The Wolf Within - A World of Warcraft Story

Part 1 - Night of the Wolf

Several attacks have previously been documented. But they almost always occurred near the perimeter of the Greymane Wall, separating the kingdom from the rest of the continent. At first thought to be the nation's best form of defense, the wall now proved to be nothing more than a cage.

Rising screams echoed through the night as inhuman shadows leapt through the rain, over the rooftops, and smashed through the windows of the Gilneans' homes. Terror hung in the air as guards desperately strained to help those trying to flee. Chaos ensued, with people getting shoved and trampled, some right into the salivating maws of the feral worgen swarming through the streets. Howls erupted throughout the city.

Guards shouted to each other over the roar. Musket fire cracked.

Crack! Whimper, thump.

Crack! Whimper, thump.

Each fallen beast was replaced by two more, their mouths dripping with blood and saliva, their glowering eyes wild in the growing fire.

---

A strange, cold feeling jolted Rosarie awake.

A delicate, porcelain hand reached up to brush crow-black hair out of her face. Deep blue eyes flashed awake, blurry with sleep. Her lean, tall shape unfurled. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, the girl stood up. Her white nightgown trailed after her as she walked over to the arching stained glass window, swinging it open. Cold rain spattered her skin, sending shivers up her spine. Rosarie blinked.

Below, Stormglen Village was bustling. Children wailed, women yelled, men brandished their rapiers and muskets into the air. Guards barked orders. Beyond the dark wood, Blackwald, a curling string of smoke was visible, where the roofs of Gilneas City would normally be.

Is the city on fire? Rosarie thought in alarm, pushing herself away from the window and rushing to her closet.

She slipped out of her nightgown and reached for her dress. She already could hear her younger sister, Juniper, in the room next to hers. The girl sighed, her brows knitting together. Pulling on her leather boots she hurried downstairs, tying her thick ebon hair back with a satin ribbon. She was not hungry, her stomach a churning pit of anxiety. She silently thanked herself for leaving the candles alight overnight.

"Ro!" A small voice called from the stairs.

Rosarie turned around to see her thirteen-year-old sister staring at her with wide, fearful eyes. "I heard Gilneas is under attack." Juniper whispered.

"Go back to bed, Juniper."

"But Ro-"

"I said go back to bed. If you were plannin' on askin' me if you could come with me, th' answer is no." Rosarie snapped, reaching for her rapier. She fastened it around her waist, glaring daggers at her sister. "Now go to Mama an' stay with 'er. Got it? You ain't goin' anywhere tonight. "

Sucking in her lips, the girl whipped around and stomped upstairs.

Deflating, Rosarie slowly drew the rapier, running her fingers over its shining surface. They stopped to trace the small initials carved into the surface, near the handle; W.A.

William Atherton.

"Father..." She murmured, sheathing the weapon. "I promise to use this well, just like you taught me."

Pulling on her trench coat and top hat, she burst the door open and ran through the pouring rain to the stables, where her steed, Soot, stood. As soon as its rider was situated, the horse bolted through the crowd of villagers and into the storm, heading toward the nearest town of Duskhaven.