A/N: violence toward the end.
There was a slight breeze flowing through west Gorgrond that night and the canopy around the clearing rustled as the leaves brushed up against one another. It felt cool in the otherwise humid climate, marking the windiest day the group had faced yet in the region.
Cecilia rested her chin on top of her knees, which she had pulled right up against her chest. She stared into the surface of the wellspring, having not said a word for a long time after she finished the very last chapter of her story. She wasn't tense like when she had spoken about Theramore, but she seemed very down.
As much as he had been fascinated by her story and relieved to see that someone else had recovered from both the horror of Warsong Gulch and having hit rock bottom afterward, he still felt the guilt. It wasn't like the guilt he felt for the prisoners he had tortured; this was entirely different in a way he couldn't explain. His natural inclination would have been to blame himself for her dampened mood, but he knew she wouldn't blame him this time.
"Ya feelin' down cause ya ain't as far along in findin' that inner peace as ya led me ta believe tha first night," he whispered as he leaned his head closer.
She nodded, still staring at the ripples in the water as the wind moved across the surface. "Yes."
"But it's silly," he said, refusing to patronize her. "Cause ya know I'm someone ya ain't gotta feel embarrassed in front of for anythin'."
"Yes."
"And…" He felt silly himself with the realization that he hadn't waited before opening his mouth. "…and me sayin' that won't stop ya from feelin' embarrassed."
She elbowed him in the side, flashing a half-smile his way. "And if you say sorry, I'm going to hit you a second time, too."
"Thank ya," he chuckled, "for tellin' me. But not for ya elbow."
They both turned to the sky now, debating whether or not any of the constellations they spied were also visible on Azeroth. Given that Cecilia spent several millennia memorizing every single constellation every single night, the debate was slightly one-sided. Khujand didn't mind losing most of the time – though not at golfing with severed heads – and she was a gracious winner as long as he took everything in a stride. It seemed to help, as far as he could tell, that he enjoyed listening to her so much; despite being so reserved in front of the others, she was still talkative when they were alone, even after having exhausted so many of her stories from the past.
There was still something else burning in the back of his mind, and she felt it before he even asked. It was amazing how she rarely seemed to tire from it all.
"Ask," she laughed as she finally placed her hands on the sand behind her and leaned back.
He crossed his legs in front of him, straightening up his back. "I didn't say anythin'."
She smirked evilly like he had seen Irien do that day. "My elbow wants you to ask."
"Immortality."
She turned all the way over to him now, giving him a completely puzzled look. "I told you throughout my stories, when I was musing on my own naiveté about the outside world and how all those millennia hadn't prepared me."
Khujand stared down into his lap before turning to face her as well. "But ya didn't tell me about it endin'," he said as he swiveled. "How did it feel ta lose it? Ya spent so long livin' under tha assumption that ya would never die, then after one battle, tha Battle of Mount Hyjal where both ya and me served, it's like…nope. Now ya gonna die one day. Party's over."
Cecilia peered at him with an arched brow before relaxing into an almost sympathetic smile. "I guess that it's easy for me to reconcile the contradictions because I've lived them, but since you only know one side - morality - there's a lack of context." She curled up and crossed her legs in front of her as well, popping the joints in her ankles as she did so. "I loved immortality when we had it because I was ignorant. I don't regret having been ignorant at that time, just as I don't even regret the awful things I went through at Theramore and Booty Bay. But I love morality, too. I love it. I embrace it. And I wouldn't ever want to go back to the way things were."
Khujand scratched the back of his neck as he spoke. "Ya must think I'm dense ta not get it-"
"Never!" she said with a reassuring smile while slapping his wrist. "We understand the world through our own subjective experiences. Neither you nor I are dense if we don't 'get' something, we're just being ourselves with our own backgrounds."
"Ah...that's a very kind thing ta say," he muttered as he looked down, his ever-present anxiety making itself known as he gradually tried to build toward the topic of her present. "But ya said tha Long Vigil was borin', and that ya were a drone without individuality."
"One-hundred percent."
