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67. Canine Problem, Canine Solution
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 15:33:33 +0000 UTC"Back to Gilneas…" I hummed as I exited the Dream Portal; the transition to the waking world was sharp.
A minor inconvenience, nothing more than a slight destabilizing factor. I felt every difference clearly; the shift was a bit violent to my magical sense.
My arrival was by all accounts equally notable; the duo of ursa totemic guards at the portal stiffened, their previously relaxed posture stiffened into perfect form.
I snorted but said nothing else as I walked forward, knuckles and paw pads crushing the verdant grass of the Wild Home as hundreds of pairs of eyes locked on me.
The usual. My mind wandered to the last several days, and a scowl instinctively formed, bark-covered lips pulled back to show my gums and a fraction of my many pearly white fangs beyond my ever-exposed front canines.
The Kingdom of Ahn'Qiraj was a hurdle; bashing our heads against it would prove fruitless for now. We had literally nothing, nothing that wouldn't have been an immense waste.
The best we could do was prepare for the cost of war, increase vigilance, and expand Cenarion Hold. This was what was being done, but evidently, it was suboptimal.
However, given our current situation, doing something even better was virtually impossible unless we significantly allocated resources from elsewhere.
The Horde won't be warned until we get ahold of this coming invasion. Even then, it would depend. Not that rumors weren't already spreading, but this was this, and that was that.
I didn't propose that we do because I liked them. Hate wouldn't fit to describe what I felt accurately, but it melded almost too well with my disgust.
The Warchief was letting slaves–some of the Wild, leading to violent retribution–be traded and had fighting pits at the least of the worst.
One was Dire Maul, where the ogres submitted to the Horde.
The ruined city served as a stronghold and foothold to slowly invade Feralas for lumber—it was contested territory, after all. The Wild had most of it, not all.
The Horde was growing increasingly confident, and with this, its aggressiveness rose. Those behaviors couldn't go on.
Be that as it may, a full-blown open conflict would take more. This was a cold war, if anything: a very violent one, but one all the same.
However, it wouldn't take much for the occasional disputes and small-scale skirmishes to escalate out of control. It was a paradoxical truth.
We could manage them, technologies or not. I knew what artillery and tanks were; we had countermeasures in place.
We would use every one of our assets, and fight 'dishonorably,' but then comes the qiraji.
And our solutions to the Horde's technologies weren't perfect from the beginning; they were more pre-emptive than defensive.
We wouldn't lose even then, if and only if the Old God remained sealed, but winning was worthless if we slowly bled out.
The solution to that stalemate was the Scepter of the Shifting Sands. So, there wasn't much of a solution when we didn't have it, although we did manage to obtain one of the fragments.
The all-in-one extermination and rescue mission of the Temple of Atal'Hakkar had gone as expected. A resounding success with minimal loss, the raid hadn't been a laughing matter, still.
But that was more related to the context than the trolls themselves.
Eranikus' exact well-being was kept under wraps by his flight, but he was alive; the part of his essence that was stuck and twisted in the waking world was banished. A nasty wound I couldn't heal, but was survivable for someone like him.
And the Green Dragonflight was receptive to aiding us–they had to, we weren't their lapdog, and the Twin Bears knew we won't let ourselves be used–completing the Scepter of the Shifting Sand.
The first fragment was from them.
The three others remained missing, but at least we had a few trails to follow now, and they were most certainly in the draconic claws of each Dragonflight that wasn't black.
But that was the last sighting. For all we knew, they could be fucking everywhere. We were stuck until we received some responses from the other flights.
My hope remained realistic; this task would take time.
If it succeeded at all, we needed all four of them for it to work; otherwise, our efforts would have been wasted. This was the time we didn't have, but what we had would have to be enough.
The Horde, as such, would be better utilized as an ally of convenience. As Magatha put it, the arthropod swarm would be the metaphorical stone to smooth their actual blades.
Nothing of immediate importance relating to my presence here.
