roland-emberlain

[roland-emberlain]

Remnants of Gilneas

-Effect and Cause-

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy puttered out, his voice both hoarse and breathless. They were the last gasps of someone who was not long for this world. He looked up to the figure looming over him, but his vision was beginning to go. He could no longer see clearly. The figure was just a blur as his vision lost focus.

“S'already done.”

The boy raised his hand towards the figure, and even as the shape of his hand slowly lost its form, he could tell something wasn’t right. His hand was short three digits. His thumb was barely hanging on. It nearly looked like a stump. His hand trembled. The rest of his body fared no better.

The formless figure began to take shape as he moved closer. It bent down, and the boy could only make out the two glowing orbs of his eyes. They were a golden orange, filled with hate, disgust and rage.

“We..” the boy licked his lips, “Made a m-mistake. P-Pleas-e..”  His eyelids became heavy, and it became harder and harder to keep them open – or was it the blood from his forehead that was beginning to pool in them?  “Mercy.. Ser..” he gasped out. It was becoming harder and harder for the boy to speak, as his throat dried up and tightened. His breath was labored. He was a dead man ten minutes ago, but he just didn’t realize it yet.

“Did you show my people ‘mercy’ when you slit their throats while they slept?”

He tried to explain himself -- That it wasn’t his idea. That he was just following orders.  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just guttural gurgles followed by a deep inhale, which offered no reprieve. The world was black, but he could still hear the figure walking a circle around him. The heavy thud of each armored footstep almost hurt his ears.

“Can’t promise you mercy.”  The figure spat out, “Can promise you’ll die here tonight in this courtyard, an’ I can promise that it’ll be slow an’ painful.. Yer lungs will fill up with fluid, an’ you slowly suffocate with each ragged, wretched breath you take.. But you wont be the only one who dies here tonight. Can promise you that.”  

He just wanted to see his family once more. He would give anything for it. He didn’t care about the riches of Gilneas. He would have never come here to hunt the Worgen. He would have never come to pillage. He’d have never bought into this whole bloody idea. The Worgen were supposed to be mindless beasts.. He would give anything to go back and change things. Maybe things would have been different. He should have left when he was given the chance.

The footsteps of the figure slowly sounded further and further away, until all that the boy could hear were distant screams and his own rattled breath.

He would suffer there, lying in the middle of the burned courtyard, for an eternity until his lungs filled with fluid and his body gave out. By morning, he was gone.

-Present Day-

Roland pulled his hood up as he made his way into the Old Gilnean territory. It had been some years since he’d last been back, though he thought of it often. More often than he’d like to admit, perhaps. His eyes scanned the landscape and felt his blood boil as he surveyed the destruction which lay before him. An eternal rain covered and oppressed this Kingdom of ruin. The last time that the Worgen had left this area, the din of battle raged all around him. But now he was met with a deafening silence. He walked familiar paths through a warzone whose front had long since departed. Abandoned siege machines, armaments and forward camps littered the grounds.

We can’t leave, Roland. This is our home.

For a moment, there was an overwhelming sense of comfort as he heard her voice. But as reality washed over him, the comfort was replaced by overwhelming anger. The scowl on his face darkened.  There were ghosts everywhere around Gilneas, no matter where he looked. Coming back to this place pained him. But still, he carried on down the path beside the Northgate Woods.

-There’s No Home For You Here-

“We just can’t, Roland.  I refuse to budge another inch!” Anilla pleaded as she grabbed onto his wrist and dug her feet into the ground in defiance among the trees of the Northgate Woods. She looked back at the others and lowered her tone, “We want to fight. We want to help!”

Roland looked over the band of survivors – it’d been weeks since the Wall fell, and while the worst of it was over, it was still incredibly dangerous. They were being hunted. By Forsaken. By opportunists. One by one, they were being picked off as they tried to defend their home. It made Roland feel utterly helpless, and that was a feeling he loathed more than any other.  Their pack of fourteen was now down to eight. Most of them were not warriors – they were merely common folk who’d never held a weapon in their lives. They’d maybe held a shovel, not a sword.

