The horses shifted under the weight of their load. The bags upon their backs bore supplies for weeks of travel: food, water, clothes, shelter, anything that the two ambassadors could possibly need on their journey to the Eastern Kingdoms. Wind tugged at the robes of Pym Ironcaster as he supervised the loading of supplies.
His beard was long and dark, streaks of grey littering the scraggily hair as it fluttered in the wind. Rather tall for a gnome, he stood almost four and a half feet tall, his narrow frame betraying his immense power. He wrapped his arms together in his green and blue robe, shivering as his hood fluttered. For a moment it lifted from his head, blowing back to reveal his balding head, before he grunted, pulling his hood back in place. His blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight.
"Ironcaster!" A voice sounded behind him. He turned to face the arrival, his head tilted low to the wind. "Master Alquarian wishes to see you before we depart." The voice came from Jonathan Pinta, a gnome of average height, but whose musculature was almost overdeveloped. Shining armor covered his form, his short green hair whipping in the wind as he stood tall and proud. The two giant axed on his back did nothing to hold him down.
Ironcaster looked over Pinta's head, sighing. "Very well. I will return momentarily." He began trudging through the snow, his robe dragging up the cold white blanket. "Why we have horses I don't know." He called, his head shaking. "Mechanostriders are much less likely to be spooked by the journey." He opened the door to the Master's tower, closing it quickly.
***
"Robert Cawl. Why am I not surprised?" The guard smiled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Back from another 'errand?' Or just touring?"
Cawl tipped his hat, grinning, "Oh, you know me, Tom. Just on another vacation." He whistled, strolling up the path, his traveling bag slung over his shoulder, his pockets a little heavier.
He walked in long strides, his languid form a direct relation to his years at his profession. His hair was dark and short, his beard the same, though ragged and uneven. He was tall and lanky, but not weak. His toothy smile seemed to glint, his canines slightly pronounced. His arms and hands had more hair than was usual, and his nails were hard to keep trimmed.
The inn was warm, a direct contrast to the gloomy and cold weather hovering over the shore. He entered the room, tossing his pack onto an empty chair at the table. "I'm back!" He shouted, seating himself at the large dining table, his boot-strapped feet landing on the table itself.
The greeting was met with a flood of warm greetings from the patrons of the inn. Janene leaned against the bar, "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." She was an attractive woman, and a welcoming host, offering an open hand to anyone who may stumble into the place. "How long you back for this time, Ripclaw?"
Cawl shrugged, picking a loaf of bread from the platter. "Not sure yet, milady." He took a large bite, chewing it roughly. "Just long enough, I guess." Bits of bread dropped from his mouth as he spoke.
Janene shook her head, pouring a mug full of ale. "Of course. Just long enough to get on my nerves." She walked around the counter, handing the mug to Cawl. "Just watch yourself, big man." She gave him a wink, sauntering back to the bar.
"Not a problem." A low voice crawled through the air from the sitting room. "I have a feeling someone else will be watching him even closer." The small crowd parted, revealing a looming figure near the fire. "Very close indeed."
The figure stepped forward, revealing a tall, broad Forsaken man. He was dressed in a simple grey robe, his blue-green skin showing through the occasional hole in his clothing. His face was mostly intact, the jaw clenched tight. His dark blue hair fell in a shaggy top, clinging in a greasy hue. "Robert Cawl of Theramore?"
Cawl chuckled, "You speak common pretty well for a gutter-crawler." He called, setting his mug on the table. "How'd you get past the guards, dead man? This is an alliance town. All business dealing with the head honchos is announced formally."
"I am no stranger to tradition, human." The sentence was spat in disgust, the Forsaken never taking his eyes from Cawl. "Such as the respect to meet an enemy in battle, rather than the dishonorable act of assassination."
The crowd slinked away from the Forsaken. "Ah, hell. This about you Forgotten folks?" Cawl stood, crossing the room slowly, the eyes of everyone in the room tracking him closely. "Look, it's all in the business." He extended his hand, "The guy's fine, right? No harm, no foul."
The Forsaken eyed Cawl's hand, then grinned. His rotting lips pulled back in a wicked smile as he extended his hand, then flicked his fingers. A burst of green flame shot from his decomposing hand, hitting Cawl in the chest, throwing him across the room and into the wall with a solid THUMP.
"You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into, Worgen." The Forsaken intruder emphasized the last word with precision. The crowd reacted little, a much more substantial reaction was expected. The people only stared as Cawl struggled to his feet.
