Chapter 5: Conspiracies
Arthas needed time to think. And he did so by leaning against a tree of this recent work together.
To intercept infected grain while trying to maintain secrecy from Falric and Jaina regarding his true intentions were tasks that are easier said than done. And he knew that any wrong move would break that trust.
Having to relive the last seven years of his life after falling at Icecrown is something else. With that regard, every movie he made count if he wished to make sure none of those things happen again.
Until something caught his eye walking along the path he was in. A robed figure walking by the same road near the trees as he does.
The Prince approached the familiar figure, holding what appeared to be a staff. "You've come far, young prince," he remarked taking a few steps close to him. "May I speak to you?
Arthas carefully moved closer, feigning ignorance of his identity. "Are you whom they call the Prophet? The same one that gave warnings to the likes of the King and Grand Magus Antonidas?"
The man's smile grew knowing though he appeared a bit saddened. "I am the one who warned your father, Terenas, of the coming storm," he revealed. "And have done the same to Antonidas." He looked upon the horizon before him. "Unfortunately, my warnings fell on deaf ears. The world would pay a steep price for their neglect."
"Your words are cryptic, stranger," Arthas replied, careful as to not reveal too much information. "Your warnings are troubling," he added, "but what do they have to do with what's happening now?"
The Prophet looked at Arthas. "This land, I'm afraid, is doomed," he sadly stated. "If you wish to save your people, you must look westward. There lies the salvation of your kingdom and perhaps, the world itself."
Kalimdor, he thought, a landmass that most didn't even believe existed. Where the Legion would make their way to Mt. Hyjal. Jaina had been there with a sizeable human expeditionary force when she listened to the Prophet. The only reason why the Legion had been defeated and of Archimonde's death in his previous life, was because the Alliance, the Horde and the Night Elves banding together to stop him.
"Your words are... troubling," Arthas stated while maintaining a calm demeanor to not give away his thoughts. "But they do not fall entirely on deaf ears. The plague that came upon is a grave risk, one that acts as another piece of a greater puzzle made by them."
The Prophet nodded. "You stand at a crossroads, my prince," he warned. "Choose wisely if the choice is presented to you."
Arthas swallowed hard. "Your warnings do hold merit." He paused go think a bit kore. "Yet, as we stand, our immediate concern lies with the undead and the plague. I would first have to deal with the blight before we could make our way west."
The Prophet nodded in approval. "Your priorities are wise, young Prince. Take the time you need, but you make haste once it is concluded. "The choices that we all make define the very answer of then upon us."
The former Lich King would want nothing more than that last part to happen. He could not say wether or not a part of the Lich King remained with him when he was brought back or an internal delusion manifested by his memories.
"I'll keep that in mind," Arthas assured him. "Once settled, I will return to Lordaeron and inform my father of your words, hopefully he would see reason. We will act with haste, but also with caution."
The Prophet looked at him inquisitively as if he knew that lies ahead for the Prince. Tread lightly, my prince," he adviced. "The shadows are long, and the darkness has a way of creeping into even the most steadfast hearts."
Arthas nodded. "I will not forget your counsel," he assured the robed man. "And when the time is right, I shall do all in my power to prevent the danger you foretell."
The Prophet nodded once, appearing satisfied. "Then may the light guide your steps and your heart remain true," he said before turning away, his form turning into a large raven before flying away.
After that, Arthas made his way back to the camp where he saw campfire grew brighter as he approached. Falric looked exhausted as he kept watch but brightened upon seeing his Prince returning.
"Your Highness," Falric greeted, rising to his feet and offered a salute.
Arthas offered a curt nod in response. "At ease, Captain," he requestred. "Rest now. I will take the watch."
Falric raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, my prince?" he asked in worry. "You've had quite the evening."
The prince sighed. "I have," he admitted. "But the night is not yet over, and we need to be ready for whatever dawn brings."
"As you wish," Falric complied. He then turned to the others, ensuring their safety before finally lying down beside them.
Arthas took his place at the camp's edge, remembering his conversation with the Prophet. His father would not be so easily swayed, but perhaps Uther might vouch for him if he had seen enough but he wasn't sure yet.
He looked upon Jaina's resting form. Her face was serene, and undisturbed by the worries of the world that rested so heavily upon his own.