He pulled Anilla away from the group, his voice was hushed but firm, “They aint fighters, Anilla. They’re scared. They’re hungry. They’re tired. They need to get away from this place an’ seek refuge.”

Anilla stood determined in her defiance and shook her head, “You’re not giving them a chance, Roland!”

Roland pinched the bridge of his nose in growing frustration, “I’m tryin’ to give them a chance, Anilla! Look at them!” He motioned back to the group, which got their attention as the Worgen raised his voice. They cast their heads down, “This lot aint turnin’ no tide of battle. You’ll have them throw away their bloody lives. Be realistic.”

“They want to fight, my love.”

Roland grinded his teeth as he was pulled in two directions. He understood where she was coming from. He, too, was going to fight for his home. He knew these people would give their lives for that, too, when push came to shove. But they would be fodder. They needed to survive, so that his home could carry on.

“We’re goin’ to the Emberstone Mines. Can hide in the tunnels until I can find us a path out of Gilneas. Safely. That’s that.”

Anilla’s frown deepened, “You can be a real asshole without knowing it, Roland. Or maybe you do know and just don’t care. That makes it worse.” She turned on her heels and stormed back towards what was left of the pack.

Roland’s hardened gaze broke, if only for the smallest moment, before he steeled himself once again. Her words cut him, as they always did. He knew she spoke true. He would take her ire, if it meant that she and the rest of them survived.

The Pack quietly made their way into the Emberstone Mine.

It had been some days since the group had found themselves settled within the winding caverns of the Emberstone Mine. There had been a few close calls – Forsaken patrols which had dared enter the territory, but the group managed to stay one step ahead of them and remain hidden.

There was still some game on the plains outside of Tempest’s Reach, but Roland found the area too open for his liking. He couldn’t risk it, no matter how plentiful the bounty. Instead, he opted to hunt in his old territory – the Blackwald.  There was less to be found, but enough to get by. Through the evening hours, Roland stalked his prey until he’d collected enough to satisfy the hunger of his pack of eight. The rest was doing them good. He saw their spirits slowly returning as they ceased being on the run.

Those days in the Mine were as good as it got after the Wall fell. Until they weren’t.

Somewhere ahead of him in the Blackwald, he heard the snap of a fallen branch. His ear’s flicked instinctively, honing in on the direction. He set down the carcass of the deer that he’d just slain, got on all fours and dashed through the forest.

Crack, crack, crack, shuffle

The animal was close now. But it was on to his presence – after all, how could it not be? He was an armored Worgen rushing through the Blackwald. He could tell the animal was frantic by the way it moved towards the exit of the black forest. With each moment that passed, the closer the animal got.

“Please! No!” a Human male, possibly no older than eighteen, turned in his tracks and cowered in fear before the Worgen.

As Roland descended upon the human, he came up just short of the boy before looming over top of him. He was taken by surprise for a moment, his eyes widened as the boy curled into a defenseless ball. Roland quickly looked around, observing his surroundings. If there was one, then there were more likely in tow.

“P-please! Don’t!”

“Quiet.” The Worgen snarled out.

The boy screamed, but Roland was swiftly upon him. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up to his face. His mouth opened to a snarl, large deadly fangs before eyes filled with pure hatred.

“I said quiet!”

The boy quieted to a whimper in response, his entire body trembled in Roland’s grasp.

“How many more are with you?”

 The boy could hardly get a word out, he was terrified.

“Answer me if you value havin’ a lower half..” Roland growled, his grip tightened on the lad.

“J-Just o-one other.”

Roland’s ears twitched as he heard the click of a Pistol’s hammer.

“Drop him now, Dog, and place your hands in the air..” A confident voice came from beyond the trees behind him, “We don’t want any trouble.. We’re just here for the goods you lot’ll no longer need.”