Cawl drew a dagger from his jacket, gripping it tightly. "You sure you want to do this, maggot-bag?" He swirled the dagger around in his hand in a blur. "You come to my home city, intrude into this inn, jeopardize the lives of innocent civilians, and threaten my life?" Another dagger revealed itself in Cawl's hand, swirling in a circle around his grip. "I think it's you who has no idea."
The Forsaken glanced around the room, "Do none of you care about his heritage? The bane of existence, the cursed animal?" He clenched his fists, green flame leaking from his knuckles.
Cawl grinned, "You know the problem with you, Forsaken?" A loud CRACK shook the room, black smoke swirling around Cawl as a howl cut through the sound. The smoke cleared, revealing a large humanoid, wolf-like in nature. Its fur was dark as the night, with a single white streak going down the middle of its back. It stood over seven feet tall, a thick musculature enveloped its tall and intimidating frame. The creature gave a sickening grin to the Forsaken, "You guys are too afraid of new things." He motioned with his clawed hand around the room. "Everyone here knows my 'secret.' Any other surprises?"
The Forsaken glared at his opponent, grunting, "Very well, Worgen." A bolt of green fire shot through the air, hitting the wall where Cawl had just been. He leapt above the bolt of flame, gripping the chandelier, swinging above the Forsaken. The fire dissipated from the wall as a rumbling was heard from around the inn. Cawl dropped down in front of a rapidly growing Forsaken. Cawl stepped back as the figure grew, his skin turning a dark purple, almost black. The robe tore as wings sprouted from his back, horns sprouting from his head. "You wish to battle?" The voice was booming, shaking Cawl to the core.
A claw came at Cawl, nearly catching him along the cheek as Cawl leapt out of the way, rolling to the floor. The large figure was remarkably fast, reaching towards him with sharp claws. The smell of demons filled the room as Cawl leapt out of the creature's reach time and time again, barely missing contact. Cawl leapt over the tall creature, landing solidly on a chair. The creature turned to meet him, but Cawl gripped the chair and leapt, landing one of his daggers deeply in the chest of the creature as he flew to the other side of the room, his claws digging into the wooden floor as he skidded to a halt. The creature howled, tearing at the dagger, gripping it and throwing it across the room.
"ENOUGH!" A wave of ice flooded the room, gripping Cawl and the creature in its grasp. "What is the meaning of this?" Jaina Proudmoore strode through the entrance, her anger only matched by her beauty. Her blonde hair was soaked from the rain that had begun to fall.
"Sorry, milady." Cawl nodded, slipping back into his human form in a CRACK and puff of black smoke. "Seems my business has found me at last."
***
"I hope this won't take too long, Wibus, we do have to catch a ship." He sat across from the Master's desk, lowering his hood as he made himself comfortable.
"It won't take long, old friend." Wibus Alquarian drummed his fingers. He was tall and elegant, his dark green hair pulled back in a short braid, his dark purple skin shining in the small amount of light that leaked into the office. His robes were of brown and red, simple and elegant in one. "I just wanted to wish you luck for the journey."
Pym angled his head accusingly, "Now, friend, I know you didn't call me away from the other members of the Order to wish me luck." He crossed his legs, "What is it?"
Alquarian sighed, leaning forward onto the desk. "We may have discovered the identity of the assassin that was sent to the Forgotten Kingdom's Master." He opened a small notebook on his desk, withdrawing a note from a correspondent in Theramore. "This came to me via portal this morning. The man was nice enough to drop this off before heading back to Kalimdor." He handed the letter to Ironcaster.
"Robert Cawl." Pym read aloud, examining the letter. "Says here he's a mercenary." He continued down the page.
"Keep reading." Wibus said quietly, eyeing Pym closely.
"He's a…" He squinted, "A Worgen?" The word was almost whispered, a moment of understanding flickered on his face.
Wibus nodded, "A Worgen." He took the letter back, folding it neatly, tucking it into the book tenderly. "One of the cursed."
"Where did Anu'Rak find him?" Ironcaster leaned back in his chair.
"I think the more important question is: what is he doing out of Gilneas?" Wibus sighed, "I'm not sure why a Worgen would be outside of Gilneas, much less what he's doing in Theramore." He ran a hand through his hair, tightening the braid.
"You want us to ask?" Ironcaster suggested, studying his friend's face.
Wibus frowned, "Not a bad idea. The correspondent said that he may be in trouble. Perhaps you and Pinta should journey there first."
"Very well, then." Pym stood, pulling his hood back over his head. "To Theramore Isle."