Nervously, he reached out, his finger brushed against a loose lock of her hair. The softness of the gesture seemed at odds with his cold touch, but it pained him as well.
He watched her sleep and he saw her eyes eyes flutter briefly. For a moment he thought he had disturbed her but she hasn't woken up. He could feel his heart ache in the guilt. He recalled the pain he had caused her, the suffering he had inflicted on her when he had been the Lich King. Her world had crumbled around her, her master and much of the Kirin Tor slaughtered by his own hand to bring the wretched demon Archimonde into this world.
Her own homeland, Kul'tiras, even forsakened her because of her role in stopping her father from waging senseless war with the Horde.
Yet, she remained steadfast and tried to be the leader that she originally didn't want. A trait that he would forever admire her for.
Every regret he had threatened to crush him from within. He had taken so much from her, and now he wished to give back what he could—his protection, his guidance, his friendship and even his own life if he could. He would not let her fall into the same abyss as she did before.
He hated having to keep secrets from her and his men. Because, he was afraid too. Afraid of losing the trust that he still have with them after he had destroyed it the first time in his previous life. I would tell them..., he thought with his eyes squeezed shut. Just at the right time...not right now.
He could feel the chill of despair within him. Yet, in this moment, Arthas found a semblance of peace. I won't let you carry those burdens again..., he thought, as he gently looked at the woman whom had won his heart. And if there will be any...you won't be carrying them alone.
Arthas kept looking at Jaina, silently apologizing to her, almost wishing that he could tell her the truth so that he wouldn't have to do this alone. But the night held her fast, and so he watched over her and his men, not even minding to sleep for a brief moment.
It was a small price to pay for a greater cause beyond himself.
The next day came and Andorhal was getting close. Jaina rode with Arthas, but she was worried about him as she wished to reach out to him, to offer comfort or at least to understand what he was feeling in these past few day. Falric noticed the prince's fatigue but said nothing, having a similar mindset as Jaina.
They reached Andorhal, but it was clear that something was wrong. Jaina looked over at Arthas. Despite his calm demeanor, she could sense that something was wrong, something that Arthas took note off, but he said nothing as he rode ahead of them.
"Arthas," she ventured. "I know how urgent our mission is, but your behavior...it's unlike you."
Arthas' face was unreadable, but he knew he had to humor her to get her off his trail. "I've seen things, Jaina," he lowly said. "Things that you wouldn't want to imagine."
Her curiosity piqued, Jaina pressed on. "What have you seen?" she asked softly with concern..
He took a deep breath, being mindful of his words. "The consequences of inaction," he replied. "The price of complacency."
The group grew quiet as the city walls grew closer and it was clear that something was terribly wrong when they heard the distant wails of the undead and the clanging of swords echoing through the desolate streets.a
A platoon of Alliance soldiers fought hard against the rampaging undead. Captain Luc Valonforth, a man Arthas recognized as one of the officers who went with him at Northrend, led the charge. He and his men were surrounded by a swarm of undead minions, their numbers seemingly endless.
The soldiers fought with a hard as their weapons fought deep into the decayed flesh of their enemy. Yet, for every undead creature they felled, two more took its place due to the presence of the necromancers.
Elven mages from Quel'thalas continue to cast arcane bolts into the fray. The crackle of their spells pierced the air, briefly illuminating the carnage with flashes of cerulean light. Despite their valiant efforts, the tide of darkness grew ever stronger.
It was at this moment Arthas and his companions had finally arrived. The prince looked over the battleground, feeling the dread and unease that was pushed aside to make this right.
With a roar, Arthas brought Light's Vengeance crashing down upon the skull of a charging Ghoul, killing it. The weapon, imbued with the power of the Light, struck with righteous fury as it cleaved through the undead, leaving a trail of purifying light in its wake.
Jaina quickly acted by summoning a hailstorm of shards that rained down upon the Scourge. The icy onslaught froze the undead in place, giving the soldiers a much-needed respite as the shards of ice shredded through their rotting forms. Falric and his men, their blades gleaming in the dim light, charged into the fray with a battle cry that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them.