My advance was quick, the mossy path of the Wild Home I was on easing my way. I noted that the worgen population was denser than it was last time.
The living houses, made from trees, burrows, and bridges, showed more of them than any other race.
It was chaotic, grown to fit the needs while embracing the Blackwald.
That was aside from the druids continuing to expand the structures, some of which were worgen and the occasional guard. Most everyone stopped what they were doing as I passed by.
This was the heart of the developing settlement, and where the worgen who wouldn't go on a rampage or cause havoc on a whim were sent for further help.
They weren't standing idle. Some were doing odd jobs, from tailoring to cooking, while others trained and cubs played.
It was lively, even if I could easily spot the Gilneans out, with their still-awkward and distressed demeanor, especially with their finely tailored clothes making them stand out even more.
And those weren't the light varieties; an entire process was set for them. But for stability, that was a small price to pay.
As such, they stood out among those who had been kaldorei, as they preferred far less modest garments. It was pretty striking.
'It can't be comfortable.' I randomly thought.
I was naked. Well, not conventionally speaking.
My wooden carapace was hiding my genitals and such under many layers of bark, effectively rendering a mammal male's greatest weakness null and void unless I wished it not.
My rebirth made most clothes irritating; my chimeric biology only increased that view. Now, I didn't judge, but a suit seemed mighty uncomfortable and annoying when you had fur.
My musings ended as Tal'doren entered my field of vision, the tall tree dwarfing every other tree in the forest, and I walked in without fanfare.
The bark peeled away to reveal a chamber carved into the tree's wood, yet without the damage that such a process would typically cause.
I was met with none other than Malfurion Stormrage, accompanied by Belysra Starbreeze to his right, and farther to the left was a tall, muscled grey-furred worgen I didn't recognize.
Unsurprising on all points for the last. His only unique characteristic was the missing upper half of his right ear, an eye patch on the same side, and the aristocratic clothing fitted for a worgen.
"Greetings, Malfurion, Belysra, and you… Who are you?" I trailed off, my eyes locked onto the still unnamed worgen, whose body language screamed discomfort like no other, yet still carried a certain dignified air.
For short, he was trying not to look away, his eyes wide and disbelieving all at once. He seemed to reconsider his life choices. Cute.
I was imposing, but that was more his rational mind, new to bestial instincts than proper fear. Or so I supposed.
He settled, breathing deeply, and answered, "I'm Darius Crowley. It is an honor to meet you, Representative Ohto. You are uh far more staggering than I imagined… There was no exaggeration."
"I get that a lot," I answered with a faint smirk, then tilted my head, eyes shifting to the Archdruid and priestess as if to ask why he was with them, and got a frown from the former.
The name was vaguely familiar, but not much else.
I skimmed most of the reports about Gilneas just enough to get a sense of what happened.
I had a lot to read, and a hundred pages was nothing to scoff at. But I knew enough.
Things went to shit fast.
It wasn't because I was absent per se, I was a healer here. I didn't do diplomacy. However, that was to change from then on.
Brightwaggle won't be back for some time. The qiraji and silithids were a much larger problem he was better suited to deal with. He didn't need to be here when he had multiple spymasters anyway.
What unfolded in the past week was the sudden stop of the majority of worgen acting like hyper-aggressive animals, foaming at the mouth.
It wasn't discreet to the concerned party, that was the Wolf Cult. The Rekindling was a literal antithesis to their faith in the 'Purity.'
They couldn't be controlled as easily either, and it became entirely dependent on the individual's newly reborn, freed mind. And we didn't leave them alone for long, limiting recruitment.
That, plus losing their greatest asset, which was spreading the curse, sent the self-titled 'Alpha Prime' into a state of frenzy. He flipped the board.
He abandoned all presence of stealth and decided to spread the Worgen Curse for as long as it would last. It began two days ago and is still ongoing.
