Author's Notes
This story is based off the events in the worgen starting area of World of Warcraft: Cataclysm. The only thing I could possibly claim ownership over is the character of Berkley, and even so his game avatar belongs to Blizzard. Also if you do not wish to spoil yourself about the story line in the worgen starting area, you should probably not read the story just yet.
Berkley
By Vorcanox
Shouts drifted into my room from the square below. I set down the worn boot I had been repairing and strode over to the open window. Peering down into the dark city streets, I could make out shapes of men running around the corner of the bakery shop down the way. That's when I heard the howling.
I was still pulling on my overcoat as I was rushing out the door. A few people, apparently roused from their homes as I was, were starting to gather at the north end of the square. I noticed a few city guards, wearing the familiar Gilnean tabard and distinctive helmets. I had made a goodly number of those helmets, and I recall how tricky it was to get that bloody nosepiece in just the right position. There was a man on horseback near the center of the forming crowd. He was brandishing a torch and appeared to be directing the guards.
"Oi, Berkley! Woss all this about, then?" A dark haired man with a sweeping cloak was walking towards me. I recognized that voice. I turned to meet Renvold, relieved to see a friendly face. I felt safer with him around. The man has an uncanny ability to escape unscathed from even the most dire of situations.
"I haven't the slightest. Have you heard the howling?" My voice sounded strained, and I coughed to cover it up. Perhaps it was the haunting noise I had heard earlier. Perhaps it was the people scurrying about in the dead of night. It may have just been the cold from the mist that was slowly rolling in to the city, between the narrow alleyways and across the Merchant's Square. But I was shivering, and a knot of apprehension was forming deep in my guts.
"Aye, that I did mate. D'you think its just the mastiffs of the night watch?" We fell into a brisk pace, side by side. Walking towards the crowd, it became obvious that something was wrong. The guards were standing in a semi-circular formation around the man on horseback, their swords drawn and readied. I could almost make out what was being said by the horseman.
"Doubtful. They've never made such sounds before, I don't see why tonight would be any different," I thrust my hands deep into my pockets, hoping to hide the slight tremor my hands had decided to develop.
"I want the perimeter secured and the gates manned by two guards at all times! No one gets in, no one gets out!". The red haired fellow on the horse was none other than the Prince of Gilneas, Liam Greymane. Despite being a staunch Royal and having absolute confidence in the leadership of the Greymanes, the sight of His Royal Highness did nothing to alleviate the awful dread I felt. What was going on, that the presence of the ruling family was necessary? I shot a glance sideways to Renvold to see his reaction. Though I had never confirmed it, I always suspected that Renvold had Rebel leanings at the very least. We had always agreed to disagree upon the subject, and left it at that. I valued his friendship, and it wasn't worth it to pry into his true opinions. He kept a calm exterior, though I noticed he was paler than usual.
"You two! Listen up!" A city guard had come up behind us and began to bark orders. "We're short handed right now, and it is your duty as a Gilnean citizen to help us at this time! I need you to head over to the north gate and check on Lieutenant Walden!" Without more explanation, the guard turned and ran towards the ranks that were forming off to the left of the square. I frowned deeply and looked at Renvold. He had a mildly puzzled expression, but simply shrugged,
"Best do what he says then. 'E looked a tad harried, eh?". A grin crossed his face and he began walking in the direction of the gate. Renvold has been a good counterpoint to my sobriety, and always tries to bring levity to any situation. Unlike previous times, it did not chase away my doubts.
The street was empty. Papers were littered across the cobblestones, along with other detritus of city life. The mist had fulminated into a thick fog, and it swirled up the bases of the houses lining the walkways. The air felt heavy, as though the city itself was holding its breath. The wrought iron gate loomed into view as we neared the city entrance. My heart leapt into my throat, and a cascade of adrenaline washed down my spine.
The dark shape crumpled up in front of the gate was indeed Lieutenant Walden. I held a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from vomiting, though I could feel my guts churning and saliva pooling around my tongue. I stood back from the corpse, but Renvold cautiously crouched down and began investigating.
"Bloody Fel, Berk. These cuts 'ere, must be ten inches...what kind of beast made 'em?" He turned his face up towards me. If he had looked pale before, it was nothing compared to now. His eyes were wide with fear, and I could see a bead of sweat tracking down his brow.
A sharp scream cut through the night. Without hesitation, Renvold and I bolted back towards the Merchant's Square. As we rounded the corner, a guard was thrown violently across our path. Looking to where he had come from, our eyes were met with a horrifying scene.
Worgen. Everywhere.