//------------------------------// // Chapter 12: The Path to Vengeance // Story: The Fate of The Warchief // by The Blessed One //------------------------------// "No!" Varian bellowed, slamming his fist onto the mapping table he stood beside. "We've been over this for the past week, Jaina, and my word still stands firm: Garrosh is gone, and even if he is not truly gone, it is now the responsibility of the Horde to hunt him down." "There are many orcs that still support Hellscream; we both know it's foolish and naive to trust the Horde with that task, Varian!" Proudmoore responded from across the table, her own voice considerably raised, hoping to finally represent the obvious point she'd been wishing to make ever since they'd left Orgrimmar, a move she had not liked in any respect. The king's fists clenched all the tighter, his knuckles coming to rest at the outer edges of the world map as he leaned over it, the shadows cast from the light above enshrouding his eyes as his brows furrowed like that of a weary old man's, and the mage could swear she heard the sound of teeth gnashing together as his shoulders tensed under the enormous pauldrons they so constantly bore. "...The Treaty of Generations speaks of Garrosh's disappearance, and it is crystal-clear about where the Alliance and Horde stand if he should be rediscovered." King Wrynn all but growled to her as he shoved himself upright and away from the map, beginning a steady pace out of the room. "You were there when Anduin and I signed it, you know what it said." Jaina was quick to snap her finger, and with a small puff of luminescent arcane dust, she was walking right alongside Varian, matching his somewhat brisk stride. "With all due respect, that treaty should have never been signed until there were at least far stricter sanctions and surveillance imposed on the Horde's tattered remains." She interjected passionately, as if she were rearing to tear down the treaty's every last detail. It was a deliberate shot at Varian's unexpected choice that day, an affront to the mercy he'd so justly shown the oppressed remainder of the Horde, but even so, he continued his stride silently. ".....Besides, it never stated that the Alliance could not send its own search party to locate the Warchief." Varian stopped and gave out a deep sigh, pinching his eyes shut, yet she continued to speak, despite the obvious signals for her to drop the subject. "It wouldn't even be your men, Varian, I can look for him with my own resources, the Kirin' Tor and the North Watch Remnants." Reopening his flagging eyes, the king turned towards her, showing absolutely no emotion on his face as he stared into her. She kept eye-contact with him, making it clear that she was not backing down from her point. It was then that he broke the staring contest by continuing to march from the halls of Stormwind's Keep, crossing the throne room he'd just entered. After a moment's time, Jaina's face contorted in rampant frustration as she stormed after the retreating king yet again, coming to a stop at the throne room's center. "Those factions are both under my command, and if danger concerns you, I could even rally the survivors of my guard. This plan is both completely safe and completely logical! Why won't you even give it a second thought!?" Proudmoore's wronged screech echoed through the castle's halls as though a mournful ghost's. It was nearly midnight, and every guard normally posted in the keep was heading to Old Town to get their well needed rest. Other battalions of Stormwind Infantry would no doubt be on their way to take up the night watch. It was the usual. Even after the signing of the new peace treaty with the Horde and the drastic risings and fallings of so many factions on Azeroth, Varian Wrynn had not changed a bit, and as such, neither had anything about his beloved capitol. All this and so much more flashed through Jaina's mind like a wafting pain in those dreaded seconds of deafening, desolate silence which followed that screech. The king seemed as though he barely even acknowledged that she'd spoken to him as his gate to the forefront of his throne room slowed, much less shrieked at him. He merely stood, His eyes drawn to the pale stone seat now made paler still in the sickly rays of moonlight cast down from the windows on high, a deep thought seeming to have overtaken him. Jaina knew his mind was reeling at that moment, and she kept silent, for that is what she would have wished him to do had their positions been transposed. "......I have given it a second thought, Jaina.... and a third.... and a fourth...." He spoke softly, an uncharacteristically somber tone alighting his words as he outstretched his hand, running it over the arm of the Seat of Kings. He looked tired and strained. "I know why you want to find him... It's something I never rose above for many of my years." He turned and looked at the mage, many things showing in his eyes. "you want revenge... you seek to avenge your fallen..." "....Whether it be revenge or duty, would you not want the same?" Her carefully-chosen words were made to sound deliberately distant. It would've rendered her looking rather emotionless but for a quiver