Belysra Starbreeze breathed deeply of the cold air of the waking world, a stark contrast to the Emerald Dream where she had been moments ago.
Her fingers gripped the gnarled staff of the Scythe of Elune like iron, the ancient runes thrumming with both serenity and ferocity in a dissonant rhythm against her skin.
Daring her to call upon the immense lunar power within, the ancient priestess easily restrained herself as she found her footing on a flat tangle of artfully knotted roots.
It was the foundation of the portal she walked out of, its soft, iridescent, verdant light swirling from the gateway, bathing the dark, damp, and cold forest she was now in.
The Blackwald was dark, even to her kaldorei eyes. Dense mist danced around twisting, sharp branches, even void of leaves from fall, forming a blanket so thick that barely any light from the night sky seeped through.
The sight stirred old, painful memories, but Belysra's gaze remained steady, unflinching.
The portal stood out even more for those reasons, but what a marvel in sheer practicality.
It lets her, and anyone, travel across the world in mere hours, whereas the journey could have lasted weeks and been needlessly perilous if the water proved capricious and much worse.
This one was marked as temporary and the first in a real circumstance to be put into practice.
It had been planted weeks ago by the Wild near Tal'doren, but only after spies–disguised as innocuous animals–had infiltrated and scouted this human land of Gilneas.
However, it was only activated today and not without thorough precautions.
The Emerald Dream was a gilded, primordial garden, and it had already suffered more than enough intrusion from the Nightmare.
This entire setting was for the mission at hand, and Belysra was to play a pivotal role in it. The weapon within her hand was much of the reason for this.
A scythe that she crafted with an old friend in one of her lowest moments after the loss of her mate. It was no excuse, however.
For all it was worth, this sin was her greatest regret that led to the death of thousands. And in the last weeks, she had to face this mistake of hers without end, and she accepted it without complaint.
The Scythe of Elune was no simple artifact. It was more than powerful.
It could do much more than summon worgen from the Dreaming on her command. That wasn't even among the intended abilities, but it was the product born of grief, dread, and despair. It was unstable by its very nature.
Still, this ability has seen extensive use to work on a 'cure' regarding the Worgen Curse.
The greatest minds of the Wild had worked on it, from Malfurion, Tyrande, Ohto, and even the Bear of Wisdom, Ursol, and Lord of the Forest, Cenarius, even if most were minor.
Belysra herself had not been idle in this research. Her presence was vital to it, and how quickly results were obtained. She had been searching for a cure for the past nine millennia.
And this abominable thing of terrible power that was the Scythe of Elune was key. Yet how she wished it was kept forgotten, buried, and sealed.
But that wasn't the case.
The Wild Council decided that the worgen could no longer be relegated to little more than bedtime stories for misbehaving children. She agreed.
Their existence was diminished to such a fairy tale to avoid young elves who were too curious and brash for their own good and the good of all. The simple name of the cursed half-wolves brought terror to the veterans of the War of the Satyr.
Kobold spies first sighted them, sending alarm throughout the Wild, and then unrepairable breaches in the seal below Daral'nir were noticed during the subsequent investigation.
By all means, this was highly secretive information. The Council, utilizing the Wild Hunt as the spearhead with the Cenarion Circle and Sentinel Army as body, proved this much, even if it was this elite multipurpose branch's first large-scale mission.
This was a threat that could rapidly spiral into a cataclysmic scenario, as it was found that humans were as vulnerable to Goldrinn's wrath as the night elves.
And from this, it was theorized that elves, vrykul, and potentially orcs and ogres would be susceptible. After all, to settle the curse, a specific body type, size, and inborn magical attunement are required.
If left unchecked to grow rampant, life in the Eastern Kingdoms and Azeroth itself was in grave danger.
This scenario was extreme, but even a fraction of its potential could prove catastrophic. Worse, it created a connection to the Emerald Dream, which created instability and unnecessary risks.
With that understanding in mind, the burden of responsibility weighed heavily on Belysra's mind. However, she wasn't alone in this guilt.
And as she stepped down, five lupine creatures were quick to follow in her steps, each clothed with a shape clearly indicating three females and two males.
