Chapter 15

One Final Task

"Get a hold of yourself!"

"The relic...gone...My life is worthless!"

She broke down in hail of tears and sobs once again. Stefan threw his hands up into the air, pacing in the sand around the defeated form of Gerita Windsorrow. Now, her weapon and banner scattered on the ground, her faith shattered, she seemed so fragile. So weak. So innocent. Her head rose, a mad look of fright in her eyes as they darted about, searching for enemies that didn't exist. Stefan knelt down, trying to catch her attention.

"Gerita...It's over."

"No! No! He will come! My Prophet...he does not enjoy failure! No...he..."

Stefan pulled the leather glove off his right hand and gently tilted the Blood Elf's face to look upon him. She trailed off as he did so, her worried eyes settling onto his own calm, stern orbs. Her mouth still moved in silent speech.

"Listen to me, Gerita. The Prophet cannot harm you. I won't let him," he started, whispering softly. "You've nothing to fear."

"He will come! He will find me! He...will kill me!" she choked through a flurry of sniffles.

"Nay, he won't. You do not have to fear him any more. You owe him nothing."

She pointed to the crumbled remains of the stone relic. "I have destroyed the relic he...desired. Now...he will...exact revenge."

"That was no relic, Gerita. T'was only a stone statue."

Indeed it was. The stone 'relic' was merely the headpiece to a decrepit pillar. But it was not so easy for Gerita to comprehend this. She lost herself in the distant sands as memories came to the forefront of her crumbling sanity.

---

Take my hand, Gerita, and follow me to places where wealth and power will fall at your feet as the autumn leaves do in Quel'thalas. Come with me, and share knowledges forbidden to us all because of their simple pleasures: truth. It is something your people and its allies and enemies will never give you to, for fear of you rising to your full potential. But come with me, help me, and you shall reach the zenith of being.

Was it her first mistake, or was she simply losing hope? When the Prophet, Rok'Roham, had spoken these words, her heart had swelled to fill a vacant space that had been empty for so many years. She had purpose, then. She had direction. Now, it all threatened to return to how things had been; a cold, lifeless state, devoid of her passion and her will to survive. When she had met Rok'Roham in the Ghostlands, she had found a reason to live.

But now, she didn't know if it was real, or just another hoax. It was true, the small statue had not been a sacred artifact at all. And that meant that the Prophet had sent her out to the sands of Silithus in search of nothing. She had been betrayed, along with the hundred strong army of acolytes that followed in her wake.

All of them, betrayed. Left to die for his cause, his desire. He had tricked all of them. Her. Like her father. Yurios Windsorrow had never let her pick up a weapon, deeming her place in the silk works and labor forces.

You don't belong in a box of armor and a sword in your hand. You belong at home with a needle, he had said.

So she ran away, leaving behind her life, and her loved ones. She wandered the Ghostlands, lonely and empty. When Rok'Roham had pulled his carriage over and called out to her, something had stirred within her chest. Now, Gerita was casting away the warmth and love he had showed her, for all those months. She wanted to please him, wanted him to replace the father figure she never had.

The thought of abandoning him now seemed worse than suicide.

---

"No!" she screamed, wrenching out of Stefan's soft touch. "You lie! He cannot! He would not!"

She fell onto her rear, scurrying across the sands away from the Human. When he moved to follow, the mad look in her eyes grew more intense.

"Gerita..."

"Don't call me that! You have no right! I am His! I am the blessed Prophet's follower, his disciple, his--"

Her insane rambling was cut short as Stefan slapped her hard across the face. She threw her head aside with the blow, stunned. Through the mess of her radiant blonde hair, Gerita looked toward Stefan with a gaze of loathing and confusion. Then she cried out and threw her arms at him, attempting to scratch him or beat him down. He grabbed her wrists, letting her struggle and thrash violently against his defense. Soon, her wild movements slowed, and died away. Defeated, she began to cry once more, her legs giving way beneath her. Stefan lowered himself to the floor with her.