in her lips. "Yes.... I would want the same.... but I would also hope that you, Jaina, would stop me from any fool-hardy actions if that came to pass." "....Fool-hardy? Fool-hardy!? Can you not see I've taken everything into account!? I can find where he went if given permission to go to Orgrimmar; I can find the source of the magic he used!" "I will not allow you to go into Orgrimmar, not after what you would have had me do there that day." He spoke in a growl of sorts, and his words made her blood freeze over. The mage went silent under the gaze of Wrynn. "Yes, you remember your words." He looked down with a scowl, recalling that cold, sinister advice as Proudmoore could do little more than wait in discovered silence for his continue. "They were words from someone who would never be satisfied. This debate is over; the Horde will look for Hellscream," His eyes trailed back up to look at her as he raised his arm to point a finger. "and you, you will not leave Stormwind without my authorization." Varian's words were as firm as iron, and his voice as sharp as the sword on his belt. He meant his words, this debate was over, thus confirmed when he marched off yet again, heading to his personal chambers for the night. There stood Jaina Proudmoore, no less defeated than if she were one of her fallen subjects, simply ceasing to be, and by one whom she had called friend, left there to stand, without so much as the rubble of a home to return to. As of late, the Blue Recluse Inn had been her place of temporary refuge in Stormwind, and in those moments it seemed as though that was where she was fated to go now. "...No..." She murmured, her hands having balled themselves up until her knuckles turned as white as her radiation-bleached hair. Reaching up with one of those rage-quivering hands, she grasped the single, golden-blonde lock that remained from that day, running her fingers through the very thing that would remind her of all her failures every time she dared to look in a mirror until the end of her days. She probably would never have realized it, but thanks to a drop on her arm, she noticed just how freely the tears then fell from her eyes. Was this to be her end, her legacy? Was retribution for her people truly out of reach? Was the monster that destroyed not only her entire land, but her people, purpose, and existence forever lost to Azeroth, to justice? Would the souls of the innocents once in her care ever be avenged? Was she to die without any form of solace or peace? "...No..." She growled. He couldn't be gone, he wasn't gone. Jaina knew he was not yet out of her reach, for if the Light had any semblance of justice left within it, she would find Garrosh Hellscream. Her world-renowned mind flickered, now hyper-active, playing far too many things all at once for anyone to appear sane. Proudmoore, despite the bitter tears still lacing her cheek, and for the first time since the Warchief's disappearance, smiled. Stormwind was a beautiful city in the radiant light of day, but it retained a different form of that same beauty altogether under the night's sky. The full moon faithfully shined its tame, tempered silver glow down onto the eight segments of the regal metropolis, and most hauntingly the Cathedral Square, the same square who's alleyways upon this night were party to a most infrequent guest. In the narrowly walled paths leading to Stormwind's harbor, the silhouette of a faint, robed figure made its way through the claustrophobia-inducing darkness the moon could not touch, its movements sporadic, choppy even, often times evaporating into thin air only to reappear further down the road. Such was the power of a mage as learned as Jaina Proudmoore. For her own part, she never grew tired or weary of her ability to "Blink," nor of how it seemed to profoundly annoy those who did not share such a talent. None of this, however, was amusing to her this night; Jaina kept her mind on target, pushing to maintain a very fast pace in her disapproved pilgrimage to the docks of the harbor. She knew that come first light, if not already, the guards of Stormwind Castle would be informed by their king to keep a close watch on her, and to keep her within the city's limits. This was something she could never allow. Though the mage knew many ways to secretly leave the city, going back home alone would do her little good. She needed help, help she could trust. Luckily, she knew exactly where to find it. After what to her mind seemed as though an unbearable eternity, she broke from the blackness of the Cathedral Square's western tunnel, scurrying down the path that lead straight to the docks past The Three Winds transmogrification shop. She had never understood why the place was so indispensably popular with the local adventures, after all, she'd always figured that a fine weapon was a fine weapon and enchanted articles of clothing were enchanted articles of clothing, no matter how they looked. The desire to pay good money just have the affects' outer appearances retooled never really resonated with her, but that was a thought for a more trivial time. Refocusing, Jaina pressed onward with haste down the next tunnel leading to the docks. Finally