Chapter 1: The Departure
Author's comment: This is the story of a worgen druid who has a lot of inner strife to deal with; it is loosely based off of an RP I did some time ago. If this story garners any interest from viewers, I will keep writing until there is a conclusion to the events that transpire within.
This story might be confusing if the reader has not done the Firelands raid that came out in Cataclysm, and is based on the events that happened during and after that particular raid. There are no mentions of the Dragon Soul raid, as in this timeline, those events are years down the road.
In this story, the Fire Druids / Druids of the Flame are Ragnaros's esteemed soldiers, and hold as much weight as any of his other elemental generals. The Fire Druids are directed by a central leader, Fandral Staghelm, and organized like a military brigade.
Khizanth was almost to his favorite hunting grounds, when he heard thunderous booms in the distance. The wind was picking up, and it wouldn't be long before the downpour would begin. The sudden change from the perfect weather earlier in the day seemed like a negative omen to the druid.
Within minutes, rain drops besieged the earth, and the dry earth became one endless mud puddle. Khizanth's mood went from neutral to sour, and he found himself backtracking to where he had seen the entrance to a small cave earlier in the day. It took less than half a minute for the druid to become fully drenched, as he searched for shelter.
It took about ten minutes for the worgen to find the cave entrance which was barely visible, with all the plant growth nearby. After a quick inspection of the outside of the tunnel, the druid entered, and shook himself off. Khizanth quickly scanned the interior of the cave and saw the main tunnel extended past the mouth of the cave about forty feet into the earth, before ending in an unremarkable wall of gray stone. The druid sighed loudly, throwing his pack onto the ground and finding a rock to sit on. The outside world was easily visible from his seat, so the druid contented himself to watch the rain falling outside, which had increased to thunderstorm intensity.
It didn't take long for the worgen's thoughts to wander, and he found himself questioning recent events that had happened in the past day and a half. He had agreed to aid a paladin, Morzon, of the Order of the Light, on mission to find a missing individual. Both the paladin and he had set about packing for the journey, but at the last moment, the druid had excused himself for a few days, to take care of personal 'business'. At first, the idea of traveling thousands of miles on a grand adventure had seemed exciting, but doubt had invaded the druid's mind. What would transpire if one or both of them were grievously injured? The worgen had no intent to die on some cross continent adventure, which seemed unplanned and reckless. Why send two people who barely knew each other, to go confront a person that was under suspicion of being an accomplice to the bombing at the Order's headquarters?
A loud thunder crack brought the druid out of his musings for a few moments, and for a second, he thought he saw the outline of a person at the cave opening. The worgen waited a few seconds to see if anyone would appear, but was rewarded with the continued downpour of rain. Khizanth leaned against one of the walls of the cave and continued to ruminate. Unless the weather cleared up in a few hours, he would most likely be spending the night in this tunnel.
The paladin seemed sincere in all of his words, but the druid knew well enough that the look that his companion had was one borne out of something more than friendship. Khizanth growled, running his claws across one of nearby rocks, leaving gouges. He had limited experience handling friends on a long term basis, let alone a relationship with more complex feelings. He had chased Bulrathi away, one of the only people who seemed to give a damn about him, sending her on an errand to find people from his past. The idea that she had found qualities in him that were attractive had almost outraged Khizanth, and the druid had cited several reasons to not have feelings for her, after all that had happened in the war.
It took more than a few minutes for the druid to justify to himself that separating his path from Morzon's was the right choice, and the longer he delayed, the more a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him. Khizanth grabbed his pack and fished out a few blank parchments, a quill and an inkwell.
"I am sorry that I have not been available for the past two days, but I have decided that there are some personal demons I need to conquer on my own. There is a chance I might no longer be among the living before I complete my task, so we may never see each other again. Thank you for your kindness, but now we must part ways. I wish you luck on your endeavors. Signed – Khizanth"
The worgen held the note in his hands for a long time, staring past the paper into space. After a time, he fell asleep, the din of rain in the background continuing for many hours.
When the druid awoke, he wiped the slobber from his jaws, and put the note into his pack, getting ready to leave for the trade district of Stormwind. The rain had abated, and the druid had a knot in his stomach as he exited the cave. In a flash of light, where the worgen once stood, there was a four foot tall storm crow, feathers as black as night, with some lighter gray feathers just around his eyes and wing tips. The bird leapt into the air, and quickly flew onwards to the human capital city.
Khizanth touched down at the trade district, about a half block from the auction house, and very near to one of the several banks located throughout Stormwind. No one paid him any mind, from the vendors loudly peddling their goods, to the random citizens and adventurers walking the streets. For just a moment, Khizanth felt like he was one of them – another nameless person within a bustling city.
Sometimes when the druid shifted from his forms, a hint of flame could be seen, betraying where his loyalties had set, back during the war in the Firelands. The flames would break his illusion of being a normal druid for a few seconds, but it was a quick reminder to Khizanth, that he was one of the few Flame druids left alive.
The worgen quickly mailed his note to the Paladin, and turned to head towards his home on the outskirts of the Stormwind. He was renting a small cottage, and now that he was planning to disappear from anyone's radar, knew it was time to pack his few belongings and vanish. In the back of the druid's mind, he also knew there was a good chance Bulwrathi would find at least one, if not two of the people he had mentioned, so a low profile was keen.
Khizanth approached his rented home and opened the front door, knowing he would miss the creature comforts it provided – a warm bed and a place to store a few scant belongings. The house was simple, being nothing more than a living room with a fireplace, which led upstairs to a small bedroom and several adjoining storage rooms. Everything was built simply – but each of the storage rooms had powerful wards on it, so that the renter could store belongings securely.
The druid approached the first of the three closets, and pulled out a ruck sack and several pouches, some filled with herbs and others with currency, designed to go on his belt. He then grabbed two sets of spare town clothes, folded them and placed them in the ruck sack. The druid then grabbed a set of daggers and wrapped them in a towel, before also placing them in the bag. The druid closed the first closet and then opened the second, the magical ward breaking with a loud snap. In this room, the druid stored his Fire druid issued staff – an exact copy of Fandral Staghelm's staff. As he had with the daggers, Khizanth wrapped a cloth around the blades of the staff, concealing its appearance. He slung the staff on his back and then reached for the only other item in the storage area – a small pile of books, with an enchanted cloth draped over the top. These tomes were some of the last texts saved from Fandral's massive library, before it was burned. Cenarian druids saw many of the teachings as heretic, and were afraid that the knowledge might spread to younger druids, ignorant to the atrocities that had happened in the Firelands.
Satisfied he had everything, the druid departed the small abode, and shifted into his flight form. With an avian cry, the storm crow flew towards the Hyjal portal located at the outskirts of Stormwind, and crossed through it, not even bothering to greet the Night Elf guards which were posted nearby.