Iltharia clenched her fists, her eyes shutting tight as she dipped into the natural, Goldrinn-given strength that was the source of a Druid's power. Each touch served to give her some small reassurance, some comfort that the strength was indeed there, and wouldn't fail her. With a brisk shake of her shoulders, she opened her eyes, let out a long, relaxing breath and headed back into the stable. With just an hour until departure, the young druid figured it was about time to see what armor she would need. She pushed her way inside and looked around, heading down the wing of the tunnel Rayner had indicated earlier. At the end, she found two of the townsmen from Tempest's Reach sifting through various types of armor and distributing to the gathered people. When the shorter of the two men caught sight of her, he waved her over to the front of the crowd.
"Come up here, Miss Ashdown. We'll fit you out with what you need." As she edged her way to his side, she looked around, eying the neatly laid out piles of gear in the surrounding stalls. She could see that they were separated by type in each stall; directly to her left there were gleaming ring-mail shirts and similar heavy pieces, while to her right there were thick stitched pads of leather. It was to the leather stall that the portly man turned, his girth wobbling dangerously as he made a quick movement, pulling a leather thong from a pocket on his trousers. The thong was marked every few inches with charcoal, the space between each mark perfectly equal along the whole piece. He deftly wrapped the leather around her head, muttering under his breath, his brow furrowed over beady dark brown eyes. His silent calculations fascinated her. She held perfectly still as he moved the leather down to her shoulders, tapping the sides of her neck and measuring each part of her body that would need armor. She flicked an ear uncomfortably when his sure hands wrapped the tool around her bust, her innocent, feminine modesty making her blush faintly at the touch, despite its professional intent. The man scribbled his calculations on a piece of parchment and turned away from her to begin digging into the stall behind him.
When he returned to face her, his arms were weighed down with a pile of various leather goods. "Now, Miss Ashdown, normally it would take a considerable amount of time to find the correct fitting piece. I've picked items that best fit the measurements I took, so hopefully we'll be able to find a reasonable match, pressed for time as we are." He handed her a tanned leather helm, and she slid it onto her head. It slid down over her eyes slightly, but not so much that it would restrict her vision. Following the helm, he also fitted onto her a scaled leather breastplate, bracers, gloves, light shoulder pads, leggings, and boots. The leather armor wasn't heavy enough to cause her great strain, and she could still move quite freely, even in combat.
"Thank you, sir." She smiled and curtsied to the man, grateful for the protection his armor would provide her.
"I'm only doing my job, Miss Ashdown. You had better come back alive- I'm sure your sister would miss you sorely if you weren't to return." Iltharia blanched as she thought of her family; she rarely saw them since contracting the Curse. She quickly masked her discomfort and laughed lightly at him.
"Of course, sir. I'll see to it that I return safely," she said politely and turned away from the outfitters, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the damp, musty stables and into the open air again.
As dusk fell over the town, a quiet hush came over the assembled townsfolk; tensions raised and tempers flared as they waited for word of departure. Whispers rippled through the group as lanterns were flashed and then shuttered, sending a flickering message down the ranks.
"You should probably, ah, shapeshift so you're ready to move out when Rayner is." Everette touched Iltharia's shoulder gently, and the druid turned to look at her, wondering how the cream-furred Worgen stayed so peaceful. She smiled. "I envy you for that, you know. I may bond with beasts, but I'd give anything to take their shape."
Iltharia smiled and chuckled softly, her appreciation for the contact clear in her stormy blue eyes. Her eyes drifted half shut as she concentrated, turning her focus inward and reaching for the gift of her power again. It immediately seared up through her body, a low growl rumbling from her as she fought to control and direct the power, bending it to her will. Shapeshifting was still a difficulty for her; she was newly instructed to the art, and it took her a great many weeks to master the shape. She gritted her teeth as her muscles and bones stretched and ripped, reforming; her fur rippled and grew longer around her ruff, her muzzle shortening and widening. Within moments she had dropped to all fours, no longer a Worgen but a great dark cat with pointed ears, a thick black mane, and eerily glowing golden eyes. The only visible form of her leather armor was thick bands of crimson-dyed leather around her ankles as well as a collar, with iron spikes fastened into them. Her tufted tail whipped behind her and she flexed her claws, rolling her shoulders experimentally as she adjusted to the switch to moving on all four feet rather than two.
