The Curse of the Worgen
All was still. The travelers needed rest before their journey to the Temple of the Jade Serpent, and they had settled down at the nearest inn for the night.
Mori sat alone in her room and removed the rock from her pocket. She placed the smooth grey stone on the table and climbed onto the chair, placing her chin upon the wood so that her eye level matched that of the rock. If it had eyes, of course.
“Hi Arthas.” Though Mori had come across some inanimate objects that appeared to have voices, this rock was simply that – a silent, emotionless rock.
“It has been almost three weeks since I left Eversong,” the young blood elf continued, “and I’ve met some new people.” She stared at the rock intently, as if waiting for its acknowledgment of her exploits. “I don’t know what to think of them, though.” She hopped off her chair and started pacing around the room as she spoke.
“First, there’s Rosie. She looks like a nice person, and I want to be her friend, but every time I talk to her, she always looks at me nervously. Like I’m going to do something strange.” Mori sighed. “I wonder if she’s like that to everyone. Do you think so?”
The rock quietly reflected the moonlight off its polished surface.
“Next, there’s Halvor. He always makes a weird face when I talk about wanting to be a necromancer, and he doesn’t let me talk to the urn. He also doesn’t like it when I try to pick up sharp objects or stand near dead bodies.” Mori frowned. “It’s not like I’m going to hurt him, geez.”
The rock sat still on the table.
“Finally, there’s Tolkar. He doesn’t seem to mind what I do much, but I don’t know if we can be friends. He always seems busy discussing things with the other adults.”
Mori stopped pacing around and ran back to the table. She picked up her pet rock and crawled into bed, clutching the grey stone in her small hands.
“I just want a friend, Arthas,” she whispered as she drifted off into sleep, “I’m so…lonely…”
* * * * *
Release me, priestess.
“I cannot…I mustn’t…” murmured Rose Gregaine as she fumbled in her sleep for the stone container. The whispers of the Teacher gnawed at her mind and tormented her slumber.
Let me out, woman. There is much I still need to do.
“Never…you can never leave…” Rose turned over to her side and buried the urn in her blanket, hoping to muffle the voice of the Teacher.
Your efforts are futile. You cannot possibly hope to silence me.
“Leave me…alone…” The woman groaned in agony, her limbs outstretched on her bed and her hands clamped tightly to her ears. “Stop…this voice…”
You cannot escape me, priestess. Neither can you escape the beast within you!
Rose abruptly sat up, her eyes wide and her body shaking with fear. She could not expose herself, not now! The Teacher took pleasure in her struggle and let out a sickening laugh.
Long have you forced yourself into hiding, foolish woman, the Teacher taunted Rose, but the time is near…you will not last much longer.
“No! It cannot be!” she gasped for air, clawing at the voices around her. “It is not yet time!”
The Teacher laughed again, his cackle resonating through Rose’s mind and amplifying the other voices dancing around her. The woman covered her ears but could not escape the torment; the voices now came from within, and she was powerless to silence them.
Save me!
I’m trapped!
Help!
What has happened to me?
I am lost!
“STOP! STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE!” Rose cried out. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!”
THEY WILL STOP ONLY IF YOU RELEASE ME, WOMAN.
“NO! I CANNOT RELEASE YOU!”
YES, YOU WILL! RELEASE ME, OR YOU WILL HEAR THEIR CRIES FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS.
A wave of nausea flooded Rose as she stood up from her bed. She didn’t have much time left. The woman picked up the obsidian urn and held it tight, focusing on her task despite the dozens of voices clawing at her mind, their desperate pleas echoing throughout her body.
Set us free!
We’ve done nothing wrong!
All we wanted to do was learn!
Please, help us!
Rose fumbled in the dark as she felt her way across her room and out the entrance. She found the vrykul asleep in his room and shook the warrior with all her strength.
“What—huh—who—what is going on?” He woke up, startled.
“Halvor! Listen! I don’t have much time!”
“Time? Time for what?”
Rose answered with urgency. “The Teacher. He fills me with voices. They are after me. They won’t stop. Whatever you do, do not release him!”