"And that ya feel like ya womenfolk were livin' in a dream like tha menfolk, cause ya didn't know things like avarice, poverty, internal conflict, dishonesty and so forth."
"We were drones, like I said. Hollow. We did the same things every week, had the same conversations, the same opinions even. We were nothing because we felt nothing. We just ate when we were hungry and slept when we were tired." She had already explained this to him throughout her stories, but the way she leaned close to him and would punctuate the occasional point with her hands indicated what Khujand assumed was her enthusiasm for a curious ear.
His fascination with the way she spoke and the sheer amount of history she had with her momentarily distracted him from the goal he was dancing around. "And ya wouldn't want, for example, ta live in this 'brave new world' plus have immortality at tha same time?"
"No, absolutely not," she said with a confident wave of one hand. "If we had immortality, a few of us would have ventured out but the rest of us wouldn't have been able to change, to feel, to fall in love with life again like we were before the Sundering." She breathed a long, drawn out sigh toward the sky before looking back to him, appearing entirely comfortable with his red eyes locked onto her silvers. "I don't remember the Long Vigil well because everything, every day blends together in my memory like it didn't matter. But I remember the time before immortality well even though it was so long ago. I remember it because we saw people grow old and die on the banks of the Well of Eternity. We were mortal and so we were normal. Immortality is not normal."
Khujand stroked his upper lip with one finger. "We need death ta love life," he murmured without realizing the button he had just pushed.
Cecilia's eyes grew wide and she suddenly jerked up, speaking excitedly like Irien would. "Yes! By the night, yes! That's exactly it!" She placed her hands back in the sand to readjust her sitting position speedily despite not having any apparent need to do so. Khujand's heart jumped again, and he was hypnotized by her sudden engagement, a grin on his face that he knew must have looked dumb.
"I can't stand it," she continued hurriedly as though she were arguing with someone, "if I hear other Kaldorei lamenting over the loss of immortality, the loss of stupid isolation, the loss of the Long Vigil when we did the same things over and over all the time. The Scourge lead more fulfilling 'lives.' It was beautiful during its time...so beautiful. Even if it was boring, we thought we were content. Not happy because that's too strong an emotion, but content. But to go back again? Even our first civilization before the Sundering, before Queen Azshara became corrupted; I was so happy, my parents and sister and I were a happy family, but I wouldn't go back. Its time is passed and we must learn how to really value the dwindling days we have on this world."
She breathed deeply and puffed her chest up in a comedic, exaggerated fashion as they both laughed and he could have sworn her eyes twinkled at him. "We could never love life if we weren't able to lose it. That's why I'm not even sad that I will die soon."
His heart stopped after having beaten so quickly, and for a split second he was worried that he was experiencing some sort of medical issue. Khujand was literally paralyzed until he felt a squeeze on his hand. Even the sound of that husky voice laughing couldn't cheer him up.
"Khujand, you're the silly one now," she chortled as she tried to pinch his cheek. "You should see the look on your face!"
"I ain't got a look."
"You look more upset than me when I first considered my own death."
"No I don't."
"That's so sweet, to be concerned over my statement."
"Only a little."
"You and Irien are the only ones to react that way."
"I don't...react! Cause I...um...proact! Ya projectin' onta me!"
As she pulled her hand away and leaned far over to her side with laughter, he realized that the squeeze had been from her fingers wrapped in his palm. He could feel the muscles in his face tense as he frowned like a cantankerous child and pretended to examine her moon glaive lying in the sand.
Cecilia straightened up as she finished laughing, her mood far better than it had been after initially finishing her story. Despite not having a reason to, she scooted so close to him that her knees were almost touching his. The same alarm bells from that first night, when she had stalked him and watched him dancing, were back.
"Would you like me to qualify that statement?" she asked with her chin resting on the top of her hand.
"As ya like," he huffed, trying so hard to contain his obvious distraught feeling.
"Alright. Look, 'soon' to me is different than for you. You know how when those of you with shorter lifespans are about to die, many of you feel it a day or so before? Or a week? You don't have proof, but you know with certainty that it's coming?"
