, but they all seemed to get stuck together, forming a great lump in his throat. It was becoming difficult to breathe. He settled on a nod and held his hand out over the gap between them. Armadda quickly, forcefully, clasped her hand around his wrist, and the troll did the same. He gripped her solid and steady for as long as he could bear to hold her gaze in his.
"Spirits be wit'cha, Armadda.". Vol'jin leaned forward, pulling the human close to his chest and gripping the cloak on her back with his free hand. She seemed momentarily stunned, face pressed firmly against him, then she gently lifted a hand to Vol'jin's neck, resting her fingers between a few loose strands of his mohawk. Bur-Hok moved underneath the woman, he was growing restless in this crowd of carnivorous beasts. Armadda broke the embrace to stay on her mount, adjusting her mask as it had been shifted in the sudden collision.
Vol'jin took one last look at her before pressing his raptor on. It was time.
Armadda had been knocked clean off her Rhino. A stray bolt had hit her as they came barreling into the village. Vol'jin watched it happen, keeping as close eye on her as he could in the ensuing battle. She went down hard, but found her balance relatively quickly, dodging the stomping, crushing feet of other champions atop their ride. Primal voices called out amongst the roars and cries of animals, ahead, fire had already begun to spread across the dry island brush.
The mindless trolls were simply hallowed shells of the proud warriors they once were, but they were no less deadly, especially in a mob. Armadda threw her fists, quick and sharp, and landed several good, hard hits, the last of which sent a firebolt hurtling directly into the midsection of an assailant, causing him to soar into the sky from the impact. Her dominant leg swung wildly, catching an enemy in the jaw, just below his tusk. She used the momentum from the hit to wheel her body around and dig Bearclaw into the neck of an enemy. His guttural cry rang through the trees. But looming in the darkness, a fighter readied to take advantage.
Jun'do the Traitor leapt from the roof of a nearby hut, axe brandished in outstretched arms. Vol'jin bristled, Armadda did not see him. The troll kicked forcefully at his steed, beckoning him forth urgently, swearing in Zandali. The raptor screeched in response, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The Darkspear leader, blood pumping wildly in his veins, teeth clenched, fangs bared in violent rage, leapt from his mount and tackled Armadda's assaulter in the chest, his tusks etching vibrant red gashes into the traitors' flesh. He screamed in bloody agony, gripping with dagger-like claws into his former chieftain's back. Vol'jin barely registered the pain as he knelt atop his victim, pounding his rigid fists into the other troll's skull with every bit of force he could muster.
The zombie trolls, sensing the shift in balance, turned from their other fights and began to converge on the two combatants struggling on the ground. After regaining her composure, Armadda began the task of fending off the attackers. A flashy show of swift movement combined with powerful magic cast the surrounding jungle greenery in a smattering of deep crimson blood and brightly painted fur. Jun'do took advantage of the momentary distraction and kicked Vol'jin from his prone body just enough to wriggle free. Wheezing, the troll slithered off toward the village in the distance, hissing a warning on his exit.
Vol'jin was ready to give chase, but as he re-mounted his raptor a flood of hexed servants descended on the area. Ahead, the war resumed, the clattering of tusks and the singing of enchanted weapons finding their mark filled the air. Fresh blood and smoke wafted on the island breeze and it compelled the troll forward. But here, far behind where she fell, Armadda had her hands full bringing up the rear. A few stray fighters filled the space between her and the village, but they were tied up in a battle of their own. They would be no aid to her. Armadda wheeled around to face him, hair flailing wildly, her blue eyes fierce and vibrant from behind her mask.
"What're you doing!? Go! Get after him!", she yelled. Vol'jin opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. His words were all colliding in his throat again, stuck somewhere between passion, frustration and rage. Armadda bared her teeth and growled at him.
"I'll be fine! I promise!". That was all he needed to hear. Since he had known her, Armadda had been transparent and truthful, even when it was painful or far from beneficial, and Vol'jin was not about to start doubting her again. If she promised she would live to see the end of this battle, he would trust her to do so. A sudden weight seemed to lift from the Darkspears' chest and his departure from the clearing was immediate and swift. As he flew further toward the village, glaive in hand, his mount dodging, weaving, and jumping over foes, the sounds of the fight far behind him dwindled into nothing - save for a loud explosion and the heavy falling of island trees. Vol'jin did not pause or even look behind. He pressed forward with determination and confidence.
Bwonsamdi's visage transcended the puny battle-weary soldiers below him. He towered over the group, corpses at his feet, with a menacing chuckle, a crooked grin across curved tusks. Zalazane was dead and the island had been liberated of his foul voodoo. With his mission accomplished, Vol'jin stood tall before the Loa, by his side, an absolutely blood-soaked human woman. Armadda had caught up to the party as Zalazane breathed his last, callously and unceremoniously, true to her word. A very razzled rhino mooed cautiously nearby. Before dispersing, the fearsome Spirit gazed down upon the crowd, his smirk reducing slightly.
"Fire, eh? We shall see." Bwonsamdi's great arm reached across the battlefield and massive, clawed fingers flicked Armadda's voodoo mask clean from her face, the force of the impact knocking the tiny human to the ground with a weighty 'thud'. Vol'jin froze and Bwonsamdi was gone.
Armadda sat upright, blood pouring from her nose, but she did not stand. Vol'jin could see her arms and legs quake. She was exhausted, and likely terrified. The battle had been won, but today was not over for them.