They lay there for the next few minutes, Stefan sitting patiently while Gerita wallowed in her torment. He gently stroked her hair, listening as her sobs began to soften.

He looked down, lifting her head up by the chin. She complied, staring at him through teary, reddened eyes.

"What now, Gerita Windsorrow?"

She sniffled and rubbed her nose before replying in a soft, docile voice.

---

Word reached Cenarion Hold in the next hour. The threat had been eliminated, at the sacrifice of a single soldier and countless laborers. Innocent blood had been spilt. As the soldiers returned to Cenarion Hold, Guard Captain Sho'ro found that Lieutenant Fargri had been lost. He exchanged formalities with Stefan and his companions, suggesting they celebrate the victory and commemorate the dead over fine dining and good wine. But Stefan had refused.

"Your work isn't finished, is it, Stefan?"

"No, not yet," Stefan replied. "I..."

He looked over to Gerita Windsorrow, who returned the gaze. Smiling weakly, he turned to face the guard captain once more.

"We are not quite done."

"One last filthy bugger to split in two, eh? Can't wait!" said Gordreck. Beyond the comical execution, his words were heart-warming.

"Aye. So we must say goodbye, Guard Captain Sho'ro. We are short on time, and cannot chance to spare any more. Again, I am thankful for your cooperation, and owe a great deal to the Cenarion Circle."

"You are entirely welcome, Stefan Dreis. Our doors are always open to you and your friends," said Sho'ro, pausing to consider his next few words. "It is rare to encounter such a circle of allies so...diverse. Thank you for the pleasure of making such an aquaintance. I shall keep you no longer. Good luck."

They exchanged farewells, then headed off down the beaten path toward the edge of Cenarion Hold.

"Where to now, Stefan?" asked Iyana.

"The Blasted Lands. Outland is his only chance at survival. We have to reach the Dark Portal before he does," he replied.

"How we get there fast, mon? Be a long journey," reckoned Guro'jintal.

"Aye. I'm not quite sure."

"I think I know how!"

They turned to see Koramosh running toward them. His face was terribly blackened, but he had rubbed the soot from his goggles. It took Stefan some effort to hold back a snicker. Iyana couldn't, and giggled audibly.

"How's that, Koramosh?" asked Stefan.

The Orc pointed behind him. It took Stefan a moment to see what he was trying to show them, but then he saw it; a black, indistinct shape bobbing about on the other side of Cenarion Hold.

"What is it?" asked Gordreck, squinting.

"A Goblin Zeppelin! I learned they had one stowed away in a supply dump, and after some...negotiations, was able to aquire it!" the Orc replied excitedly.

Stefan sighed. "How much did you--"

"That's not important! What is, is that I've rigged it to get a little boost in speed; I reckon we can reach The Blasted Lands by tomorrow morning!"

They looked around. No one seemed to have any qualms with the idea.

"Alright. Let's do it Koramosh," affirmed Stefan.

"Okay," said the Orc, his expression drooping slightly. "There's a problem though. There's only room for five passengers. There's six of us here."

He was right. With Gerita added to the party, there were now six of them in total. One of them would have to stay behind. Stefan didn't like the idea of leaving them behind, so far from home. He was unsure of how to proceed. But then, Iyana Moonbreeze stepped forth.

"I'll stay. You all go ahead," she said, turning to face Stefan. "I've done all I can, anyhow."

"But Iyana, you want this man dead as much as I do," combated Stefan.

"It's alright. I know you can handle him without me."

There were misgivings, but they knew they would not change the Night Elf's decision.

"Go on, Stefan. Finish what we have started," she replied, moving closer to him. "Perhaps I'll see you in the future."

He took her hand and kissed her soft knuckles.

"Thank you, Iyana, for all you have done."

"And thank you, Stefan, for saving my life."

She gave him a peck on the cheek, then withdrew.

"Now go, and catch the b*****d," said Iyana.