Chapter Text
As the deck tilted alarmingly below him, the young sailor couldn't help pondering the thought that calling a ship Stormbreaker felt alarmingly like tempting fate.
The crash of thunder, the howl of the wind, the lashing of rain; he clung desperately to the railing as the warship lurched, certain that if he were to let go, he would be hurled across the deck - and perhaps even into the turbulent, malevolent sea below.
Lightning flashed again, and he caught a glimpse of the surroundings of the Alliance vessel. Walls of water tossing and turning, and making even one of the prides of the Eastern Kingdoms seem small. Even with most of the sails taken down, the vessel seemed to be going at terrifying speed, riding the typhoon with what - to him - seemed like pure recklessness.
A rush of water from a massive wave slammed over him, and he nearly lost his grip - but then a chill even greater than the sea hit, and he found himself locked to the deck. No, not locked - frozen. A moment later, as the Stormbreaker found an even keel again and the cruel whims of physics let him go, the ice melted away, and he glanced up to the figure at the tiller of the vessel.
A figure of both terror and hope. Nobody else would have dared take the ship through this storm. Nobody else could keep them safe through it.
And her mere presence meant that what lay at the end of the journey was far worse than a mere storm.
"Thank you, Inquisitor!" he screamed over the roar of the storm.
"Make sure those lines are secured, then get below deck!" came the reply, a voice surely too soft to carry over the howling of nature's fury, and yet which sounded clear and steely in his ear. "Not much else to be done for now!"
He scurried to obey.
Naval Inquisitor Jaina Proudmoore, First Officer of Circumstance, wielder of the arcane arts and hunter of all things foul of threat to the Alliance on the open ocean, returned her gaze to the skies. Her boots frozen to the deck allowing her to be as steady as a mountain against the typhoon that would seek to challenge her.
But it would take a great deal more than this to get in the way of her duty. Or her target.
As her eyes glowed a faint blue, a gentle enchantment helping her to sea the flows of the weather even in the depths of night, she thought for a moment back to exactly what that target was, and how she ended up on this ship.
***
Stormwind was poorly named on that morning, Jaina reflected. A blazing sun overhead, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and fish over the docks… subtly wrong, to her nose. None of the freshness or wildness of a Kul Tiran sea wind, too tame, too lacking in spice. A wind for fishermen and merchants, not real sailors.
But… this was the capital. And thus here she had to report for duty.
Sailors scurried about their business, giving her a wide berth. Any naval officer was due respect, of course, regardless of which of the Alliance nations they wore the colours of, but Jaina was different. A black frockcoat, pants and bicorn hat, trimmed in gold thread that matched her tightly braided blonde hair, with a white waistcoat below offering a hint of contrast. Epaulettes and buttons similarly in gold added a little extra flair. Most notable of all, there was the cutlass at her side that had a gently glowing sapphire in the guard, and the emblem of a crossed sword and staff stitched over her breast; the symbol of the dreaded Naval Inquisition.
Military officers and mages alike were not to be trifled with. When the two were combined into one person, the results were enough to spook even the hardiest and most overwrought sailor into line.
Kul Tiras and the port of Boralus might be the front line of the Alliance navy, with its easy control over the sea routes to most of the major nations and ports and its old traditions lending themselves to hardy and skilled men and women of the sea, but Stormwind was unquestionably the largest port, and the most notable trade hub. The sheer number of vessels here was impressive even to her mind, even if many of them were civilian or shallow water vessels. Bulky merchants, ready to depart for Gilneas, Lordaeron, Kul Tiras and the new colonies on Kalimdor. Patrol cutters ready to seek out murlocs and other raider threats to the coastlines. Sleek frigates taking on supplies for any number of missions in defence of humanity.
And then there were the real gems, to her mind. The true ships of the line, the muscle that had pushed away threats for decades. The orcs and trolls had crashed against such titans with all the strength of a gentle wave, and the elves of the old and new world alike had not dared to challenge them in open warfare. She felt a surge of pride glancing over the silhouette of the Tidesong, a Kul Tiran three-deck 120 gun monster and one of the heaviest vessels ever constructed.
And, of course, there was her destination.
The Stormbreaker was far smaller than the Tidesong. 74 guns over two decks, with enough weight to handle heavy seas and a sleek hull capable of outrunning even some lighter ships with a good wind. Jaina could grudgingly admit that she was a beautiful vessel, even if she wasn't of Kul Tiran construction. Neither the green and gold anchor of Kul Tiras, nor the blue-and-gold lion of Stormwind flew over this ship; instead there was the black-and-silver stylised Arathi 'G' of Gilneas.