Roland turned, holding the boy up between him and this newcomer. His eyes were alight with rage. He remained silent, but stood defiant.

“Thata boy. Now lower him and I won’t have to put a bullet in that mutt skull of yours..” The man took another few steps towards Roland. He was an older human, perhaps in his 40s. He had greased back hair, with a mustache that curled at the ends. He looked every bit of the piece of shit that he was. “Do it.”

Roland slowly lowered the boy until his feet dangled just an inch from the ground.

The man fired a warning shot into the air. Roland didn’t flinch, but the boy began to wet himself.

“I wont ask again, you dirty fuckin’ dog.”

Before the man could pull the hammer back on the pistol, Roland dropped the boy and lunged for him. Roland grabbed for the wrist which held the firearm and jerked it up into the air. The gun let off another shot, but now Roland held the man by both the wrist and the throat.

 “You don’t want trouble?” He exhaled in a deep, irritated huff, “You come to my home. You pillage an’ steal from my people.” The Worgen again breathed deeply, readying himself for the next few moments, “Oh, you’ve found trouble.”  Roland sunk his claws into the man’s wrist, causing him to let out a piercing scream. The man’s finger futilely pulled the trigger again and again before the pistol fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

Roland’s grip on the man’s throat tightened. The profiteer began to gurgle and choke. He began to kick and thrash. Another futile attempt as the human body began to fight against its own impending death. The Worgen stared the man down, who couldn’t meet him in the eye. He looked all over, perhaps for salvation, but there would be no salvation. There was only the brutality of his own final moments. Before long, the man ceased struggling. Roland’s grip tightened and there was a crack before the man’s body fell limp to the ground.

Roland turned back to the boy, who cowered against a tree, whimpering and muttering gibberish. Perhaps it was a prayer to his God. The Worgen stalked towards the boy.

“I-I-I j-just want t-to see my mother.” The boy blathered, “P-Please..”

Roland looked the boy over. He was a pathetic thing. Weak and frail. He had no mettle. No will. No purpose.

“What were you doin’ here?”

“H-hunting f-for food, S-Sir. F-For the camp.”

“Where’s the camp?”

“I-In the city. B-by the cathedral.”

“How many others are there?”

“Twelv—er—Thirteen.. Maybe fifteen.”

Roland’s patience grew thin. He slammed a fist into the trunk of the tree that the boy cowered against.

“How many?!”

“Fifteen!” The boy curled back into a ball before the Worgen.

“Fourteen now.” He looked back at the human corpse behind him, “Thirteen if you get the fuck out of my lands.. Am I understood, boy?”

“Y-Yes! P-please, Sir. T-thank you! Thank you!” the boy was panting so hard, it was clear he was somewhere between a mix of a panic attack and shock. Likely shock. The boy stood up and ran. He ran harder than he’d ever ran in his life. Down the path, out of the Blackwald, he tripped, barely touched the ground and was off again.

Roland searched the corpse, taking the pistol and anything else which might help his people. After gathering the animal carcass, he headed back towards the mines.

In time, Roland would come to regret showing sympathy for the Devil.

-Take me with you when you go-

It had been days since the incident in the Blackwald, and while things remained quiet within the Mines, it still nagged at the back of Roland’s mind. He held watch himself the first night, and again on the second and third. There was no sign of anyone but the occasional Forsaken patrol. That was a good sign, at least.

The group would soon need food, and it would be up to Roland to hunt once again. The Blackwald was now out of the question, as much as it pained him. For all he knew, they’d been lying in wait for him to return these past few days so that they could finish what the dead man started. He couldn’t take that risk. The Worgen was then forced to do what he preferred not to do before, and that was to hunt among the open, but under the cover of night.

As night fell and it drew closer for his time to depart, Roland began to make his way to the entrance of the Mine.