With the timely intervention of Arthas and his companions, the tide of battle began to turn. Each blow from Light's Vengeance sent a shockwave through the undying hordes, their unholy forms disintegrating into dust. Falric and his men fought with the fervor of those who knew the very fate of their kin rested upon their shoulders. Jaina weaved spells that danced through the air, bringing forth bolts of frost that froze the advancing Scourge in their tracks.
As reinforcements came, Captain Valonforth and his men fought on, their spirits bolstered by the sudden arrival of help. The enemy was pushed back and their advance was stalled and destroyed as they fell one by one.
It was silent after the last corpse fell, leaving only the mournful wail of the wind through the ruins. Captain Valonforth, his armor battered and his breaths ragged, approached Arthas, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and desperation.
"Thank the Light you've come, your Highness," he called out in relief. "We are but a handful of survivors holding out after they breached the area."
Arthas nodded in approval then looked at the devastated town that was a familiar sight to him. "What has become of Andorhal, Captain?"
Valonforth's eyes narrowed at that. "Those monsters" he spat. "They brought the plague. They've taken over the grain storehouses at the city's edge. And that they are preparing it for transport"
It was all that Arthas needed to hear. "Your priority, Captain, is the grain," he behan. "Don't let a single cart get it of the city. Gather your men and assist Lady Jaina and the mages in securing the storehouses."
Valonforth nodded eagerly. "Understood, your Highness. We will hold the line at all costs." He called out to his soldiers, who had gathered around them. "You heard the prince! To the storehouses! For the Alliance!"
The soldiers cheered, their spirits lifted by the arrival of their prince and his comrades. Jaina, standing at Arthas' side, looked up at him. "And what of Kel'thuzad?" she asked.
He turned to face her. "Falric and I will lead the other half of our forces in pursuit of him," the Prince said. "We'll make sure he doesn't escape."
Falric, ever the loyal companion, nodded firmly. "Aye, my prince," he obliged.
With a nod of understanding, the two groups split off from one another, with Valonforth and Jaina set off towards the city's edge, where the looming grain storehouses. Arthas and Falric, on the other hand, set their sights on the necromancers' operation. If things go as planned, then they'll be able to achieve both objectives in one swift strome
The night before...
Marwyn followed the two envoys from the House of Barov as they weaved through the cobblestone streets of Stratholme,. The captain's instincts were on high alert, ready to act if jeeded. He knew that he was walking a tightrope between loyalty to his prince and the security of the city.
"The baron is expecting us," said the taller of the two as they moved with discretion.
"Yes, but we must first ensure the 'flower girl' is properly... persuaded," the shorter one replied.
Marwyn's curiosity piqued at the mention of a 'flower girl'. Whatever they may be planning, he needed to intercept it at once.
Marwyn trailed the envoys from the House of Barov as they approached the quaint shop of Fearlina Bloomfield, the botanist's name etched into a wooden sign. The shop was nestled between two larger buildings, its windows displaying an array of vibrant flowers and herbs that stood in stark contrast to the shadowed streets of Stratholme. The captain observed from a safe distance as he listened to their conversation, which grew more distinct as they drew nearer.
The taller envoy rapped sharply on the door, and it swung open, revealing a warmly lit interior filled with the scent of earth and blooming plants. A slender young woman with a head of fiery red hair looked up from her work, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the two men dressed in the finery of the Barov House.
"Good evening, Lady Bloomfield," the taller envoy said. "We bring news from the Lord Barov himself."
Fearlina's eyes lit up with excitement. "The Barov family? Here, for me?" she squealed. "What could he possibly want?"
The shorter envoy stepped forward in complete formality. "The Lord has heard of your... unique talents, shall we say?" He glanced at the myriad of bottles and vials lining the shelves. "And he has decided to offer you a place into his household, starting next week. A position that will pay you quite handsomely."
Marwyn immediately knew this was nothing of the pleasant nature and he continued to listen intently.
Faerlina looked at them with a mix of suspicion and excitement. "What sort of position?"
"That's the beauty of it," the taller envoy said with a chuckle. "All will be revealed in due time. But for now, know that your skills will be put to good use, and you will be well-rewarded for your efforts."
Faerlina hesitated, glancing back at her workshop. "But what of my shop?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
The shorter envoy waved a dismissive hand, handing her a letter. "Lord Barov will compensate you for any losses, I assure you. This is an opportunity of a lifetime, one that you would be foolish to pass up."
