At the edge of the kingdom of Gilneas and in the shadow of the Greymane Wall, Tarol Bloodmane sat idly in his cave, his damp tangled hair covering his empty eyes. His massive frame filled the small hole in the mountain, but it kept him warm when the fire did not. A deep chill ran up his long, curved spine. Stretching his long scarred arms behind his back he retrieved a damp piece of timber and casted it into the dwindling fire before him. It did nothing against his chills or to dry the ragged clothes he'd cast off to the side.

The wind battered its fists against the mountain he sat under, howling into the small opening to his shelter. He ignored it. He rolled onto his side and stretched out his naked body as close to the fire as he could. But it could not be denied. The wind's voice slipped in, stroking his icy flesh with spidery fingers towards his head.

They were in his ear. Bloodmane…Bloodmane…

He pushed the voices away, digging deeper into the confines of sleep and pulling closer to the fire. His mind grew heavy with the barriers he erected to block away the voice. Consciousness was as far away as the world beyond the wall.

Bloodmane …Bloodmane…awaken…

In an instant, an inferno filled the cave. The wind roused the miniscule fire to life, knocking his charred flesh against the wall. He awoke just a moment before the fire started, smelling the wind burn around him as it wrapped around the fire. A series of coughing spasms hit him, blocking away the aching pain in his bones. Just as quickly as the fire erupted it died down; the same could be said about his wounds, which healed almost instantaneously.

Tarol rolled onto all fours, prickly hair standing on ends and his razor sharp nails digging into the stone floor. He bit back a growl as bore his jagged yellow fangs and stalked towards the fire.

What is it you want, Shadowtalon? Have I not served my time? Have I not wasted enough of it in fighting your wars?

No. The fire-wind sparked bluntly. Cause these are not just my wars. It is our wars. Every battle you have fought was for your people, your home. And every step of the way we were at your side. We never denied what you need to survive or what you asked for.

Never denied me? He shouted with his mind, and then with his mouth. "And what of my family? When I needed to you to help me, when I could save them, what did you do? What I need to survive? I need them!"

The fire flickered and nearly dropped down to a spark. It remained like that for so long that Tarol thought that Shadowtalon had left him. However, when he went to douse the flame is rose to life once again.

The death of your family was not a tragedy that we wished for or foresaw. We mourn with you, just as we mourn for every life that is lost. You know this. You know that all is connected through us, from the grains of sand on the beach to the—

"To the birds in their nests to the kings of on their thrones. I know the ancient teachings; I have not forgotten."

Have you now? Is that why you hide here in this cave and cut yourself from the world itself? You are on the most promising druids to be born in a millennium, but you hide here.

"And you know all to well why I do."

We do, we do. But we cannont allow you to waste your abilities. We need the Bloodmane. The world needs the Bloodmane.

"Then you and the world may rot for all I care. Let it all burn away."

The fire crackled quietly for a moment then said, You must be shown.

He was no longer in the cave. He saw worlds, bright worlds of light and dark worlds of shadow. He saw worlds enshrouded in clouds of acid and worlds layered in the branches of thick treetops. Worlds covered in oceans and worlds covered in deserts. His eyes stared at the worlds surrounded in light, living worlds of Divine magic. And then he saw them.

The Dead Worlds, the worlds devoid of every single spark of life. Life that had been snuffed out by the Emerald Flame. Life that had been purged in the Burning Crusade. Life that had been devoured by the Forces of the Burning Legions.

He could not bite back a snarl at the very thought of accursed demons of the Emerald Flame.

You remember this evil quite well, but it is not the enemy we must seek.

The worlds before him were swept away in the gust, leaving but one. It was a world much like Azeroth, a world of towering mountains, thick forests, dry deserts, and vast seas. Same was the life that walked atop it and the magic that pervaded it. Tarol could hardly find a difference from his home and this world

"What? This is where I am need? On my own world?"

Though this world is similar to your own, it is different. You could say the magic, land, races are cousins to your own, and even the dangers are much alike. Look closely. You can see the darkness that pervades it.

He did, and he could see it. The magic that surrounded this world was akin to the one he once wielded, but it was more forced. His simply weaved the magic through his body to complete a task; this magic commanded an act or spell into being, twisting reality to its master's will.

This did not shock him. Mages and warlocks commonly used this style to complete a task. Whatever their end was, whether it is good or evil, rarely concerned him, and even when it did he had little opinion of it. However, on Azeroth the practice was more widely spaced out. Balanced, in a strange way. But on this world it seemed like the magic was focused in single locations, shining brighter than the stars and burning just as much of the world around them.