“Time? For what? Friend, what is wrong?” Halvor looked puzzled. Rose placed the obsidian urn into Halvor’s massive hands and clasped them together.
“I have no time,” Rose replied frantically. A second wave of nausea struck her as she nearly fell to her knees. “I can’t explain—I must go!”
IT IS TOO LATE FOR YOU, YOUNG WOLF! NOTHING CAN SAVE YOU NOW!
What are you doing?
No! Come back!
Where are you going?
You haven’t saved us!
Rose mustered all her remaining strength and ran out of the vrykul’s room. She raced down the stairs and out of the inn as far as her legs could carry her. She finally stopped at the top of a hill, the grass and flowers illuminated by the mocking glow of the moonlight.
A third, stronger wave of nausea ran over Rose as she fell onto the grass. There was no stopping it now. Her limbs ached as she tried to prevent the transformation, but to no avail. She watched in horror as her hands and feet increased in size and formed long, sharp claws. Her back and chest throbbed as patches of fur grew where human skin had once covered her body. Her hair, a dark grey, grew longer as her nose grew into a muzzle and fangs emerged from her mouth. Her ears, once beautifully curved, sharpened and stood at the ends of her head, twitching at the multitude of sounds in the nighttime plains. With a cry of anguish, Rose turned her head to the moon and let out a howl. She had finally fallen to the Curse of the Worgen.
* * * * *
“Halvor, where’s Rosie?”
“Not here, small child. I think she is gone.”
“Then where’s the urn?”
“With me. You are not talking to big light bulb.”
Mori frowned and paid attention to the new sights before her. The travelers had entered a town located in the vicinity of the Temple of the Jade Serpent. Tolkar had gotten word that they were to meet another member of the Horde at this location, but they had arrived early and thus felt it would be wise to repair armor and stock up on nourishment, supplies, etc. A series of red-brown wooden stalls were set up along a small pond, lined with alchemists, jewel crafters, and flight masters, the likes of which the blood elf had seen back in Quel’Thalas. There were also some new occupations she hadn’t come across before, such as noodle vendors and brewmasters.
“Over, there,” the tauren motioned to a pandaren male wearing a black shirt with white overalls, his hair tied up in a short ponytail, “he must be the vendor we’re looking for.”
“Ah, hello, travelers,” a pandaren named Singegruff turned at the sound of heavy footsteps from the massive shaman and warrior, “how may I help you?”
“We have journeyed quite a distance,” Tolkar replied, “my friend and I would like our armor repaired, and perhaps a new robe for the child.”
“I can work on the armor in just a few moments,” nodded the pandaren vendor, “but first, let us select a robe for the young one.” He turned to Mori. “You must be a type of spellcaster, judging by your staff. Am I correct?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, “I’m a necromancer!”
Singegruff frowned and looked up at the tauren and vrykul, who shrugged. “Very well,” he spoke hesitantly, “I do have a robe for you that is woven with magical fabrics that should enhance the power of your spells.” He pulled out a purple long-sleeved robe lined with black at the edges and decorated with a dark periwinkle sash. “Here it is, though I’m afraid I do not carry it in your size. I suggest you get it tailored as soon as you can.”
“That’s okay,” Mori grinned widely as she took the robe and put it on over her shirt, “I can roll up the sleeves for now.” As she adjusted their length, she felt a tingling sensation from the robe as the mana infused in the fibers siphoned itself into her own being. The young blood elf held her hand out in front of her and stretched out her fingers, feeling newfound power coursing through them.
“Well, how is it?” inquired the pandaren vendor, “Are you satisfied?”
Mori nodded happily. “Yeah, I think so! I feel stronger.”
“Excellent,” declared Singegruff with a sigh, “that will cost you six hundred gold, then.”
“A good deal,” Tolkar remarked as he pulled out the sack of gold he carried as the group’s financial reserves, “we still have plenty left for repairing our own armor.” He placed a large handful of coins in the pandaren’s open palm, who then counted them to make sure.
“Thank you for your business,” he bowed, “I will now see to your armor. Feel free to traverse around the village as you wait. It will not take very long.”
Mori, happy with her new robe, wandered to the edge of the pond and busied herself with studying the fish closely as the adults discussed their plans for the afternoon.