Marwyn watched as the botanist's expression shifted from skepticism to hope, and he knew that he had to act quickly. He could not allow her to become embroiled in whatever plot the Barov family had planned. But how could he interfere without giving away his own mission?
"Very well," Faerlina finally said with excitement. "I will join Lord Barov's court."
The two envoys exchanged a knowing look before turning to leave. "Excellent," the taller one said. "We will send for you when the time is right."
As they disappeared into the night, Marwyn approached Fearlina's shop, his mind racing with questions and concerns.
Marwyn waited patiently from a corner as Fearlina eventually emerged from her shop, a watering can in hand. She tiptoed over to a particularly lush plant, humming softly to herself. The captain took a deep breath and, when the moment felt right, he leaped into action. He darted out from his hiding spot and, with surprising agility for his size, covered the young botanist's mouth with his calloused hand, effectively silencing her muffled scream. Her eyes went wide with terror, and she struggled against him, her hands flailing in the air.
Marwyn whispered urgently into her ear, "Lady Bloomfield, I am Captain Marwyn of the Royal Guard. I'm here to help. So please, don't scream." His grip was firm but gentle, and he could feel her body begin to relax slightly as she realized she wasn't being attacked by a common thug.
Faerlina looked at him for a moment then nodded cautiously, and Marwyn released her, stepping back and raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Forgive me for the fright," oleaded with an awkward chuckle. "But I overheard your conversation with the Barov envoys and I fear you're being drawn into something... less than noble."
"Why are you so interested in what they said to me?" Faerlina asked as she looked at the imposing figure of Marwyn.
Marwyn began to explain, "I am here on orders from Prince Arthas to uncover any threats to our city. Baron Rivendare's dealings with the House of Barov have raised some concerns, and I cannot ignore any potential connections. I assure you, your safety is of the utmost importance to us."
Fearlina clutched the letter in her trembling hands. "But I've done nothing wrong," she protested. "They just offered me a position at their household!"
Marwyn took the letter from her and gave it a read before he spoke again. "I do not doubt your innocence," he sincerely and gently answered her. "However, the nature of this offer is suspicious. The House of Barov is known for... acquisitive tendencies."
The botanist was confused. "What does that mean?"
The captain carefully chose his words. "It means that they may seek to use your talents for their own ends. And in times like these, such ambition can lead to dire consequences."
"Lady Bloomfield" Marwyn spoke again, "I must ask you to keep our meeting tonight a secret. Your safety and the security of Stratholme may depend on it." He offered her a solemn look. "I need to take this letter with me if I am to make sure of everyone's safety."
Fortunately, she was cooperative. "I understand, Captain. I won't tell a soul."
Marwyn offered her a reassuring smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the abruptness and the fear I've caused you. It was not my intention." He took the letter and tucked it safely into his tunic. "Please, continue with your evening. I will ensure that the Royal Guard remains vigilant, and that your name remains unblemished."
Faerlina nodded, though her amusement at his sudden concern was evident in the quirk of her lips. "I appreciate your concern, Captain. But I assure you, I can handle myself. I've been running this shop alone for quite some time."
Marwyn chuckled, a rare lightness momentarily piercing his stoic demeanor. "Of that, I have no doubt," he replied. "But even the most capable are not immune to the machinations of those with power and greed. I will be watching over the city, and if there is anything more I can do for you, do not hesitate to send word."
"Thank you, Captain," she said, her voice still shaking a little. "I will keep that in mind."
Marwyn gave her a courteous nod before he turned and disappeared into the night.
That Marwyn fellow was a strange one, for a Captain that is. She had to admit, it would've been better if he just approached her normally.
Marwyn tailed the envoys through the streets The safehouse was a nondescript building, blending seamlessly into the rows of houses that lined the narrow alleyways of Stratholme. The captain hid as the envoys approached. He watched from his hiding spot as the door to the safehouse creaked open, spilling a sliver of candlelight onto the cobblestones. The figure of Baron Rivendare was visible for him to see and he, like many nobles, dressed quite fashionably.
The two men from the House of Barov bowed deeply before the Baron. "My lord," the taller one began, "we have received news that the grain from Andorhal is en route as we speak."
Rivendare was pleased. "Excellent," he commended. "Your service to Lordaeron is invaluable. And what of our dear friend Kel'thuzad?"