Without realizing what he was saying, Khujand opened up about his life before Warsong Gulch, picking at a scab he didn't remember he had. "My daddy knew it was comin' three days before his heart failed him," he said as he watched the surface of the pool of water ripple. "He predicted it down to tha exact time of tha third day when it came." He shut his eyes once he realized he had blurted out something so unrelated to the experiences with war crimes and physical and mental prisons they had been sharing. That hadn't been their goal in trying to console one another; it had no relation to either their shared guilt or their paths to recovery. He felt so childish to mention something so unrelated, something which must be so completely irrelevant to her life.
Yet when he opened his eyes after hearing no response, he saw that she was upset too. She frowned sympathetically in a way that made his comment feel less unwanted. She shook her head quickly as though she hadn't realized she had been staring again.
"I'm...I'm very sorry to hear that, Khujand," she murmured, her eyes comforting him in a way that made him feeling even more embarrassed for burdening her with a topic that couldn't be of any importance to her. The sound of her saying his name didn't quite cheer him up this time, but the fact that she hadn't simply brushed it aside without caring was heartwarming.
"Not tonight, please. I'm sorry for mentionin' it."
She looked at him with the same expression for a moment, but obliged his fragility and pretended it hadn't happened, much to his relief. "Well...so you know how that happens. Sometimes, people feel it coming. Well, I feel it coming too, but I feel it with a lot more warning because a day for you is more like a century for me. And I'm sure now that I might have even less than a century left, maybe only half a century, but I know it's coming. I'm dying, by the standards of night elves. I know you saw it in my eyes the first night - the effects of my past addiction." She pointed to the dim, weak glow her eyes cast on her cheeks.
"Ta me, ya eyes are still tha most beautiful things I've ever seen," he blurted out in a tone that was far too soft. He froze upon realization of what he had just done.
You God damn moron, he berated himself inside. Why on Azeroth would you ever say that out loud; you screwed up twice already. Right at the moment that he felt the heat rising in his face, he saw Cecilia's cheeks begin to flush as well and they both laughed uncomfortably while looking at their own hands.
"That's a very kind thing to say," she said as shyly as he had said it earlier in the conversation. He was confused by her reaction; she had no apprehension about dancing so closely to him that first night. There was no reason for her to blush like him over the compliment, no matter how idiotic and probably unwelcome he thought it was.
He cleared his throat, fighting against another awkward silence. "Uh, and ya were sayin' that ya feel it comin' soon but not how non-elves understand soon?"
"Yes, right," she replied, her voice still slightly shaky. Slowly, her cheeks began to return to their normal color.
"Um, I know my lifestyle is catching up with me. For all our longevity, elven biology isn't designed to deal with the stuff I was hooked on. I'm not young, either - I was already two millennia old when immortality first started and that's beyond an average elven lifespan. Shalasyr, the sister-in-law of Lady Maiev, has already died of natural causes and she was slightly younger than me. I heard that Lamynia, the priestess who presided over our ancestral grove, recently died of old age as well. Irien has mentioned how Tyrande now has stress lines on her face, and how her husband Furion now has aches and pains in his bones like an older man of any other race. It isn't just me; all night elves born before the Sundering had already lived longer than normal elves should. Those born during immortality like Irien still have centuries ahead of them, but for those of us who saw the first Well of Eternity…Shandris…Jarod…Ralo'shan…me…I doubt most of us will see even the next half-century. A whole century from now, all of us will be dead and gone, I'm absolutely certain."
Though there was a hint of spite in Cecilia's voice at the mention of Tyrande's name - and a great reverence for Maeiv's - her voice still became weak at the end of her speech, and she winced as though she hadn't wanted Khujand to hear it. He obliged her fragility this time as it dawned on him that she was trying more to console herself with her words than him.
"I know for sure that ninety-nine percent of my lifespan has already passed, Khujand; ninety-nine percent. And I was content for most of it, but I wasn't truly happy. I was only happy before the Sundering and in the past two, almost three years.