She turned her head up, blinking her eyes solemnly at Everette, who was regarding her with a look of awe. She flexed her claws, slipping the deadly-sharp tips into the heather under her paws as she readied herself to go. Despite being engulfed in the strength of the Earth and her part in protecting the delicate balance of its life, she couldn't help her heart's nervous flutters as she thought about her coming ordeal. She would do her best, of course. But what if her best wasn't good enough? Esmund's words kept ringing through her mind, and she took a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat and breathing until she was safely able to banish all the foul thoughts from her mind. She'd do fine. She had no choice.
Somewhere in the dim light of the town, an owl hooted, the eerie noise serving to set her comrades on edge as the haunting shriek clamored through the otherwise silent streets. Then, with an unexpected quietness, a single flare lit the sky behind the stable where they had originally met. The world was silent but for the muted padding of feet on the damp, mossy soil as each group sprang into action, separating for their assigned parts of the mission. Iltharia's heart leapt to her throat as she began to move out with her group. They were packed into a wedge-shaped formation, with Iltharia in the center, Darell to her left, Allana to her right, and Everette and Rayner leading in the point position. Their group moved silently and efficiently through the town, slipping through the shadows of the houses and shops with a deadly calm as they headed toward their destination. Soon enough, the houses fell away to farmlands, and then to thick trees. The trunks stood tall and imposing, gnarled and twisted against the velvety black of the night, like ancient sentinels. This land was known as the Blackwald, one of the oldest standing forests in Gilneas. The ground here was spotted with deep crimson lichen, blanketing the earthy ground beneath convoluted tree trunks that were studded with massive thorns, obscuring bright shafts of moonlight from the harvest moon that hung low and heavy in the sky above them.
It was by the light of this yellowing moon that they made their progress, letting its dusky rays guide them to their destination. Despite the expanse of land that separated them from their camp, Iltharia couldn't help but pick up the subtle tang of the Forsaken: the scent of embalming fluid, very delicate as far as scents go, but ever present and underlying the natural scents of the forest around her. It was some time before her comrades began to pick it up as well. About a hundred yards in the distance, the monster's camp finally shimmered into view, appearing ghostlike and ethereal in the half-darkness. Rayner held up a hand, stopping the group where they stood. Kneeling on the ground, the man drew a map from his vest, rolling out the weathered material on the ground in front of him. The map was made from well-worn and tanned hide, and made no noise as he silently calculated both their position and the position of the Forsaken camp before them. The party crowded around him, even Everette's devilish little fox sitting down at her master's feet and staring at the map.
"Right. We're just north of the camp now. Iltharia, you'll be able to see your position first, the large pine. I need you in that tree and ready to strike as soon as we receive the signal from Esmund, who should be scouting the area right now." Rayner looked at each of them in turn, a deadly calm glinting in his dark eyes. Iltharia's heart pounded with dread terror, anxious about her upcoming role, and unable to shake the deep feelings of unease the mission was giving her.
The group waited, tense as a strung bow in the moonlight, for Esmund's signal. Minutes passed slowly, each seeming more like an eternity. After nearly thirty minutes had passed, even Rayner was on edge. He placed a rough hand on Iltharia's shoulder, digging his fingers into her shaggy mane. "I want you to go in there, and find that damn rogue. He should've been out by now. Let me know what's going on as soon as you're able. We need to get on with this. Got it?"
She took a deep breath, closing her golden eyes for a few heartbeats before nodding solemnly. "I'll do my best," she rasped, her voice having a much more feral, rough tone to it in her animal forms. She gave her companions one more lingering look before leaping into motion, silently but quickly padding into the imposing shadows of the trees around her. It was effortless for her, as a cat, to hide herself in shadows like these. It was almost as if she weren't even there; indeed, most onlookers would pass her over, her inky fur hiding her form against the naturally dark wood of the trunks. Only a very perceptive individual would be able to spot the slight trail she left of her passing. Tree by tree, she made her way to the Forsaken camp. The scent of their foul bodies grew stronger as she got closer, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste. It wasn't long before she could pick out their camp: It glowed in the night, a sickly green with the presence of an unnaturally thick fog, no doubt from their dark magic and alchemy tables they toted with them everywhere. Iltharia leapt up into a tree above her, her thick, sharp claws digging into the bark as she clawed her way to the lowest branch. From this vantage point, she could sneak tree to tree until she was above the camp. Suitably close enough for her feline eyes to see in the gloom, Iltharia swept her gaze across the camp, searching out for the dark form of Esmund, the lost scout, her friend.
She wasn't prepared for the sight that met her eyes. Her heart stilled, her previously frantic pulse now eerily silent as she gazed down below her.