Goes to show what good wood can do for shipbuilding, Jaina reflected. Gilnean trees, Kul Tiran designs, Lordaeronian manpower…
And there… there was the man she was meeting. Not that any of that makes up for having a fool in command, she thought, keeping her expression carefully neutral. Whatever her opinions of her new commanding officer, they were best kept silent.
"Captain Greymane," she said, saluting sharply. "I'm Inquisitor Proudmoore. I'm here with orders from the Admiralty."
Genn Greymane straightened, and turned, dismissing the midshipman he'd been looming over. A solid man even in his old age, the officer's uniform seemed to ill-fit him despite the best efforts of the tailors. His white, uneven hair and beard contributed to the overall vibe of someone who cared little for his appearance, and the wild, intense look in his eyes probably intimidated most people.
She was not most people, and she just politely held out the sealed envelope by her side to him.
"Inquisitor," the former royal rumbled. "Thank you." He took the letter, tore it open and scanned over the contents.
Jaina only knew him by reputation, but it was not a favourable one in her eyes. The sea was a cruel mistress, as any Kul Tiran could tell you, and should be treated with the utmost respect and reverence. Some viewed it as inspirational, the way that Genn had surrendered his throne to pursue his ghosts, but to her it was a sign that he would be a loose cannon.
And yet…
She coolly watched his eyes light up as he read over the document.
I can see why they chose him for this mission, even if I would have looked elsewhere myself.
"This is real?" Greymane demanded. "Orders to travel to the Shrouded Sea?"
"Yes, sir," Jaina said crisply. "I've been assigned as your First Officer of Circumstance. It is the judgement of the Admiralty that you will require the support of the Inquisition to root out the evils at hand."
"I need no reminder of the foulness of the Shrouded Sea, whelp," Genn snapped. "My daughter's fate is burned into my skull, and now… vengeance is finally at hand. If your witchcraft can aid me in this mission, all to the good. If not, stand aside and watch. Do you have any idea what we face?"
"Our mission is to engage and destroy the forces that have been raiding the merchant vessels passing through that region -" Jaina began.
"Our mission is to find and destroy the Banshee's Wail!" Genn retorted. "There's only one pirate vessel that's ever held the power and nerve to hunt in those cursed waters, and that's the Banshee and her vile captain!"
The sea-mage folded her arms. "The Inquisition has never seen tangible evidence that the Banshee's Wail is anything but a myth," she replied flatly. "The Shrouded Sea is an uncharted mass of wild magic and storms that could contain any number of threats. One hexed elven warship, even if she does exist, is unlikely to be the sole source of all the damage and losses suffered out there. It was our recommendation that shipping avoid the region entirely, but none were willing to countenance adding an entire month to circumnavigate both it and avoid troll territory."
"And what of the accounts of the survivors of the Warhound?" Genn demanded. "Good, brave men who lost their lives fighting pointy-eared black magic, a fine ship sent to the bottom! How does your Inquisition explain that?"
"Tidemother keep them," Jaina said, gently flicking her hand across her chest in the traditional gesture of reverence, as though imitating the motion of a wave. "The few men picked up from the Warhound were delirious and confused. Their accounts made little sense and were deemed to be impossible. There most certainly are dangers to be found - and elven privateers could well be among them - but ghost ships? No, sir. What we face shall be destroyed with blade, cannon and sanctioned sorcery."
Genn gave a grunt. "In that, at least, we agree. But you'll see, Proudmoore. The Inquisition believes that because it has mastered the arcane, that it knows all there is to know. But there are things beyond human knowledge, terrors beyond comprehension."
"Beyond knowledge, sir?" Jaina said with a cold smile. "I hope so, or the world would be boring indeed. But beyond comprehension? Never."
***
Spray dashed across her as the Stormbreaker rode another wave, the storm raging above her. But Jaina felt no fear. The wrath of sea and sky were no strangers to her; their rage was something to be respected, harnessed, not shrunk from. As much as it brought concern to the crew and other officers, she knew that letting the tempest propel them forward was gaining them many hours, perhaps even days off of their course. As a Kul Tiran, knowing when to push her luck and when to drop sail and wait was in her blood, just as much as any other aspect of the great, unending salt road. And as a mage - and a Naval Inquisitor, no less - she had the attunement to the elements around her to hone those instincts, and enough power to keep them safe should the unexpected happen.