entering the archway of the harbor, Proudmoore had it in mind to select a much different, and far more efficient method of reaching the bottom of the countless alabaster stairs that stood between any shipment laborer's destination and their respective ships. Walking past the long-since dried up fountain, the cracked stone statue of which still ever vigilant in overlooking the harbor and its horizon, she came to an abrupt stop, standing at the very edge of the staircase's platform. "Ugh... I hate this pitiful architecture." She muttered to herself, closing her eyes. She lifted one foot off the edge, and let it fall forwards. Another poof of arcane dust later, and Jaina was calmly standing on the walkway connecting every dock in Stormwind Harbor to dry land. She was quick to resume her march, aiming towards the mid-south docking bay. Many random trade ships made use of this port, but the only ship that meant anything to her currently resided there. The Lady Mehley, the last remaining vessel of the Theramore Navy. While normally The Lady made voyages from Menethil Harbor to Theramore itself, ever since the city to which the ship was loyal was molecularly decimated, it had taken up the task of carrying Jaina Proudmoore anywhere on Azeroth she needed to go. To her, It was indeed a sad, forlorn sight, to see it docked so far away from any of its usual routes, but the most desperate of times called for even more desperate measures. Jaina shook her head of those thoughts, determined not to let her capacities drown in a sea of despair. Without so much as a second's worth of further hesitation, she blinked aboard the ship. "By the Light!" She heard a frightened man exclaim near her as she materialized on the ship's upper deck. Fairly startled herself, the mage jerked to her right to find a large, burly seadog clutching his chest through his open, royal-blue doublet as he leaned over against the ship's railing. Proudmoore knew him well as First Mate Kowalski. His choice of attire being mostly dark blue, even if he were not the only one on-board to fashion himself in such a color, the gilded scimitar strapped to his belt would have given him away had his long, blonde ponytail not already done so. His demeanor and exuberance were kind enough, even though every sailor under him would best describe him as a unabridged "worry wort." It was something Jaina could easily relate to in a way. "Oh, bless the stars, Milady! it's you..." He panted as he limply righted himself, standing up straight once more as he wiped the faint sheen from his forehead. "I thought fer sure a wretched siren had leaped aboard an' gone to end me life." "....Hardly." Jaina remarked snidely as she briefly scanned around the deck. Since first stepping on-board, she had very quickly learned that each and every sailor of The Lady Mehley bore a resounding and pathological fear of naga, particularly and especially sirens. Proudmoore inferred its probable cause to be far too many midnight tales vividly told of fishermen being assailed or seduced to the depths by the beasts. "Where is the Lieutenant, Kowalski?" She asked, looking back to him. "..Er, He'll be down below, talkin' to Capn' Stash." The First Mate said, giving his cloth belt a conscious readjustment. "Excellent, I want this ship ready to sail before dawn, Kowalski, I don't care what measures you take, just ensure we are away from this harbor within two hours." Jaina spoke with a firm authority and a curt tone. The First Mate gave a slightly shocked expression, but offered neither counter nor question to her orders. "Aye, as ye wish, Milady!" Kowalski hopped to attention with a hasty bow. He then wasted no time in jogging off below deck ahead of Jaina to see that the sleeping crew were quickly rallied to their stations. That was why the mage liked him, he knew when not to offer resistance when given perfectly reasonable, specific instructions. Jaina didn't hesitate to head below deck either as she followed behind to speak with the last standing commander of the Theramore Army: Lieutenant Aden. Many words came to Proudmoore's conscious when describing Aden; Honorable, fearless, loyal, unrelenting. He had cursed the day he was ever made the sole leader of what was now called "The Theramore Remnants," but certainly not for any negligence or fear of responsibility. In fact, it was true that Aden had always dreamt of becoming a general under Jaina's command, but he would have so gladly traded that dream for any of the innumerable lives lost to put him in that position. His previous directive being a warden at the front gate of Theramore, He was one of the very few to have escaped the manabomb's deadly blast radius, but he had already openly stated to anyone who asked that it was all thanks to his Pinto mare, Glory. He and his mount were both badly wounded by the shrapnel zipping past them from the blast, the lieutenant more severely so, but his dutiful companion carried his unconscious form all the way to Fort Triumph in the Southern Barrens, where his injuries were able to be treated in time. The next portion of Aden's tale was hard for even Proudmoore herself to believe. After all of that, his first action after suddenly