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Finding A Way

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Vol’jin sighed as he stood in the Necropolis in Nazmir. He glanced up at the night sky, trying to organize his thoughts and make sense of the past couple of days. He, Baine, and Talanji had been trying to find answers as to why his spirit was stuck in this odd kind of limbo. Not even Bwonsamdi had an answer for it.

Vol’jin growled. His spirit could not pass on to the other side, nor could he rest. His memories from the time he had died to the time Talanji had called to him were dark and fuzzy. He could not remember who had told him to name Sylvanas as Warchief either.

Talanji and Baine were determined to find answers though. They were going to return to the Zandalari capital in the morning. Right now, they were sleeping.

“Ya know, Vol’jin,” said Bwonsamdi as he appeared. “Since ya be awake and restless, ya could use dis opportunity to visit an old friend.”

“What ya be talkin’ about, Bwonsamdi?” Vol’jin asked.

Bwonsamdi pointed out to the jungle of Nazmir. “In da jungle, dere be an Alliance outpost, a foothold where dey have dug their heels in. Da Horde and Zandalari not be aware of it. In dat outpost, dere be a certain human, a hunter, one dat ya know very well,” grinned Bwonsamdi as he put an emphasis on the words very well.

A torrent of emotions surged through Vol’jin. Anger and hate at the Alliance being here, happiness at the thought that his human was alive and so close, and fear because Tyrathan being here put the human in a dangerous spot.

“As a spirit,” continued Bwonsamdi. “I bet dat ya could slip in and see him without anyone noticin’.”

“Maybe,” muttered Vol’jin.

“We both know what ya mean by dat. I be seein’ ya when ya get back,” chuckled Bwonsamdi as he walked away.

Following Bwonsamdi’s directions, Vol’jin found the Alliance outpost easily. To their credit, it was well concealed in some troll ruins. Using his new abilities as a spirit, Vol’jin slipped past the guards on watch. Once inside the camp, it did not take Vol’jin long to find Tyrathan’s tent.

Vol’jin stepped inside the tent and smiled when he saw his human asleep in his bedroll. It had been so long. He had missed Tyrathan so much. Vol’jin knelt down beside Tyrathan. Brushing Tyrathan’s hair back, Vol’jin gave him a soft kiss on his forehead.
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Since arriving in Nazmir, Tyrathan Khort had been plagued with dreams. They were all different, but they had one common thread running through all of them: Vol’jin.

Sometimes, Tyrathan dreamed of him and Vol’jin and they were back at the Shadowpan Monastery. Sometimes, they were in Stranglethorn. Other times, they were at Trueshoot Lodge in the Broken Isles. Then, there were the times were the two of them were in places that Tyrathan recognized only from the descriptions that he had heard, such as Orgrimmar or the Echo Isles.

Sometimes, Vol’jin was alive in these dreams, and sometimes he was dead, or in some kind of limbo. These dreams felt so real, and after each one, Tyrathan woke up feeling like his heart was about to break. Vol’jin was dead and gone, and these dreams were all Tyrathan had left.

Tonight was no different. Tyrathan was not completely asleep, but not fully awake either. This was when his mind liked to torment him the most. He could almost hear Vol’jin’s footsteps and smell his scent. He could feel Vol’jin’s hand push back his hair and his tusks brush against his face as the troll pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

“My manthing,” purred Vol’jin in a soft whisper.

Tyrathan squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to open them. He knew he would see nothing if he did. That was how it always was. He willed himself to sleep as hot tears slid out of his face and down his cheeks.
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Vol’jin frowned as he saw Tyrathan crying in his sleep. He wiped the tears off Tyrathan’s face. He lay down beside Tyrathan and held his human in a hug.

“Shh, it be okay,” whispered Vol’jin.

Slowly, the crying stopped and Tyrathan’s breathing evened out to the point where Vol’jin knew that Tyrathan was in a deep sleep. Vol’jin just continued to hold his human as he slept. It was not like Vol’jin needed to be any where at this moment, and it was so nice to hold his human again.

How long had it been since he had done this? A couple of years? The last time had been the night before Vol’jin left the Shadowpan Monastery. Back then, he had not wanted to leave Tyrathan, but the hunter had decided to try to work things out with his wife.

Right before the Broken Shore, Vol’jin had heard from one of his spies that Tyrathan and his wife had divorced. She had gone on to remarry Morelan Vanyst almost immediately. After the Legion had been dealt with, Vol’jin had intended to reach out to Tyrathan and let him know that Vol’jin’s feelings had not changed, but dying had put a stop to that plan.

As morning drew closer, Vol’jin knew that he needed to leave. He slowly unwrapped himself from Tyrathan and sat up. He pulled the blanket up to Tyrathan’s chin and tucked him in. He then gave Tyrathan another light kiss.

“Stay alive,” whispered Vol’jin. “I be findin’ a way back to ya.” He then slipped out of the tent and headed back to the Necropolis.