“Roland. Wait.” A voice from behind called out to him. Roland’s ears perked and he sighed. He knew Anilla was going to try to get him to move their group once again. He knew she would argue that they needed to leave the safety of the Mine and go on the offensive. She was impatient and she was also angry. Angry at feeling helpless. Angry at her home being destroyed. Angry at the loss of her people. Anger often clouded judgment, and it was often a bad combination. If only he could see that anger was clouding his vision all the same.

Roland stopped at the mouth of the Mine and waited.

“We can’t stay here forever, Roland.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s move.”

“The mines are the best shot we got at defendin’ ourselves, Anilla. Until we find a lull in the front line to get past the wall, we’re stuck.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, “We’re stuck because you refuse to act.”

Roland turned, finally facing the girl and narrowed his eyes upon her. He grinded his teeth as he looked for the words to say to her. He’d long since known her stubborn nature -- it was what he’d admired about her and fallen in love with. It was her strength and resolve, no matter the odds -- However, it meant she could be a royal pain in his side from time to time.

“Just need you to trust me.” He said softly.

Anilla’s brow furrowed deeper, if only for a moment, before she looked into his eyes and then her frown softened. She huffed and grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze, “Roland, I just have concerns.. The longer we stay, the more of a target we become.”

Roland knew she spoke truly, however, their options were limited.

“I’m not sittin’ here idly, I promise ya. I’m workin’ a plan to get us out without losin’ anybody else. I can’t lose..” his mouth became dry and he found himself lost for words. Anilla squeezed his arm more tightly.

“Okay. But please.. Talk to me about it when you get back, okay?” she released her grip on Roland and stepped back.

Roland nodded, “We’ll talk when I’m back. Ask Shelby to keep watch while I’m out, alright? The rest of you lot oughta get some sleep.”

Anilla nodded and without another word, made her descent back into the mine. Roland stood there at the exit of the Mines for a moment. He let out a sigh and steeled himself from the biting exhaustion which grew with each passing day.

He departed into the night.

-

After an evening of hunting, Roland finally returned to the mines -- Though something felt off. By all accounts, nothing seemed to be disturbed in the area. But there was something in his gut that felt off. Feelings like that often meant something. He learned early to trust his gut with such things. He quickened his pace and came to the mouth of the Cavern. There was nobody sitting at the post inside. 

There should have been.

He dropped the carcass to the ground and drew his blade, weaving his way slowly through the mine. 

He listened. 

There was nothing. 

He quickened his pace, soon coming to the antechamber that his pack had been using as their home. It was there that he saw the bodies. Crimson blood stained clothes and matted fur, as his people were slain. Their throats cut from ear to ear, horrified looks on their faces as they were likely woken from their sleep as the blade passed over them. He stood there for a moment, in disbelief, before a voice called out to him from the back of the dimly lit chamber.

“Well, well. He finally returns. You’re a hard beast to track.”

Roland couldn’t take his eyes off of the corpses. His gaze shot from corpse to corpse, almost frantically, as he searched for Anilla. She wasn’t there. 

“We’ve been watching out for you for days now. You know why we’re here, right?”

There was a soft, gagged whimper at the man’s side. Roland’s eyes finally snapped in his direction and settled on a bloodied and battered Anilla, as she was bound at his side. Around him were three other men, all with cocky shit-eating grins on their faces. Roland took a start towards the men almost immediately.

“Oh no no.” The man drew his blade and pressed it against Anilla’s neck, “You’ll stay there.” Roland froze, though his body shook with rage. He wanted to, and would rip this man limb from limb when given the slightest chance.

“You killed one of my men, so I’ve killed some of yours. I’m thinking we’re starting to get close to being even now. This one we’re gonna have fun with.” The man said with a wicked smile.

“Let ‘er go..” Roland growled, “It’s me you want, fine. You’ve done yer damage. Leave her out of it.”