"We believe in fate, you and I. And if we're sincere in that belief, then you know I don't regret the way it's turned out. I remember the good times and I hope for more in whatever little time I have left. And it's because I know that my time is limited that I value the handful of people and however much peace I've been granted in my life. I know it, and I accept it."
She paused and broke eye contact with him; she seemed to project a bit more false confidence this way, but he thought she must have known that her fake, unsure demeanor was more telling than her words. "I'm ready," she said unconvincingly to the sky.
Cecilia watched the leaves of the canopy rustle in the breeze as Khujand had done before, looking lost. For a split second, she had that wistful, melancholy look on her face come and go again, and it took everything he had, every ounce of willpower not to reach out and hug her tight and never let go. Unless she initiated it, his fear of offending her was too great.
With that voice of hers that reminded him of wind chimes, and a slightest of slight movement of her lips, she murmured. He knew for sure that she didn't realize he heard it, and suspected that she may not have even realized she was speaking out loud as he often did, but he knew he heard it.
"Where did my time go…"
So many times in those past four days, he had felt her probe right into his brain. He couldn't explain or prove it, but he knew with absolute certainty that she had. Yet he hadn't tried to do that himself; he didn't resent her doing it, but he felt he had no right himself. His curiosity was beyond restraint, now, and he examined her as she looked up toward that perfect night sky, the constellations and gaseous forms of the Twisting Nether shining down onto that face which he never grew tired of marvelling at.
And the more he tried to peer into those two silver windows, the more he felt like she wasn't ready to pass on from this life, like she wasn't as close to peace as she claimed, like she wasn't as calm about her dwindling time until death as she claimed she was. It killed him inside to understand that; he felt so strongly that she deserved that happiness and that it was unfair that of all people, she was still searching after so long.
The emotion was too intense and Khujand had to force himself to blink the feeling away and forced himself to open up the topic that was lingering at the back of his mind.
"So ya chose Ratchet as ya new home base?" he asked curiosuly, remembering the point he wanted to push toward. "Ya content ta live ya life there?"
Her eyes softened as she looked back, and his hopes increased as that warm smile returned to her.
"I am, actually," she started with her head slightly turned to the side as she looked at him. She seemed to appreciate the lighter subject. "Irien is an irreplaceable if unpredictable friend, and we have support and a whole community there. The presence of neutral organizations and goblin shipping also means that finding work on dry land shouldn't be difficult. And it's far, far more tame than Booty Bay. The whole environment is less 'skeevy,' as Irien says."
"I'm happy for ya, Cici," he said with a similar soft tone to before but without the regret for speaking so intimately. "It sounds like ya are on ya way ta recoverin' and havin' control of ya own life."
She nodded with a smile, but then began to stare him down with concern. It was that sort of peering, examining gaze that made him feel as though she knew what he was thinking before even he did. What was she seeing?
"I'm worried about you, though," she said with a sincerity that was touching. "I wouldn't have said that before because it wasn't my place and I didn't know if it would scare you, but I feel like I can say that now. You worry about where you'll go after the campaign is over and I wish I could tell you that you'll be fine, but you need to start planning before it's too late."
At that moment, Khujand somehow fought back every last particle of his own personality's being, and found a sort of gumption that was completely out of character. He was on the cusp of what he had been building toward now. He hadn't thought it would feel so easy to start.
"I ain't too worried," he said as nonchalantly as possible. "I've been thinkin' that I'll be headin' ta tha Barrens. Ratchet, specifically."
Cecilia was taken aback, though a curious look remained on her face. "Really? Ratchet?"
"Yeah. Ratchet."
Her mouth hung open ever so slightly, a small portion of her teeth visible as she sized him up and seemed, for the first time, to not know what he was feeling. "Why Ratchet?"
"Two reasons," he answered coyly without elaborating. She waited for him to finish but was only met with silence.
"Tell me." Her voice was cautious. His heart rate increased.