awaking from his coma, was to hire a fishing boat bound for Northrend. He and Glory then rode ever onward for days and nights before at last reaching the one place he knew Jaina would be: The scholar city of Dalaran. Ultimately, he would find her there during her time of helping stage the siege of Orgrimmar. His will not only to survive, but to fully recommission had left her baffled. Naturally though, it was this self same feeling of impression that spurred her to insist he stay behind for the siege itself and make a full recover from his fatigue and his great many injuries. It was unbelievable, and yet he had done it, and was ready to do more. This was one of the reasons among many that he was now Jaina Proudmoore's most trusted ally and confidant. Her memories of him before the fall of Theramore however, were a trifle fuzzy, not unlike most of her memories from before that blood-red day. She could swear the mana-radiation had left her mind a tad slower, despite countless healers at countless appointments repeatedly assuring her otherwise. Jaina was certain she was not same mage as the one who would rule over her people with honor and grace from a humble library in a tower, for she found her focus on studies, the studies upon which she had built her identity and livelihood, dwindling. Replaced was this focus with darker, more heartless thoughts. She couldn't even hope to escape them in her sleep; her own dreams would waken her with cold sweats and a memory full of gruesome things far too terrible to tell. She knew why; she knew exactly why: She wanted revenge, for it was she whom she saw enacting those gruesome deeds. Her desire for recompense burned like the fires of Hell itself, like those of anyone in her position would. Momentarily unbeknownst to Lieutenant Aden, he would not only serve to be her key to obtaining it, but he would also be her weapon to completing it. After briskly walking past a few hands below deck, she found herself standing in the open doorway to the navigation room, peering in to where stood both Captain Torgoley and Aden. Both men appeared to be going over old maps of Azeroth, busying themselves searching for any place that Garrosh Hellscream could be hiding that newer maps might have missed. It appeared to her that everyone with even a lick of loyalty once to Theramore was searching for the tyrant more tirelessly than anyone else, a supposition that both relieved and infuriated her. Still despite their gallant efforts, Proudmoore knew it was a lost cause, for she knew that if Garrosh Hellscream was on Azeroth, the Horde would have found him already. "Captain!" Jaina barked, drawing the attention of both humans. "Aye, Lady Proudmoore?" Torgoley asked with a quick salute. "Wake the crew, we set sail to the Theramore Ruins in an hour." Jaina's words were heated, yet cold, once again showing no room for questions or insubordination. It was then all three of them heard the ship's bell ring out above them, most likely the work of the first mate. "T'will be done, Milady!" Was his only reply before animatedly running out of the navigation room and down into the sailors' bunking quarters. Not five seconds had passed before Jaina wisely engaged a small pair of mana shield around her ears. She knew what barrage came next, and much to Aden's credit, all he did was clench his teeth. "Get up off yer asses an' man the deck, ladies! We make for Theramore in but a single hour, an' anyone I find still in their bunk in the next five seconds'll be food fer the fish o' the sea! Even her mini mana shields didn't fully succeed in blocking out the Captain's "rallying cry," and with a small "pop," Jaina disengaged them, only to find that Torgoley was not quite finished inspiring his crew. "Come on! Get moving! Or I'll nail ye to the mast by yer innards! I'll also be makin' bloody sure the healer'll keep ya alive for the whole damn trip! Go on, Man the sails, ye leprous wenches! Go!" A grimace found itself stuck to Proudmoore's face, but she was quickly able to resume the pursuit of her new objective as Aden merely gave her a knowing shrug. Aden was a man of average height with a very ripped and muscular build, one half-glance at his upper body was enough for anyone to tell he was a fierce warrior who had seen himself through many a battle. His Theramore uniform did its very best to hide the many scars that criss-crossed his proud chest and arms, each one boldly telling of an engagement more epic than the last. His thick forearms were well balanced from his skill in the trade of a myriad of weaponry. His face had, as astonishing as it may sound, escaped the host of damage his body had thus suffered, still allowing him to appear somewhat civil-looking at least when properly buttoned up. His dark red hair was cropped tightly in the traditional military flat-top whilst a thick, well-groomed mustache sat squarely above his mouth. Jaina often found solace in his presence, but it was not particularly in any of these familiar traits. No, it was his eyes. The gaze of his soulful, sapphire eyes were almost completely out of place on a figure so riddled with brutal streaks and slashes, and yet they told the wary, wandering eye that