Intelligence and rationality shone through their eyes, yet the edge of their bestial nature remained.
However, there were no instabilities, no odd, jerky movement or snapping of jaws. No saliva dripping or foam at the mouth like rabid animals.
They remained controlled even in the close proximity of the two ursa totemics standing guard to the Dream Portal. Those weren't the actions of mere animals, or worgen of legend, even if those were the same.
The Scythe of Elune was not in use, and even if it were, their behaviors would remain distinctively frenzied.
Those were uncursed worgen, yet half-wolf; they remained that way and would be until their death. It was what they were, what they became, and what their children would be.
They were no longer children of the stars, but in exchange, they could think clearly. They were free of the wolf god's maddening wrath and the unstable instincts that once ruled their souls.
The Rekindling, the ritual spell developed to 'cure,' wasn't a cure in the way infected would return to what they once were.
The worgen became something of their own, and through this, the curse disappeared, leaving only natural procreation to result in new worgen being born.
It alleviated none of the guilt Belysra felt, and she wasn't alone. Her eyes landed on one such individual.
He was a tall, antlered kaldorei, currently speaking to a muscle-bound kobold with many pure white candles lit by the Light, and a giant quadrupedal furbolg partly made of bark and plant life.
Her arrival didn't go unnoticed by any of them. Malfurion was the first to turn to her, a polite smile forming as he opened his mouth.
"Ishnu-alah Priestess Starbreez. We awaited your presence," he said, voice measured and soft.
"Elune-Adore, Archdruid." She greeted back with a curt bow, then turned to the beast men and did the same, only deeper, "And to you too, Representative Brightwaggle and Representative Ohto."
"Hello-hello! Now we can almost begin, yes-yes… the lure has come!" Brightwaggle chattered, his tail happily flicking back and forth as he clapped his hands.
Ohto chuckled at the Brightest Candle's behavior, "Ursoc gave you strength and Ursol clarity, Belysra, and to you as well, Heliana, Lia, Grale, Virwind, and Fyr."
Each of the named worgen stood up and diligently greeted the much larger and more dangerous predator, earning a small, pleased nod from him.
Still, some signs remained with their new nature. They weren't feral as they once were, but the natural reaction to a being such as Ohto was evident to the trained eyes.
The ears' movements told many things, as did the flexing of claws and shuffles of paws.
There was no aggression or fear, but this reaction was interesting to Belysra.
Worgen and furbolgs understood each other exceptionally well, and she felt she missed an entire unspoken conversation right there. There was also the dimension of smell.
Most worgen weren't as calm yet; their lives were beginning anew, in both familiar and alien worlds, this time without the fear of losing themselves.
The burden of the past millennia was heavy, and many scars remained.
Yet they were wolves at heart all the same. Hoping to tame them wasn't only impossible but misplaced. And furbolgs helped, ursa totemics particularly.
Those five were among the exceptions, among the strongest and most loyal and level-headed of the worgen summoned by the scythe that went through the Rekindling.
In total, a modest population of fifty was brought and cured; many more were to come. The worgen Malfurion had sealed were far more numerous, even if their number under Daral'nir was worryingly low.
And loyalty was the key point.
The spell that should have put the worgen in an eternal peaceful slumber had turned out to be a torturous experience with few equals.
Their form yearned for freedom, and the hunt; to deny that was the height of cruelty.
Nightmares of feral rage and visions of unreachable freedom haunted their sleep. It mattered not that the countless years became a senseless blur with little recollection.
The pain and anguish were real.
Resentment and anger were among the gentlest terms that could be used; the following abandonment diminished the necessity of this action until recently.
A last point that was ordered by the Wild Council at Ohto's demand.
The Archdruid had abandoned them, not that he was the sole one to blame.
And Belysra herself wasn't spared, and she whole fully agreed. She deserved this scorn. She shared the responsibility for releasing the Worgen Curse, unknowingly or not.
But the two of them didn't represent the Wild, and the worgen still had mothers, fathers, mates, children, and friends.
Leaving wasn't an option. And the world would be far from welcoming and understanding.
Still, to bring only five against the Alpha Prime and his packs was madness. Belysra would have thought so, too, if the Rekindling wasn't contagious to cursed worgen.