"Well, it's a port city. If I ever get tha itch ta visit somewhere else, I can hop on a boat. If I'm outta work, it's a place where recruiters congregate. If I get tired of tha people I meet, I can meet new people. If I wanna see desert, it's there in tha Barrens. If I wanna see grasslands, it's there. If I wanna see greenery and jungle, the oases are there. It's a gorgeous, diverse area that has access to tha world. And I wouldn't wanna live permanently in any place other than Kalimdor."
She was leaning in closer now, listening closely to what he was saying. He didn't know why she was so interested considering that his plans bore no relation to what had brought them together in the first place, but it gave a boost to his normally low self-esteem to have her listening like that. Sharing their stories and experiences was different; there was a tangible benefit in it for her, and his paranoia was always in the back of his head, doing its best to spoil any positive person-to-person interactions he had. But now, she was listening to what he had to say about life in the present. He could honestly say that it made him feel happy.
"And the second reason?" she asked with a slight tint to her cheeks and an irritated, almost-but-not-quite nervous waver in her voice. For the first time, she almost appeared visibly flustered.
There was no way to control his heart rate, even with the confidence boost. This is what he had been building up to. He planted his right fist into the sand and rotated his body away from her slightly, worried that facing her directly would be overwhelming.
"There's somebody I'd like ta see who will move there very soon."
He laid his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist, unable to make eye contact but able to speak with a calm, soft voice. He couldn't see her to know her facial expression but could tell that she was still facing him.
"Tell me about her." Her true reaction was hidden behind her curt tone.
"How do ya know it's a she?"
"Just tell me." Her entire demeanor was very guarded, like when she was in front of the others. But there was no turning back now; he would die if he didn't get it off his chest, whether he embarrassed himself beyond belief or not.
"There's somebody there. Somebody very special. Somebody who has been through so much hardship, and I don't mean 'oh, I was unemployed for a few months.' I mean real, downright rotten treatment from the world. She made a lotta mistakes and did a lotta wrong things herself; she wasn't an angel. But she hates the bad stuff she did, and that's more important. She knows tha bad she did cause she ain't bad herself; if she were, she wouldn't recognize what she did was wrong. She wouldn't beat herself up over it, she wouldn't hate herself.
"But she's wrong, ta hate herself. What she did was evil but she ain't evil, if she could only see the good that tha people in her life see in her. She is an example of someone who repented from her sins completely and didn't allow the evil, the downright ugliness of tha world ta corrupt her, didn't allow tha tragedy and trauma she suffered afterward ta destroy her. She fell in tha dirt and came out clean, if she could only realize that.
"She has so much ta share and give tha world, even if she doesn't think so. Tha people in her life love her so much and deep down, I know she wants ta love herself as well, and ta forgive herself. And she deserves that. She is thoughtful, kind, intelligent and strong, all without bein' conceited. She is...tha greatest person I have ever met, and I feel inspired whenever I'm around her."
Khujand closed his eyes for a moment as he faced toward the trees, slowly breathing in and holding one breath for a few seconds before letting it out. For the first time, he executed Kuma's breathing exercise correctly and it lowered his heart rate from the first try, if only slightly. His fingers and toes tingled with numbness as he realized that, despite his closed off, socially inept self, he had somehow managed to honestly say how he felt. Now, all he could think of was his curiosity at how she felt to have heard it.
Turning to her with a slight movement of his head, he saw that she had angled herself in the same direction he was facing while he was talking. Most of her face was still visible, as was the despondent frown she now wore. Her brow was furrowed with disappointment, and her refusal to look at him informed him of his foolishness before she even spoke.
"Khujand..." she started in a nervous tone barely above a whisper. "Look...I..." She trailed off as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
Stop, he thought. Stop. Stop. I'm sorry for bringing it up, sorry for projecting all my idealistic idiocy on you. Just stop. Please stop. It was my stupid fault for saying it. Just forget it happened like before. Pretend I never said all that.
Cecilia looked down toward her lap, rubbing the back of her neck like he had earlier. She wasn't blushing, her breathing was normal; there were no signs of a real reaction other than discomfort and perhaps even mild resentment. She turned her halfway toward him while continuing to look off in a different direction. "Why are you telling me this now," she said flatly without even raising her tone at the end like a real question.