And wounding was easier than fighting an army when a single bite sufficed, and walls could be dug under. They didn't have to start sieges; just a cognizant enough worgen could infect multiple families per night.
And cities and villages, even with walls, were very penetrable fortresses. Kobolds could infiltrate with little effort, so would wolf men who didn't care about maintaining discretion.
Nothing we hadn't foreseen, Ralaar was well known to Starbreeze. We didn't hide that fact.
He was a spiteful bastard, but what we knew sadly translated poorly in an efficient response when our host's cooperation consisted of barely supporting our presence.
Their losses, but it was annoying.
"Ohto, this man is the leader of the Northgate Rebellion. He was turned after my fallen student's cult infiltrated the prison he was put in and bit everyone they could sink their fangs into. He is the newly crowned pack lord of the Gilnean worgen." Malfurion explained, and the messy puzzle shifted neatly into place.
It made sense.
"Of course… And does the human king know we have the mastermind of the last civil war in our midst? Has he made any demands yet?" I rumbled and I noted the worried ear movement of Crowley and his nervous smell.
It was the wielder of the Scythe of Elune who answered this time, "I'm unsure, but no, there was no ransom. We intervened to contain the damage and brought the infected back to Tal'doren post haste. We only learned his identity thereafter. He isn't the only rebel to the crown in the Wild Home either."
I frowned, mossy eyeridge creasing, "That's a political catastrophe waiting then. And it will, if it isn't already. We aren't dealing with a buffoon. Regardless, I won't send them away to earn a new hole in their skulls. We judge worgen on their new life. They can stay."
It was a rather big point, but it wasn't forgiveness; the Wild was simply not wronged. Not that this was naïvete. It was the honey to civility and cleared the muddy water with what feral worgen did.
The stings came after if the message didn't land, though, and it was a hive's worth.
Heinous actions enacted when they were humans weren't ignored; those types rarely–if ever–changed. The majority were of lesser intellect. They were imprisoned again fast, and subtler forms of crime weren't tolerated either.
At this, the tension that had been bubbling in the room deflated, and I heard genuine relief and thankfulness coming from the worgen.
"Words fail to express my gratitude. Thank you, Lord Ohto. The Wild has done much for me and my people, our debt can never be repaid in kind… yet I must demand, please don't have us fight our kindred." It was almost begging, and it caught me off guard.
And the nervousness was back again, just milder.
I huffed, the sound deep and aggravated. It wasn't displeasure aimed at him, nor the reasonable concern, but the source of it.
"If there's a war, it's your call who you join. Don't hope for mercy. Otherwise, this entirely depends on how far your king is willing to go." I calmly stated, eyes locking into his singular one.
A part of my mind was preparing a spell.
"This tyrant is no king of mine," Darius snarled, the fur of his neck standing on end. I simply tilted my head. Interesting. He had some bark. Heh.
"Fair. His silence doesn't help. But that's shutting down a lot of complications." I said, the image of his healed form building in my mind.
"I wouldn't be so hasty. Their family and loved ones remain in the human kingdom. Families cannot be separated." Malfurion said, and that was a very good point, but that was barely feasible even in an optimum setting.
Hopelessly hopeful.
He was even softer than before, following the recent birth of his son, and the subject here further amplified this. He hadn't truly changed since the Fandral fiasco; he only now began to listen when warnings were sounded.
He was by far the Wild's strongest mortal–and even among the Wild Gods, only Cenarius compared in raw magical power–yet he was unable to use his might without the situation forcing his hand to the point of tearing it off.
It was as if he was scared of his own magic.
I had had enough of this.
"Any defection is made difficult, and most worgen have yet to see them again. Darius, you have a daughter, yes?" He added, and my ears twitched.
It wasn't wrong, but the same shortcomings were applied here.
"Indeed, Archdruid. Lorna. Strong and proud she is, as was her mother. I have not seen her since my judgment was passed… visits and even letters were forbidden. I worry. I fear how she will react to… this." Crowley let out, voice lacking the previous zeal.