This irony was sweet but not done for that reason, but it remained true all the same. Outside of the scythe used directly, it spread with bite and cut, but simple physical contact and close proximity were enough vectors, albeit significantly slower.
It was an unavoidable scenario given the worgen pack mentality. But the farther from the Scythe of Elune, the slower the process.
Be that as it may, the curse could spread at that time, but the newly cursed would be immediately affected by the Rekindling. Yet even if cured, the reborn worgen remained highly dangerous and unstable.
That was without the Rekindling being profoundly unpleasant to agonizing, an instant inconvenience with the scythe that, without it, could drag on for weeks.
It also didn't mend mental scarring outside of the Worgen Curse's scope of influence.
Many worgen would remain feral beasts, now only intelligent, because that was what they had become. They would need help. This strategy wasn't used alone for those reasons.
Regardless, open warfare wasn't the favored tactic, and the five worgen were to assist in setting the trap for Ralaar Fangfire.
Brightwaggle had accurately called Belysra a lure, fitting in her opinion even if her safety was assured.
They would infiltrate the ranks of the Wolf Cult to gather knowledge that kobolds couldn't get without getting spotted and spread the Rekindling to neuter the curse as well as the understanding of the scythe.
And five was the perfect number; it kept the mission concise and avoided unnecessary suspicion long enough. They smelled different, even if masked, and it only took one wrong step.
But for the pieces to slot into place, the master of those lands needed to be contacted.
The Wild base camp was fortified, with the Bear of Resilience protecting it alongside the elite troops of the Wild Hunt, making its defense virtually impenetrable to most things.
It was anticipated their military presence wouldn't be taken well.
When this garden bastion of thorns and deadly flowers camouflaged in the Blackwald was ready, the letter was sent directly to the royal suite of the Gilnean King.
The response was swift, likely filled with distress, as the message was sent at night when the two royal couples were asleep, and the guards were on high alert. But also to the information within.
It was a proposition to cooperate against a shared threat. First was the Wolf Cult, with information on how deep their influence went based on what was gathered.
And came in second, where the papyrus was left open-ended with hints of culling the undead, the Scourge, and the 'freed' and 'non-threatening' Forsaken.
The written exchange with Gilneas after this was brief but fruitful. Following the protocol in the papyrus, the king wrote an answer with a date and location to discuss properly on 'neutral ground.'
That was right in an open field, and Belysra's eyes locked onto the approaching heavily armored cavalry of around a hundred and fifty.
"Ah! As my spies-spies foresaw! The humans are here!" Brightwaggle exclaimed with a soft chitter. He was in front of her, Malfurion, and the worgen twins, Fyr and Grale.
No army, no fortification, no reinforcement. No nothing. The Wild was bare—a show of genuineness, of willingness to be vulnerable.
Or so it appeared on a surface level; the truth wasn't quite the case. It couldn't be further apart.
Seeds were planted, ready to bloom into a whirlwind of verdant death, and below, tunnels were dug from which Wild Hunt squads would emerge.
But even without them… the Archdruid and Kobold Representative were here, the first for offense and the second for defense.
It took less than two minutes for the Gilnean army to come to a halt before them. War horses were silent, blade handles were tightly held, and guns were at the ready.
Eyes hidden by a helmet were alert and severe, flicking to the two worgen with wariness, even fear.
Then they moved to Brightwaggle at the front with confusion so evident it was painful. Finally, they landed on Belysra and Malfurion, flanking the kobold and mixing all the above.
Ten seconds passed, then the cavalry split from the middle, and two older men, atop armored horses, trotted over.
The younger of the two behind was wearing a top hat and a pair of rounded spectacles with a long beard, his gaze locked on the worgen.
The older man was dressed in practical armor, a pistol at his belt and a sword at his side, with a calmer demeanor, looking over at the Archdruid. He spoke first, voice commanding and regal.
"I'm Genn Greymane, King of Gilneas. State who you are and the reason for your presence, strange elves?"
"No-no, this to me, you speak first." The red-eyed kobold rattled to the shocked befuddlement of Genn, "Me Brightwaggle, respected member-member of the Wild Council leading the Wild, yes-yes! My letters skittered to your nest from the fragile-crumbleable walls."