The shorter envoy stepped forward, his voice filled with a strange mix of excitement and dread. "He is eager for the grain's arrival, my lord. The acolytes await his instructions with great anticipation."
This can't be good, Marwyn thought as he pieced together the puzzle before him. That they intend to spread the plague with aid of this Kel'thuzad fellow. But, he needed more information.
"Good," Rivendare said with a sneer. "And the Royal Guard? Have they been... distracted?"
The taller envoy nodded. "Captain Marwyn is occupied with securing the grain, as per the prince's orders. He suspects nothing."
Marwyn felt a twist of anger at the mention of his name. They were playing a dangerous game, using him as a pawn without his knowledge.
The Baron leaned in. "And the prince himself? What of Arthas?"
The shorter envoy swallowed hard. "He... he remains focused on his mission, my lord. But we are taking precautions to ensure that his suspicions do not lead him here."
Baron Rivendare's laugh echoed through the alley, a sound as cold and hollow as the cackle of a raven. "Arthas," he spat. "He is a fool to think he can simply interfere of our work. But tell Lord Barov that the time is almost upon us. The grain must reach Stratholme before he does."
The envoys nodded. "As you wish, my lord," they said in unison before they left.
Marwyn waited until the Baron had disappeared back into the safehouse. He waited until the envoys were deep in conversation, their heads bent together. The crowd around them grew denser as the night market grew more boisterous, providing the perfect cover for his next move.
He approached them casually, his eyes downcast, blending in with the townsfolk as they bartered for their goods. The taller envoy's hand was resting on his belt, and as Marwyn "accidentally" bumped into him, he slipped the letter from Faerlina into the man's pocket without him knowing. The envoy stumbled slightly, looking around in surprise, but Marwyn had already melted away into the crowd of people, his hand sliding into his own pocket to retrieve the true document.
The shorter envoy looked up with a frown. "What was that?" he murmured to his companion.
The taller envoy shrugged, patting his pocket absently. "Probably just a drunk," he said dismissively. "Let's get this to Lord Barov. We don't want to keep him waiting."
Marwyn watched them go, the letter from Rivendare now safely in his possession. He had to get back to Arthas immediately and inform him of the Baron's plot.
He hurried to the city's gates while his hand was clammy around the letter with Rivendare's seal, the weight of it feeling like a leaden stone in his pocket. As he reached the guardhouse, he called out for a cavalry messenger
A young, eager-looking soldier emerged. "Sir, what is your message?" he inquired.
Marwyn pulled out the letter and held it up. "This is of the utmost importance," he urgently told him. "You must take this to Prince Arthas without delay. Do not let it fall into the wrong hands, and tell no one of its contents except for him."
The messenger took the letter, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized the crest. Along with another that Marwyn gave that detailed his findings to the Prince. "Understood, Captain," he complied. "I will deliver it posthaste."
Marwyn nodded firmly. "Good. Ride hard and may the light guide your way."
The young soldier mounted his horse, and with a swift salute, he kicked his steed into a gallop, the sound of hooves echoing through the night as he disappeared into the night.
The captain took a moment to compose himself, watching the messenger shrink into the distance. He had done what he could, but he wished his Prince would be made aware of the recent developments.
Back at Andorhal, the wagons were laden with the tainted grain rolled through the city gates. Kel'thuzad observed the convoy from an abandoned building, his fingers tracing the lines of a foul incantation in the air.
"Move swiftly," he ordered. "Our plan must not be delayed."
The wagons picked up speed as they approached the outskirts of the city, but as the convoy neared the city gates, the skies above Andorhal were suddenly split by a fiery glow. The stunned undead stared in disbelief as the wagons were revealed, their once sturdy forms now twisted and burning, the grain within them smoldering ominously.
Kel'thuzad's eyes narrowed as he recognized the hand of the young mage he remembered as Antonidas' apprentice, in the destruction. He looked to the mages that had accompanied her as they conjured barriers to protect themselves from the onslaught of rotting flesh and bone that the Meat Wagons had unleashed in retaliation.
The necromancer's fist slammed into the stone wall beside him. "Fools," he spat. "You dare to stand in the way of the Scourge?"
Jaina raised her staff in a gesture of challenge. "I dare," she declared.