There was a shift, something that most ordinary men, even good sailors, might have missed, a twist in the wind direction, and she shifted the tiller to compensate. Humming an old Kul Tiran shanty to herself, enjoying the strange tranquility that can only be found when alone in the heart of a storm. Not entirely alone, there were men lashed to the mast to keep them from being lost, and others hiding in shelter, but up here… she stood alone, and was content to be so.
It was hardly as though it was an unusual state of affairs. Whether as a daughter of the Proudmoore family and their legacy as naval royalty, or as a mage in training, or these days as an Inquisitor… it was rare indeed to find companionship. There was always some line, some division, that kept people away.
None is so lonely as the mountain among valleys, as the old Arathi saying went. Most said it about nobility, but… it was just as applicable to one such as her. Powerful, dangerous… untouchable.
And soon… in uncharted waters, in more ways than one.
Foolish girl, she thought to herself, and it was her mother's voice that she heard. Showing off to an audience of none, to make yourself feel better about what lies ahead.
Well, mother? she countered herself. I put none in danger. I speed our voyage. If bravado now will enable me to be calm when we enter the cursed realm, is that a crime?
Bravado is always a crime, the spectre of her mother answered sharply. Some day you will learn that. May it be when the cost is small.
She sighed aloud, the sound swallowed by the howling wind. Even left behind long ago, months since she'd last been home… her mother kept her honest.
It was true. The Shrouded Sea made her nervous. Only a fool would not be afraid of it. Ever since it was found by explorers travelling the great ocean, and the first reports had filtered back, it had been a source of terror for sailors.
It extended for a vast stretch across the northern centre of the ocean. A region choked by eternal fog, littered with uncharted islands and full of untold mysteries. People spoke of sea monsters, of graveyards of ships dating back centuries, of strange beings and stranger magic.
People said it was cursed. Perhaps it was. She would be one of the first Inquisitors to travel there, to taste whatever strange phenomena kept the region shrouded - and to hunt whatever dared to prey upon human shipping. If it could be studied, understood, tamed… that would offer a route that risked the wrath of neither troll nor elf. To say nothing of whatever wealth might be found amongst the dark and secretive isles there.
But strip away all the superstition, the stories, the opportunities, and she had to admit that there was one simple fact that made her uncomfortable. A region where visibility was poor, charts non-existent, and threats unknown. It was a recipe for shipwreck and disaster. Sure, they had the course plotted by the merchantmen who had found a passage that avoided shoals and islands, but if they were to hunt… likely it would mean leaving that route.
And while she'd scoffed at Genn's ravings and the hellfire speech he'd given to the men when they departed Stormwind… some part of her did wonder. After all, stories came from somewhere.
It could be that their foe was indeed an elven pirate. That was a dangerous enough prospect without any kind of witchcraft at play. The tricksy, arrogant, hostile creatures of the northern realms were not to be underestimated, and while there had been no actual combat at sea with an elven warship in living memory… there was always posturing. She remembered being a cadet aboard her father's command, watching and feeling the mixture of awe and fear from the crew as a graceful silhouette danced over the water, turning the wind into its plaything and very obviously showing off to the imposing Kul Tiran man'o'war. Look at how I move, it seemed to taunt, Now imagine how I fight. Challenge me at your peril.
Some day, war would come. There was the rustlings of it, the distaste and mutual envy for the spoils of the other. The rich and plentiful realms of the sun, and their elegant and aloof inhabitants, always watching the realms of man with jealousy and resentment.
Let them come. They would dash themselves against human might as orc and troll had done before. They would be humbled, and learn the error of their ways.
But open war was a different game from the dance of skirmish and posture and… piracy.
Perhaps that is why there is no war, Jaina thought with distaste. They know that is a game they cannot win, so instead they dance. Well, if it is an elven warship that we face, they will at least face something with speed that they cannot simply play keep-away with. And if they have the firepower to challenge the Stormbreaker, there are greater problems at hand.
Her mind went back to the story Genn told and told, over and over, at every opportunity it seemed. Of the mighty Warhound, of his bold and brave daughter the second officer, and its proud mission to explore the Shrouded Sea… and the lone boat recovered by a merchant, a handful of men aboard, babbling of a ship that was crewed by the damned and fought like a ghost. Whose passing was accompanied by screams, and most of all… the red eyed demon who had watched them escape, sword dripping with blood.
The clouds above shifted, and a hint of moonlight peeked through. Another shift, so faint as to be almost imperceptible, but enough.
The storm is starting to fade.
When it loses its teeth, I'll go below and get some rest.
Soon… we'll reach the Shrouded Sea.
And I'll learn what it is that must be conquered.