Chapter 14

Perhaps it's Impossible

Stefan was anxious to get back to Booty Bay. He had not only broken his promise of dinner with Lorelein, but would be arriving a full day later. The healers of Stormwind had insisted that he rest and let his arm mend naturally, but he made it clear that he just could not. They obliged him, and mended the arm at a speedy rate with their holy magics. He had thanked them for their hospitality and followed Fordragon to the main gate, where a horse and carriage were waiting to take him home.

"Stefan, I nearly forgot," started Fordragon, rummaging in a pouch at his waist. Stefan waited patiently, easing his arm out of the sling. There was no sign or pain of the earlier dislocation.

"Here," finished Fordragon, presenting a pendant to Stefan. He recognized it right away as the same medallion the demon had emerged from.

"I don't understand, Lord Fordragon?"

"Our priests have purified the tainted metal. If anything, it is now a fetish of good luck. Let it be a symbol of my eternal gratitude, and my friendship."

Light reflected off the inset jewel's facets as Stefan eyed it in the mid-day sun.

"It is a remarkable gem. Thank you, Lord Fordragon," said Stefan. He held out an open palm. Fordragon recieved it in a warrior's grip, wrist to wrist.

"To you, Stefan, I am Bolvar. And to our people, you are a hero. But I shall not keep you any longer."

They parted ways. Stefan waved a final goodbye, then closed the coach door behind him. He looked out from the rear window as Stormwind disappeared in the trees of Elwynn behind him, sighing with relief, and satisfaction.

"To Booty Bay, correct, sir?" shouted the driver.

"Aye, my good man."

"'Tis a long way!"

"Tell me about it."

---

When he had finally reached the apartment door, Stefan felt as if ages had passed since he had left from Stormwind. The uneven roads of Stranglethorn left their usual bruises on his rear end, but after so many trips he had grown used to such a minor nuisance. Now, as he turned the key in the lock, there was only one thing on his mind.

"Lory! I'm back!" he shouted as he entered the apartment. He closed the door behind him, looking about. The living room was empty. Perhaps she was hiding. She often played that game. It was easy, of course, since there were only three rooms in the entire flat. But the game was never meant to be a challenge. Stefan sniggered as he crept slowly toward the bedroom doorway.

"Ah-HA!" he yelled, jumping around the corner. Lory was lying on the bed, sound asleep. She hadn't even flinched when he shouted.

She's getting better, he thought, creeping around the bed playfully.

"C'mon, you can't fool me! Wake up!" he darted his hands to her sides to tickle her. He loved the way she giggled.

But she didn't giggle. She didn't even move, let alone open her eyes.

"Lory, what's the matter?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. He froze.

She was cold. Very cold.

"Lory?"

He noticed how pale her face was. It was too pale to be healthy.

"Lorelein?" He pulled the covers away. What he saw made his legs numb.

Her dress was covered in blood. There was a wound just below her breast, made by a dagger that lay next to her, the blood caked over the blade. In astonishment, he picked up a folded piece of parchment that lay underneath the bloody dagger. He opened it, and began to read.

Stefan, old friend. I heard the news. Congratulations on slaying the demon. Sadly, this was an event that should not have occurred. Nor was the death of your Lorelein, but your actions left me no choice. I really liked you, Stefan. It's a shame things had to come to this. She really didn't deserve it, you know.

Stefan wiped the tears welling in his eyes to read the signature at the bottom of the paper. As the letters came into view, he involuntarily crumpled the paper beneath white knuckles. He had underestimated the b*****d. And now, a woman is dead. A woman he loved.

He balled the paper up and threw it across the room. Then, he screamed, and kept screaming until his throat burned dry.

"WHY? WHY HER!" he roared, pointing at Lorelein's still form. He wished someone would answer.

"WHY NOT ME, DAMNIT!?"

He fell to his knees again, beating his fists on the bed in a heated tantrum.

"WHY!"

Why couldn't it have been him? Why her?

"Why..."

She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve him.

He lay there, on the edge of the bed, sobbing and sniffling. After several more minutes, Stefan raised his head, tear-drenched eyes now hard and cold. He knew what he would do. He knew what he had to do.

He would find Rok'roham, and then he would kill him.

Stefan stood up, vengeance pouring forth from his soul. He grabbed the bag of money he had left by the door. As he was leaving, he grabbed his hat. He nearly tackled the innkeeper on his way out and into the hallway.

"Stefan! Good lord, man! Is anything wrong? I heard shouting," said the goblin.

"Everything."

"Sorry?"

"Lorelein. She's been murdered."

The goblin tensed.

"For the record," added Stefan, placing the hat on his head. "I didn't do it."

"Don't be silly, man. You loved her," said the goblin, silent for a moment. His eyes, unusually, were filled with affection.

"I'll pay for any damages. The price doesn't matter," said Stefan after a silence. He turned to leave.

"Stefan, what are you going to do?"

Stefan stopped, as if he had given the notion thought for the first time. When he turned to face the goblin, his eyes were filled with a hatred few demons could manifest.

"I'm going to Kalimdor, Ori."