The Meat Wagons surged forward, hurling the rotting body parts of their former passengers with unnatural strength. The foul projectiles rained down upon Jaina and her comrades, but she remained unfazed, her magical shields holding firm against the assault.
"Wipe them out. All of them." Kel'thuzad bellowed. "The grain must reach Stratholme. There is no alternative."
The mages, led by Jaina, unleashed a torrent of spells to fend off the relentless attacks, while Captain Valonforth and his soldiers formed a protective wall around the mage.
The former Council of Six member held a furious gaze and it remained locked on Jaina and her companions. Amidst the tumult, a figure emerged at his side.
It was the Prince, leaping over the burning wreckage of the Meat Wagons with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. The necromancer felt a sudden chill, a premonition of his own impending doom as the prince's weapon descended upon him with the force of divine wrath.
Reaching quickly, Kel'thuzad managed to conjure a barrier of swirling dark energy, but it was not enough to withstand the power of Arthas' blow. The barrier shattered like glass and pushing the necromancer back several steps, leaving the two now standing alone.
"At ease, your highness...", the Necromancer said with sneer. "I am Kel'Thuzad, and I've come to deliver a warning. Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you."
Arthas scoffed. "I know well enough, sorcerer", he spat, resisting the urge to end his wretched life here once more. "Of you and the master you serve. It ends now."
Kel'Thuzad stared at Arthas, his curiosity piqued. "You speak as though you know our plans," he spoke. "Tell me, Prince of Lordaeron, what do you know of the Cult of the Damned?"
"I know enough," he replied. "I know of your foul rituals, of how you and your ilk have conspired with the likes of Mal'Ganis to bring the plague to Lrodseron."
The necromancer was mildly impressed. "Very perceptive of you," he mused, given only a few knew about the Dreadlord's plan, even less about his identity. "But what good is knowledge if it leads only to your own doom?"
"It taught me how to deal with the likes of you," Arthas shot back.
Kel'Thuzad chuckled. "You cannot escape the inevitable, child," he said. "You cannot hope to stop it. Not when it is the very will of the Lich King that you stand against."
Arthas maintained his focus, pushing aside the past of his former self. "Your 'Lich King' will not claim Stratholme or Lordaeron," Arthas vowed. "I will see to it personally."
With a sneer, Kel'Thuzad raised his staff high, and a swirling orb of sickly green and black energy formed at its tip. He took a moment to enjoy Arthas' expression of disgust before hurling it back. Arthas, anticipating the move, sidestepped with a fluid grace that belied the weight of his heavy armor. The unholy projectile smashed into a nearby tree, which began to rot away before their very eyes, its once-verdant leaves withering to dust.
"Is that it, sorcerer?" Arthas scoffed. "Petty tricks won't get you anywhere."
"You underestimate the power of the Scourge," the necromancer bellowed, slamming the butt of his staff onto the bloodstained ground with a thunderous thump. The tremor that followed sent ripples through the very air snd the lifeless forms of slain villagers and guards began to stir. Their bodies contorted and twisted, bones cracking and reknitting themselves into grotesque forms as they grew in size. Two monstrous Abominations lurched into existence, their stitched flesh bulging and pustulating as they let out guttural roars.
The crowd of mages and soldiers looked in horror as the Abominations began to move towards Arthas, their rotting limbs swinging with a terrible, unnatural strength. Arthas responded by raising Light's Vengeance high. "But if this is the game you wish to play, then I shall be the one to end it."
With a flick of his wrist, Kel'Thuzad sent the Abominations charging at Arthas. Arthas stood firm, the light of his warhammer burning brighter as he prepared to meet their advance.
The necromancer's next response was a chilling laugh. "You know so little of what you face," he added. "But you will learn. You will all learn the price of defiance.
The name Fearlina may be familiar to some of you. She's actually one of the bosses in Naxxramas as the Grand Widow but the chances of her being one are pretty non-existent now, since Marwyn inadvertently prevented her from joining the Cult of the Damned.
I figured Arthas meeting Medivh might show some foreshadowing. While OTL Arthas dismissed him because he was rushing to save his people, current Arthas would be more keen to listen to him if it meant heading west is the alternative to save his people as he does not strive for vengeance, for now.
Leave a review!
Edited: March 6, 2025