His hopes dashed as quickly as they had been stupidly raised, Khujand looked off in the same direction, forcing a pathetically fake laugh and smarmy smirk on his face.
"Bah, I dunno…just words with no meanin', I guess. Just…yeah, nothin', right? Forget I said it. I'm ramblin' now. Don't pay no mind ta anythin' I'm sayin'."
Cecilia held absolutely still, and he recovered just enough to shove his moronic heart from his throat back down where it belonged. With another unconvincingly fake laugh at himself, he turned away pretending to scratch an itch on his temple as he blinked the tears away and cursed his blasted sensitivity. Her answer had been clear.
Those few moments they sat in deafening silence were mercifully broken by the sound of a whistle being carried from the camp to the clearing. Both of their ears pricked up, and through what was assuredly a miracle from whatever had created him, he forgot the selfish ache in his chest.
"Irien's distress signal," Cecilia said while reaching over and already donning her weapons. "Something is wrong."
Without a word or a second more of moping, Khujand was up and off, following right behind her as they rushed back toward the campsite, the sounds of dozens of growls and screeches already filling them with dread. He could sulk later; he had to repress his feelings for now and somehow force his brain into combat mode.
Back on the main road, the two of them began running. With her tower shield on her left arm and his hands empty, he was able to match her pace as the light brown topped with dark green of the forest whizzed by them. She shadowmelded, becoming a nearly invisible outline of a person before his very eyes though he could still hear her feet hitting the ground next to him. Anushka's screaming pierced the air above the canopy and Khujand pulled out his fel glaive as he ran. He slowed down slightly, knowing that as the more heavily armored person Cecilia should be out front. Her transparent form moved ahead though he stayed on her right, not wanting to lose sight of the phantom and then tumble over her.
Before the rows of trees ever dispersed at the slope next to the ledge, they could already see Irien perched atop the sheer rock wall overlooking the camp. Her position was a series of flashes as she fired and reloaded her hunting rifle at something below with a speed which he had previously though impossible. Any doubts he once held over her ability due to the ridiculous summersault she pulled off the first day were dispelled. She was a sight to behold, now, knelt down with the rifle's scope next to her calculating, unperturbed face.
He and Cecilia stopped briefly once they exited the main road and cleared the woods; how this had happened without them noticing was beyond them both. The corrupted podlings were all there, their sickly eyes glowing with a diseased orange hue as they clambered up the slope. There were at least thirty or forty of them, their soft, pedal-like bodies reaching no more than four feet high though their numbers were formidable. Vegnus has climbed up a tree – he seemed much better at climbing than defending himself – and was resigned to throwing stray branches down at the stubby creatures. They lurched forward much more slowly than Zorena had described, their movements jerky as though their minds were enslaved by a witch doctor's serum. At least another ten of them were scattered about on the ground near the ledge, corrupted orange juices flowing out of the bullet holes in their bodies. The talbuk was nowhere to be found.
The view of the camp itself was much more worrisome. Although Irien had managed to keep all but three of the podlings off the ledge, the possible source of their madness had already entered the camp. Yaromira knelt on the ground and was holding Anushka by the wrists, trying to calm her at the gaunt, commanding figure towered over the group. The spastic draenei was kicked her hooves into the ground and arching her back as she screamed in her native tongue, gripped by some sort of a seizure beyond her own control. Kiul was waving the clothes drying rack like a weapon at their interlocutor, attempting to hold it at bay, but the fear in his eyes made it more apparent that he was a common working man with no martial training.
As Cecilia charged forward into the mass of podlings nearest to the ledge itself, Khujand was able to spy what was confronting the three draenei. Standing tall, even taller than Khujand – perhaps ten feet in height – was a corrupt botani. Zorena had told them they were the defenders of the natural environment in Gorgrond and wouldn't bother him if he didn't bother them, but something was wrong. Through all the bullet holes Irien had ineffectively riddled through its bark skin, the same sickly orange glow seeped out, lighting the entire camp with its brightness. The cracks around its asymmetrically elongated joints swelled and pulsated as it stood before Kiul with a crooked, uneven gait, its head sagging down to the side. Whatever had infected the podlings and spread to the sick people near Beastwatch had obviously affected this forest person as well.