"You can tackle this later, both family reunions and revolt can happen when the reason we're here is dealt with. Now, do not resist, I will heal you." I ordered, my left paw flashed emerald and ruby lights.
There was no great spectacle, only the worgen jumping back, his posture defensive as he blinked owlishly. My mana worked fast, and an eye was nothing when I could focus.
The above-average biomancers I taught could handle eyes, but only if they weren't damaged to the nerves.
Better ones could do that if they had golden acorns. A number were here, but the eye of a worgen was low on the totem pole of priority compared to members of the Wild Hunt.
I kept his right ear as is, though. If it wasn't regrown, that means he wanted to keep it that way. The impact on his hearing was so negligible that it might as well be nonexistent.
It was odd, but nothing crippling so whatever. Even if the rugged, handsome look wasn't unpleasant, this remained odd.
"What…?!" Darius said, only to freeze up as he took off his eyepatch, and his face shifted from various expressions until it settled on reserved but joyful, "I can see… Thank you…"
"You're welcome, that's nothing, was there anything else you wished to speak about?" I asked, we were past the pleasantries.
"My pack tires of idleness and refuses to gorge unpaid on your generosity. We won't watch while the Wild fight our battle; let us join. Let us bear our fangs and claws to the ones who foolishly forced them onto us." Darius declared, conviction and power infusing his words as a deep, bestial growl was ripped out of his throat.
That.
I liked.
I very much did.
But words alone were negligible, no matter how heartfelt, without actions.
"I wouldn't have stopped you, this isn't an internment camp. But if that's what you wish for, consider it granted. This farce ends now. The curse's life is nearing its end. Let's ensure the first vector follows suit and no more become numbers." I declared, my gaze moving straight to the two kaldorei.
I trudged to the map of Gilneas and its surrounding lands, displaying the last up-to-date data from our spies and scouts regarding the Gilnean forces, our own, the Forsaken, and finally the Wolf Cult.
We had the cult's many hideout and stronghold locations. It was only a matter of beginning the final phase, the violent one. For that, however, we couldn't attack directly.
Ralaar Fangfire's exact location remains challenging to track, but that was manageable.
He was where the most worgen were, and from the last few attacks, particularly on Gilneas City… he was moving South, to us. Our insiders worgen could only do so much, the Wolf Cult was strict but with them the above was a certainty.
The words of the Scythe of Elune had spread as intended. The 'Alpha Prime' was no idiot, but his entire cause crumbled without the Worgen Curse, and that weapon can fix that.
It was that or he fled with his non-existent tail between his legs.
The first option was far more likely; there wasn't a lot of rationality involved in a vengeance plotted for ten millennia beyond the plan to make it happen.
One that was crashing down like a meteorite.
"You will serve as bait, Belysra. I would have to temporarily modify your body to nullify the risk of brain damage and neuter pain, and slow down the curse. Are there any objections? You may refuse." I explained, and to my pleasant surprise, there was no rejection.
I would have understood. Our strategy would have changed, even if the next one would be less likely to work.
"None, this is the least I could. I unleashed this curse, and I would see it end." She said softly, yet her conviction wasn't gentle. She would see her mistake corrected, even if it cost her everything.
"And you, Malfurion… you shall kill Ralaar Fangfire. He cannot be saved, there is no redemption, and frankly, you should have executed him. Harmony needs the bad branches pruned, or risk the tree withering." The answer took more time for the strongest druid, but ultimately came out.
"I will. It would be swift and painless. His crimes are too many and too great. I failed him in time past as his Shan'do and would fail him once again as I did to Staghelm. But he will share his suffering no longer."
"Good, let's begin…" I rumbled, pleased by the antlered night elf's response, and the strategizing truly started.
Comments
TITOO
XD. So much wordplay to be made.
Petrox
Poaching talents by furrifying them and taken to the wilds. Nice.
