In the dark of a stormy night, the most familiar of things can become monstrous. A tree can become a snarling beast, a dog a vicious hell hound, a night elf a demon. Down the main road of a small village of the Eastern Kingdoms, a demon man very carefully trembled forward, inch by inch.
The unforgiving rain pattered mercilessly at his back as he struggled with each step, his foot accidentally catching a gap between stones in the road, forcing him to fall toward onto the ground, his pack crashing into the ground, and what little possessions he had flying in front of him.
The man lifted his head, watching the road ahead of him, the pain welling within him as he lay there, this being the only rest he'd had in days. For so long he had walked simply to keep the soreness in his muscles at bay.
Luckily for him, he had fallen underneath a lamp that had lit up his body, revealing, not a monster, but a man, a night elf clocked in dark clothes. As he laid there, he began to hear the stomping of feet from behind him, suddenly hearing the distressed voice of a man, horrified.
"By the gods!" he shouted, "Are you okay?!"
The elf didn't reply, but he took this as the time to start again, though as he began to stand, he fell once more, his face slamming into the stone beneath him. Suddenly, he felt arms wrapped around him, helping him to his feet, and he look to his side to see a human, though he bore the unmistakable scars of what seemed to be a worgan.
"Here, come back to my home," the man spoke, desperately, "You cant be traveling in this weather."
The elf silently resisted, remaining I moved as the man tried pulling him back to the village, though the man continued, "We have stew over the fire; you're more than welcome to a warm meal, sir."
Despite knowing he needed to move on, the offer seemed much too warm to pass up in this storm. Slowly, the man began to turn, and the two slowly made their way back into the village, the night elf just barely able to keep his balance. The man had no problem keeping him steady, which gave away his feral strength, the elf thought. He must have made it near Gilneas.
The man knocked his door in, hurriedly carrying the elf into the abode. His wife turned from the window and rushed over to the two of them, and the elf could just barely make out the two children staring at him in shock across the room. The man carefully sat him down at the table and the elf nearly smashed his upper body down onto the wooden structure in exhaustion, but the man was careful to hold him back against the chair, keeping him balanced.
"Bring over a bowl, my dear," the man spoke gravely to his wife, who had already been preparing the dish, "We were just about to turn in when my wife checked outside the shutters and saw you collapse. I rushed out as soon as I could; we see plenty of stragglers and refugees in these parts."
The young woman brought over the stew and the elf found the strength to lean over and he began eating, examining the taste. As it turned out to be good, he couldn't help his manners and he began to scarf it down, hurriedly.
"Now hold your horses," the man spoke up, jovially, "I know it's good, but we're not going to send you off until you're ready! Take your time."
The man took a seat across from him, and the elf carefully stared at him once he came into sight. He certainly carried himself like an older gentleman, but definitely was younger, probably in his late twenties, as was his wife, it appeared.
"So what brings you out here night elf?" the man spoke, folding up the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt, casually.
The night elf stopped eating, "I'm on the run."
The worgan man nodded slowly, "Ah, I see. Well, like I said, we help most anybody here. So long as you don't make any wrong move, you're welcome to stay until you recover."
The elf peered up from his bowl as the man leaned over onto the table, the fur escaping his sleeves now, "If your hunters do come, however, I hope you don't mind giving yourself up. We don't want any trouble."
Nodding slowly, the night elf went on eating, now a bit more wary than he had been upon entering as the man went on, "If you don't mind my trying, who is it that is after you?"
Slowly, the elf let go of his spoon, placing his hands onto the table, huffing a breath as he stalled for time, carefully, "The dragonflight."
The man suddenly pushed himself away from the table and up onto his feet, entering into the shadows behind the lantern on the table. The elf noticed two pairs of lupine eyes from behind a couch before the woman needed the two kids into another room. He looked up to see a snout from which an angry snarl came from.
"You should not be here," the deep, feral voice bellowed, "Get out of my home. Had I any idea…"
Knowingly, the elf stood up and turned to leave. He had warmed up enough to continue his journey, but before he could, he felt a heavy paw grasp onto his shoulder, stopping him.
"Your name," the man's voice snarled, "If I'm visited by anybody, I'm going to need a name."
The elf lowered his head, solemnly, carefully weighing his options, though ultimately came to the only real conclusion he had available to him.
"Ascal," he muttered mechanically.
The worgan gave him another stare before waving him out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Once again in the rain, Ascal lowered his head once more, pulling his cloak up over his head. It had been given to him by Loganaar, and as it covered up his head, his thoughts went back to his teacher.
He hadn't slept much while on this journey, not that he could, but the few times he had, Loganaar had been there, in the Dream, to console him. and to keep him concealed from the deadly gaze of Alexstrasza.
After all, she had, now, wanted him dead.