"Protect the civilians!" Cecilia shouted as she knocked over at least eight of the podlings with her shield. "I can handle these smaller ones!"
Khujand followed the seasoned soldier's orders, passing around the sea of rabid flower people as it washed over Cecilia. She knew how to handle herself better than he would, and he put the evening up until that point out of his mind as a dozen more podlings were upon her, leaping onto her back and swarming all over her arms as she spun and slashed half a dozen more in half with one swing of her glaive. More gunshots rang out as Irien picked off more of the podlings toward the end of the surge, thinning out their numbers.
Khujand realized that the botani was too close to the draenei for him to swing his double-bladed glaive safely; he couldn't risk hurting them. Eyeing the three podlings behind the botani instead, he flung the blade in their direction. Rotating in a circle as it flew in a straight line, it cut the three infected creatures in half. Unlike the triangular elven glaives such as Cecilia's, the trollish glaives such as Khujand's which were more like two-ended swords didn't return upon impact and his hands were empty as the corrupt botani turned to face him with its jerky, twitching movements.
He was already charging as he reached behind his back for his bone club, ready to meet the treeman's sagging head with his heavy, two-handed weapon. Just as the treeman leapt at him, the audible click of the chain bolted into the club's hilt struggling against the metal clip on his backstrap informed him that the piece which held it fastened in place was jammed. His entire diagonal leather strap jerked against his torso as his weapon refused to move, and it was pure luck that he was able to swing his forearm down and deflect the first scratch from the long, woody fingers with his metal bracer. The wooden body continued sailing into him even after the arm was batted out of the way, and the other hand clawed over Khujand's shoulder pauldron and scratched his right upper arm slightly.
The botani was taller but Khujand was heavier, and the jungle troll squeezed his arms around the treeman's waist despite its resisting him and spun, throwing it further away from the draenei toward the place where the ledge met level soil, right where Khujand himself had emerged from two and a half days ago. Despite its uneven and uncoordinated movement, the treeman landed on its feet safely if ungracefully, turning toward him again.
In a flash, he grabbed his combat knife and threw it at the sagging head, missing by at least two feet as his blade was lost in the darkness. The botani charged, its arms outstretched just a little too wide for its own good as the jungle troll experienced déjà vu from the wrestling matches back at the prison yard years ago.
"Ya wanna dance?!"
Khujand leapt forward to meet the treeman, wrapping his arms around its head and clasping his own hands together behind its neck. Ignoring the wooden claws digging into his shoulders, he sank his hips back and stepped even further behind with one foot, allowing his body weight to drag the treeman toward him. It wasn't until it finally picked up its sagging head that it noticed the troll's bent, padded knee sailing toward its midsection, the audible snap grabbing the attention of the whole camp despite the melee down the side of the slope.
"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr..." the botani groaned with a voice even deeper than Khujand's, its unnatural sound grinding the air like the rumble of the geysers the night before.
The force of the blow knocked the treeman straight out of Khujand's wrestling hold as it stumbled back at least three yards and lost its balance. From its left shoulder down to its waist, a deep, diagonal crack opened up as the sickly orange glow seeped out like corrupted blood and dripped onto the wooden leg. Though still 'alive,' the treeman's knees gave out as it fell and caught itself on the ground with its hands, its torso pulsating and bloating as though something had ruptured inside of its body.
Khujand should have simply hexed the treeman; even if voodoo didn't work well on such creatures, he could have at least cursed it into a shrunken version of itself, but his usually small ego swelled. A feeling of brash, arrogant triumph overrode the pretend Shadow Hunter's common sense and even his deep-seated paranoia as he stomped over to the botani and grabbed the back of its neck, pulling it up to look at him without restraining its arms.