A heavy frown found its way on the king's grimacing face at those last words, but his old friend spoke this time with barely restrained anger.
"Is this an elaborate prank? Two painted elves, one with buck horns! A tamed kobold dressed as a priest! Two men disguised as worgen-!"
"Godfrey, silence, or I would make you." Graymane said sharply, and the man steeled, blinking owlishly to his king, "I understand now you are from this Kalimdor. But my questions stand. Why should I listen to a single word and not cage you for your crimes and insolences?"
The reaction from the kobold wasn't as anticipated.
"But-but didn't we write on it? Okay, strange-odd human. The Wild want ending the Worgen Curse. This no joke. We help, you help, we cooperate, and go-go smoothly. You don't, too bad. No sorry. We won't stop, you perhaps turn collateral if unlucky, yes-yes!" The Kobold Representative let out in a light-hearted way.
Grinding his teeth, Genn stared down at the ridiculously clothed kobold. The vermin that should exist only in dreams craned his neck to look back, utterly unimpressed despite being many times smaller.
"You..." He almost began but caught himself, a sense of something he dared not accept flashing in his heart. He wasn't in control.
If it was arrogance or something far less misplaced, he couldn't tell, and it scared him in a way he refused to admit. This was a rat of a race considered as a mere nuisance, and yet…
This abnormally white kobold had wormed himself into Gilneas City to the point that Genn didn't feel safe anywhere inside or outside.
His chamber wasn't a haven either. The first letter proved this much. Investigations returned dud; no traces were found.
It was as if the letters slipped through the masterwork masonry stone wall. Then, the Wild, a complete wildcard of unknown power and influence, yet irrevocably immensely powerful and skilled.
One that came from the other side of the world and appeared out of thin air in his kingdom, proposing assistance with no evident price.
And they demonstrated time and time again that they could assassinate him, his wife, son, and daughter with none the wiser until after the act.
Then they began diplomacy like this, five against hundreds, with absolutely no fear or even a shred of nervousness in their bones.
Genn could attribute this choice to pride and some twisted honor, but that wasn't rationality speaking.
Something was amiss, and he didn't know where, why, when, or how. It was as frustrating as it was distressing, even if he let none of the shameful latter emotion appear.
"Yes or no? Brightwaggle didn't come to play-play human politics." Brightwaggle said, arms crossed and head tilted back, a hint of mild exasperation seeping into his jovial voice.
This was too good to be true, but the worgen were a growing threat, festering deep in the bowels of Gilneas. The undead along the Greyhound Wall were no better.
Outsiders were unwelcome, but he saw the terrible curse in effect; he hunted the victims to the best of his abilities, and if half of the information given was even a fraction true, his kingdom's fall wasn't if but a when.
"Then show me your worth." Genn almost spat as he acquiesced, and the kobold brightened like a child who received a present.
"Yes-yes! Great-excellent, then-then you can do your part, Malfurion and Belysra!" Brightwaggle chirped.
And the strongest druid and ancient priestess did, concisely explaining their history with the curse, how it was born, why they came, and a demonstration accompanied the theory of their cure.
Fyr and Grale were ordered to lightly scratch and bite both night elves at multiple points with no sign of the curse to show.
Greymane, not entirely convinced this wasn't powder to the eyes, had a soldier volunteer after promising riches to his family to be bitten.
It was more of a scratch that was healed a moment later by Brightwaggle, but this was more than enough to contract this horrible transformation.
Then a greedy second followed, an emboldened third came after, and the last and fourth became a willing test subject. All had the same promise from their king.
The pieces of evidence painted an undeniable reality.
The Worgen Curse always took effect immediately or shortly after with clear signs of a worsening feral-crazed nature.
None of these distinct symptoms, or any for that matter, appeared after half an hour and the next after.
None were turned into worgen. This was the truth; the Rekindling was as explained, and the Wild's method was a solution to a crisis he was trying to keep at bay.
"I... yes, that is acceptable. We shall work for the time being." The King of Gilneas ultimately said, his knuckles white from clutching the reins of his stead.
*
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