The man gently ran the tip of his bloodied blade along Anilla’s throat, “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. I think I’m gonna let this one watch me gut you, and then I’ll do her in after. All of your pelts fetch too nice a price to let any of you go. It’s why we’re here, after all..” he whistled with glee. His cronies laughed.

Anilla looked to Roland through bloodied eyes. Though she could not speak, she didn’t need to. Her amber eyes, filled with both rage and defiance, told him everything that he needed to know. She mustered her strength and swiftly rose to her feet, jamming the top of her head into the bottom of the man’s nose. It sent him snarling back, howling in pain. 

Then time slowed.

Battles like this were often decided in a few short moments. To an outsider, it was over in almost the blink of an eye. To those in the fight, however, it could feel like an eternity -- depending on if you were the one who survived or not.

As the Hunting Party leader recoiled back, his men all lept from their positions to descend upon Anilla. She ran towards Roland, and Roland towards her. His blade was drawn, and each step he took seemed to lunge him further and further forward. 

The quickest hunter of the three was able to gain ground on Anilla, and grabbed her by the shoulder. As she spun around, she again drove her head into her attacker’s face. The second time must have been the charm -- as an audible pop was heard, and the man grabbed at his nose before collapsing to the ground. His limp body twitched, as Anilla seemed to jam the bone of his nose into his skull.

As the second hunter caught up with Anilla, there was the momentary realization that something was amiss, as Roland’s sizable blade bit into his neck, and continued right through it. The man’s head was taken clean off and clattered to the floor, where his body followed.

The third hunter, having seen all of this unfold, broke off from his charge towards Anilla and Roland, and tried to scramble out of the antechamber. He wouldn’t make it far, however, as what felt like five daggers sank into his back and then dragged him to the ground. He seized in agony, as blood dripped from Roland’s armored claws. There was a brief moment where he looked up towards his attacker, and saw Roland standing above him. Everything went black as he felt a sudden severe pressure against his skull and Roland’s plated foot sank into it with a crunch.

That left one. The Hunting Leader was on the ground, still nursing his wound. His face was a mess, as his nose leaked blood, “You mother fuckers!” He hissed out from the floor, and scrambled against a far wall.

Roland looked to Anilla and cut the bindings on her hands. She immediately wrapped them around his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” she repeated, over and over. The shock that her body was experiencing was beginning to set in. 

He held her closely and shook his head, muttering against her ear, “I should have listened to you..”

Roland pulled away and looked into Anilla’s eyes. There was tremendous pain at the loss of his pack -- of his friends. But also a tremendous relief that he hadn’t lost her. 

The man continued to scream at them from afar, but Roland paid him little mind. He would get his due shortly.

As Roland turned to finish the man, there was a deafening bang, which echoed through the antechamber. And then second and then a third. In the next moment, life drained from Anilla’s eyes. Her body spun almost completely around, staggered forward against Roland and then slumped to the ground. Her body limp and lifeless.

Roland sank to the ground with her body, both frozen and immobile. He cradled her body, “No, No..” He muttered frantically, “Anilla. Please.” Her body was a ragdoll in his grasp. Her death was immediate. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through his mind at that moment. Anger. Hatred. Blame. Loss. Doubt. He would never hear her laugh again. He’d never hear her call his name again. Those eyes of hers would never shine with delight, and she would never be able to tell one of her awful jokes. There would be no future in which she was by his side. 

Roland felt the gun barrel press against the back of his skull. He came back to the present.

“Guess we had a change of plans, eh? Said I’d let her watch you die, but this’ll do just fine.” The man blew his nose, a wad of blood shot to the ground beside Roland and Anilla. 

“Get up.” He commanded, “Drop the weapon and the bitch and just get the fuck up. I’m bringing you back to the Camp and we’re gonna string you up for what you did.” He stepped back as Roland gently placed Anilla to the ground and stood. He dwarfed the man by several feet. 

“You made the mistake of letting the boy go, you stupid fucking mutt. We woulda assumed the Forsaken got our guys in that forest. We’d be none the wiser to you and yours. Guess that’s why they say no good deed goes unpunished, eh?” 