He raised his free arm in preparation to smash apart the wooden head with one of his massive hammer fists, but as it sat up on its knees, the glow in the botani's infected eyes was even brighter than the voodoo shining in Khujand's own and its entire jaw cracked open at an impossible angle before he could jump away.
"Gah!" he growled as the first trail of disgusting orange vomit streamed out, staining over Khujand's left pectoral, upper arm and ribs.
He stumbled far back and lost his footing as the fluid burned his skin with a pain even greater than the prison officer's bullwhip and ate away at his flesh. His skin was already smoldering by the time he hit the ground, a strange hiss from the smoke rising from his left side distracting him even from the continued shots fired from Irien's rifle.
Like a puppet being pulled on strings, the botani arched its back and seemed to rise with no effort from its legs, its upper body floating up on its own accord as its feet merely dragged across the ground. Its body began to burst as more of the liquid shot out of the crack Khujand had broken into its torso, spilling forth at him like a projectile. Just when he had begun to stand, the jungle troll fell back again, scooting backward to get out of the way of the acidic stream. His burned skin bubbled like foam as the botani blood ate away his flesh faster than it could regenerate, and the pain sent him into a stupor that prevented him from doing anything other than crawling away.
The glow was faint in the crack after the second stream, but a rumbling in the treeman's belly indicated that a third was on its way. Khujand scooted back even more, his unscathed shoulder hitting the face of the sheer rock wall. Panic gripped his very being as he realized that he had nowhere left to back up, and straining his muscles on the left side to brace himself stretched the burning skin in a way which filled him with even more dread. The jerking, corpselike botani arched way back, as though it were preparing for another round of projectile vomit.
But he wasn't afraid now. He slumped against the rock wall, a sense of calm overtaking him as he sank. Shining silver metal gleamed in the moonlight as the dumbstruck troll could only lie there and watch the unstoppable force soar at least fifteen feet in the air and hit the ground at breakneck speed.
::THUD::
A shockwave ripped through the ground, actually causing physical pain to Khujand's back and feet as it surged in a circular pattern from behind the now frozen, paralyzed botani. Rocks and pebbles flew up off the ground as though a small, localized earthquake had shaken the ledge. And then, all was silent.
The treeman stood there with its uneven legs splayed outward, its upper body leaned forward slightly as time stood still. Suddenly, with almost no transition, what was once a single forehead suddenly became two separate template apart over a single face. What was once a single face open up into a two-headed wood monster. Two shoulders moved apart as that intricate black-and-silver design took the place of dark brown oak, all connected to a single waistline. Two legs moved apart, a sickly orange liquid spilling onto the ground and dissipating into a gaseous form as it made contact with the rock ledge. The botani's entire body was split, the two halves of a broken body falling to the sides as two halves of a broken shield greeted the relieved, lightheaded troll instead.
She crouched before him where his foe had once stood, her right knee on the ground as her arm was held in front of her, almost striking a pose after she had cut clear through the monster with her glaive. Her left foot was planted firmly on the ground as he left arm bearing her shield was held out behind her for balance. As she met his gaze and rose, the moonlight shone on the living embodiment of power and grace. As she strode over toward her injured comrade, dark azure ponytail waving behind her in the wind, he was too much in awe to notice Vegnus guiding the talbuk back to camp as Irien and Kiul carried a now still yet traumatized Anushka in front of the campfire, Yaromira already rushing over with a blanket as she stepped over the dead bodies of the flower people littering the ground everywhere.
"You should be more cautious, soldier," that breathy, quiet voice said without a hint of condescension as a single hand covered with plate armor over the top extended to him magnanimously.
Khujand reached up and accepted her right hand in his; her steady, strong, unshaking hand. The trembling which had been more psychological than physiological was gone as long fingers, feminine yet firm, wrapped around his.
The harrowing assault on their camp had passed and the entire group safe, their last day and night in west Gorgrond almost over. And as the most amazing being he had ever set his eyes upon led him back to the campfire to tend to his burns, Khujand could only marvel at how stupid he was, how foolish he could have been to imagine there being something more beyond four nights.