"This is a…perversion, an anomaly. Magic must be more widely distributed, less it rip the world apart. The spellcasters of Azeroth may not be the most cautious beings in the universe, but at least there are enough that if one strays from the path the remaining ones can bring him back or destroy him. Here it is more…"

Chaotic. That may be why the Burning Legion has left this world untouched; they realize that it will eventually fall beyond the Makers' designs and become no different than any other world they have purged.

Talos grunted. "What of it? What does another world in a million bother me? Why should I care if it falls to chaos?"

Because this is how it all begins. One world falls, then another, then another. Your world has been facing the Legion for over ten thousand years, barely scraping past Death's blade. How much longer can it do so? How much longer can its denizens succeed in the face of the armies of darkness?

"Then what, dare you say, should one cursed druid do about it? You have already seen my work; truly, do you think such events should be repeated on another world?"

We would have you do what you do: begin something. Set in motions the events that will shift the very course of time. While you have hidden in your cave you have missed the reshaping of the world. By simply bearing the martyr's garb you influenced many. We would ask you to do the same here.

This world must not fall to the shadow. Azeroth cannot stand alone; you must do as the adventurers of Outland have done: shed light into the darkness and strike a blow against the Legion. Find this world and show its people the true path. That should be enough.

"To what end?" He asked. He himself found it odd that he was humoring Shadowtalon. "For what purpose? So that one world lives?"

Just as if one world falls another will, if one world is saved then another can be too. What has occurred here on Azeroth and many other worlds must be passed on, but in a much swifter fashion. The Legion can be defeated, but only if we can create life just as quickly as it extinguishes it.

He stood their brooding for quite a time. The wind cured though his hair and chilled his bones, but there he stood. He had to admit, Shadowtalon was correct. Mad, crazy to imagine that such an idea was possible, but correct. Talos knew this. He knew behind all his apathy and cynicism that if the orcs and humans could stand together to save Azeroth then entire worlds could too.

"How then, would I reach this world? How can I alone save it? This task is better left to kings or armies, not druids."

Wrong, Bloodmane, druids are the key here. Only a druid can teach the denizens of this world how to properly wield magic. And you will be alone. Another seeks to reach this world. A dragon prince of Outland flies to this world, and he carries an army atop his back.

"What would a dragon want with a dying world?"

Dragons are not solely inhabitants your world. They exist all across the cosmos, even on this world. And if it burns, so do they. That is why he seeks it. He seeks to save the few remaining members of his race.

Talos could understand that. He'd heard of the wars that have brought the dragons to near extinction. If one of them believed their race was facing the same dilemma in another realm, surely he would rally an army to save them.

Xarunaku is his name. He moves to the Dark Portal, and it is there you must go. Meet this dragon prince and tell him what these words: find Alagesia. He will know what they mean and he will allow you to join him.

He shook his head at Shadowtalon.

What? What more can I do to convince you, Bloodmane? What more must you see? Burning homes? Mountains of bodies?

"That is not it," He muttered with a tinge of sorrow. "You say I must teach the people of this word how to control their magic, how to use it justly, but you know that I cannot. You know all to well that I abandoned the powers of nature many moons ago. How can I teach what I can't even recall?

Can you not now? That is most troublesome. Shadowtalon replied shrewdly. That is most troublesome indeed, but I have a solution. Close your eyes.

And he did so.

Now, remember.

And so he did. He flowed back to him on the wind's back. The memories of old, the memories of the ancients. He was in the forest, down on all fours and covered in a fiery coat of fur, snarling like a bear. He was in the skies; wings stretched out a full ten feet out, flying like the crow. He was in the jungles, on all four paws extended at their limits, prowling like the panther. He was in the sea, skin wet with the sea's beauty, swimming like the seal. He was in the trees, eyes filled with knowledge and power, scheming like the man.

And he remembered. He remembered he was not the bear, not the crow, not the panther, not the seal, not even the man! He was worgen. He is worgen.

His howl shook the cave and echoed beyond the mountains. On all fours, he threw himself from the cave, his sharp claws ranking against the ancient stone. Blood red fur coated his flesh in a thick layering against the cold. Golden eyes cut the darkness of the night. Silver fangs extended from his maw. He moved with the swift grace of the wolf, quickly cutting through the forest to the Greymane Wall.

The Howl of the Worgen was sung that night, far beyond the wall of the world.