The man pushed Roland with the tip of his gun barrel, “Start walking.” Roland complied and began heading towards the exit of the Mines. His gaze lingered on Anilla, and then his fallen friends as he passed them.

The man continued to goad the Worgen, gloating at his defeat. “What’s wrong, Worgen? Got the fight knocked out of you?” He pressed the barrel into Roland’s back, but Roland made no struggle against it. “If you’re not gonna make this fun for me, then I guess I’ll have to make it for myself. You know what we’re gonna do to you when we get back? We’re gonna string you up, and then I’m gonna have the rest of my people bring the bodies of your friends. We’re gonna skin each and every one of em in front of you, piece by piece.” he chuckled at the thought, “I aint gonna kill you until you’re begging for it to end. And I aint gonna make it quick either. I oughta let the boy do you in, as a reward. Let em prove himself.”

Roland looked ahead as they weaved in and out of the tunnel passages through the Mines. They were coming up to a tight bend, and that would be where he would shut this one up for good. As they rounded the bend, Roland stumbled forward to his knees, feigning a trip.

The man laughed and pulled the hammer back on his pistol, “Get up, you fuckin’--” before he could finish his insult, the man’s breath was knocked out of him. The Worgen used his force to slam backwards, sending the man careening into the cavern wall. The pistol clattered to the floor, and in one brief movement, Roland kicked it away and descended upon the man.

Hatred flowed through Roland’s veins as the man scrambled beneath him to try and regain his footing. Roland held the man down with one hand, and then brought a plated fist down upon him. There were no words he could say. His mind held no capacity for that in that moment. He saw red, and wanted to end this man who had caused so much suffering. There was the soft crunch of bone breaking, as a series of blows turned the man’s face into unrecognizable gore. The man squirmed and squealed in horror. The squeals turned to bloodied gurgles and then.. Stopped. The Worgen wouldn’t stop, though. He couldn’t. Not until this man was grinded down to paste against stone.

He wasn’t satisfied and would never be satisfied. However, the agonizing pain eventually caught up with Roland, and he collapsed to the ground in a roar of utter anguish. He’d never see her again. He’d never get to see the outside world with her. He’d never get her to safety.

He would, however, have his revenge.

-Cause and Effect-

The Worgen watched as the Hunting Camp went about their evening. His eyes transfixed on the boy he let go. He was laughing with the others in camp. Oh, how those laughs would soon turn.. He'd leave that boy for last..

They were all woefully unaware of the fury that was about to descend upon them.

“P-Please. Don’t.” The boy would putter out, his voice both hoarse and breathless..

-Present Day-

Roland looked out across the sea to the setting horizon. Though it rained in Gilneas, as it always did -- out there, among the ocean, it seemed both peaceful and serene. He’d traveled across continents and seas, fought battles and tried to find peace. With each step he made, he’d always felt as though something was missing. It was her. 

With a sigh, he placed a flower down beside the grave marker. It was one grave among too many others in Gilneas, and one that he hadn’t been back to since he’d laid her there to rest. He was afraid. Afraid of his mistakes. Afraid of his guilt. Afraid of his blame. Afraid of having to come to terms with the loss of her.

He inhaled deeply and took a seat beside the unmarked stone, which sat among itself among the rolling plains of Gilneas. He grinded his teeth and looked for the words to say -- but the right ones escaped him. They often did when it came to her. But she loved him for it regardless.

So he would start with the truth.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long..” 

He spoke as the sun set and continued well into the night. He spoke of the things he’d done in the time since he’d left Gilneas. He spoke of the things he was proud of, and the things he wasn’t. He spoke of the journey he’d taken, and where he thought it might lead. He spoke of his regret, and his fear of having failed her. He spoke of the home he longed to regain, and how he wished it was with her. Most of all, he spoke of his love for her, which had never left him. Not even for a moment.

End