he was indeed at heart, still just a man, and a truly kind one at that. It was safe to suffice, that Aden was no mere soldier, at least to the likes of those with whom he served. He was no less than a knight, with as much fighting prowess as chivalrous honor. To say Jaina was very thankful he had survived to continue fighting under her banner would leave it understated. She knew that as long as he drew breath, so too did Theramore, even if there was no one left to live under the banner. "Perhaps one day he'll choose to encourage his men, over intimidating them." Lieutenant Aden spoke, though the words seemed more to himself than to Jaina, his voice as placidly soft as that of a wise mystic's. The mage had heard his war cries on the field of battle on more than one occasion, and she could swear that the two voices that came from the man were from two entirely separate individuals. One was a beast who showed no mercy to his foes, and knew no hesitation or inhibition. The other was that of an ever gentle giant, an ever-patient soul. The bizarre ability to nearly change voices altogether would have intrigued Proudmoore back in her days of peacefully ruling Theramore, but in these times, she had no room left in her mind to think about such unrelated matters. "Yes, Perhaps...," Jaina muttered, bringing her hand to her chin in ponderous thought, one of the few mannerisms she'd managed to cling to after all that had happened. Yet another mental refocus, and then she continued. "But the Captain's methods aside, Lieutenant, I need to speak with you." "What would you require of me, My Lady?" Aden asked, keeping his eyes glued to the cartography before him. "Aden.... you know as well as I do that those old maps will yield nothing for us. We've searched Azeroth; he's not here." "Would you like me to start on the ones of Outlands, My Lady?" "Thrall supposedly 'sent his finest orc scouts' into Outlands to begin searching weeks ago. Whatever that rune was that Hellscream came to possess clearly was not meant to keep him within our reach." "...So, the hunt is over? We've lost?" He asked her reluctantly, only then looking up at her with a grave expression. Jaina considered her options carefully as she returned that gaze, and as she did, she recalled a very exciting fact. While Varian Wrynn had heard and remembered what she had wanted him to do the day Garrosh was defeated, Thrall did not. She knew the shaman would still consider her a friend, at least for the moment. One thing was certain: She needed to get inside Orgrimmar again, for it would be the only way to track down where Garrosh had gotten that rune. Without that information, the old Warchief was as good as gone to all of Azeroth. With all thing's considered, hope of retribution remained very much alive. Jaina thanked the Light above for the miracle that was political deception as she finally broke her steady gaze with Aden. "We set sail for the Ruins of Theramore tonight, Lieutenant. The key to finding Hellscream lies within Durotar itself, but before we begin our search there, we need to go home." "Why, My Lady? What is within Theramore's skeleton that we need?" As collected as he usually sounded, Aden's voice shook with those words. It was clear he had absolutely no desire to return to the shattered remains of his homeland, and Jaina could hardly blame him. "Once we find out where that stone took him, we will need a place where I can recreate it. Theramore may be broken, but as long as we can restore the city's watchtowers and maintain a low profile, I will have a safe place to work undisturbed." Aden still looked uneasy, though he nodded all the same as he took his leave in silence. "One last thing, Lieutenant." "...Yes, My Lady?" "Send for every single remaining Theramore Soldier within Stormwind, and do so discreetly. We will need all the man power we can get if we're to succeed in this." "...It will be done." Aden recited. Proudmoore then looked down at the old maps, giving a brief once-over before realizing the sound of military boots withdrawing had never met her ears. "....Something wrong, Aden?" She asked casually without turning around to him. She didn't really need to; she could tell he'd grown nervous. "I mean not to be impertinent, My Lady, but If Hellscream has truly left all plains of existence that any Azerothian has set foot on, how will we find him in a whole new world? How will we even find the right one?" Jaina gave a re-collective sigh. She had to admit it; those were very good questions, and being honest with herself, she knew that she didn't know the answer to either of them. Still, she also knew she would never truly rest until the deed was done. Vengeance is a powerful motivator, and she burned white-hot with it. She cared not how long it took. She cared not what she'd have to do. Even if she were doomed to spend the rest of her days alive constructing portals and dimensional gates, she would find him, no matter the cost. "None of that matters for the moment, Lieutenant; we'll resolve that when it becomes an issue." She calmly replied, and with no more debate offered, Aden's boot-falls faded down the dimly lit hall. "......The Light will see justice served."