This is my first upload, heh. And my first WoW fic to boot. This is going to be a multi-chapter story to introduce my druid, Iltharia, and her... unique twist on being Feral. You'll find out more later though. I've proofread this over and over, so I hope I didn't mistake anything, but please, by all means, crit/comment/review and I'll fix whatever I have to! I'd LOVE the input, seriously. :] I'll get started on the next chapter ASAP.
Rain pattered down on the glazed stone rooftop of a small cottage, hammering out a dreary melody that echoed around the interior of the building. Inside, a ragtag group of Worgen sulked, pacing around the embers of a dying fire. They were haggard, gaunt, clearly displaying the hardships of a country under siege. Their clothing ragged and their fur unkempt and dirty, they grumbled to themselves, each glancing out the window on occasion. The only thing they could discern beyond the weak glow of the oil lamp on the front stoop was grey fog and rain.
"What is Genn thinking? We're backed into a corner here, and I'll be damned if I die to one of the Forsaken. They'll not have me!" A brown-furred Worgen spoke, his deep voice laced with snarls of displeasure. He ran his long-clawed fingers over the hilts of the twin daggers strapped to his hips, glancing uneasily out the window, straining to see beyond the fog.
"You shouldn't speak of our King like that, Esmund. Lord Greymane is only doing what any leader would do- what he thinks is best for his people. Can you really blame him? He just lost his son, and we've had to flee Gilneas again. Don't be too hard on him." A female Worgen with inky black fur shook her head, glancing at Esmund warily. She shook out her thick ebon mane, busying herself by braiding it over her shoulder.
"You can't be serious, Iltharia. You're a druid. You can't possibly look at the destruction around you and say he's doing all he can, right? The land is torn asunder, and the forsaken are destroying the forests and wildlife. How can this not affect you? I'm a rogue for Light's sake, and I can't stand to see how dismally he's failing." Esmund turned from the window, turning the entirety of his deep golden gaze on the young druid. She looked flatly back at him, her stormy blue eyes emotionless.
"You're a fool if you think I'm deaf to the cries of the earth. I hear their pleas, I feel the terror of the flora and fauna as they're hunted and chased. But we're under the same strain. The Banshee Queen wants us all dead, Esmund, for nothing other than existing. The only way I can keep sane, the only way I'll survive long enough to heal Gilneas after this is done, is to believe. Believe, and hope that our King has the strength to see us through this hell."
"Enough, both of you. This has gone on long enough. We've got enough problems without you two arguing incessantly." An older male interrupted the two of them, slamming his fist against the wall in agitation.
A knock on the door caught the group's attention. The older male walked to the door, one hand on the handle, the other sliding silently to his shoulder, effortlessly pulling his broad sword from its sheath across his back. "Who's there?" He growled, his hand tightening on the knob, ready to fight if the individual didn't name itself.
"Calm down, Amery. It's Everette." A muffled voice, clearly female, sounded from just beyond the door. Amery let out a sigh of relief and pulled the door open, ushering the human woman inside. "Shutter the lamp, Amery. This isn't a pleasure visit, I'm here on business." She frowned, rubbing her temples as she stepped into the cottage. Amery quickly sheathed his sword and snuffed the oil lamp, enveloping the house in impenetrable darkness. He shut and locked the door, and pulled down a thick canvas curtain over the window.
"There. Now what brings you here, Everette? Shouldn't you be at the Greymane Manor?" Amery leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his muscular, scarred chest. Everette was silent for a long moment, busying herself with removing her cloak. She sat down next to the fire, staring blankly into the embers.
"More rain. I'm getting sick and tired of this blasted rain!" She muttered, rubbing her arms for what little warmth the motion could provide. With a sigh, she looked around at the trio, her brow furrowed as she thought. "Well, friends, it isn't good news, I'll tell you that much. Rayner wants to hold another war meeting. He uncovered a small Forsaken camp just about a league to the northeast of Tempests' Reach, and he wants to siege it. He needs your help. All of you." Her gaze flickered over each of them individually as she spoke. "There are camps everywhere. This one we've found is just one of dozens our scouts have reported, and it's merely the smallest. The Forsaken are pushing harder, Amery, and I'm beginning to lose faith that we'll be able to hold our beloved country." She dropped her eyes, returning to staring bleakly at the remains of the fire. "The meeting is tomorrow morning at sunrise, in the stables." She stood abruptly, throwing her cloak back around her shoulders. Amery grabbed her arm roughly, spinning her to face him.
"Don't give up, Ev. We'll fight to our dying breaths." He muttered in her ear, nuzzling her cheek affectionately.
"That's what I'm afraid of." Her voice was a cracked whisper, her despair breaking through finally. She backed slowly away from Amery, shutting the door briskly behind her and disappearing into the roiling fog beyond.