It was dark and foggy, with a light rain falling like a fine mist, soaking through cloths and armor, causing chafes and chills. Thunder rumbled distantly overhead like an angry god, marking as it a usual night in Duskwood.
Baril stood with shoulders slouched against the rain, cursing the weather as he wiped some undead guts off his sword. Damn fog. It got all in your eyes so you can't see more then a few feet ahead, in your ears so you can't hear nothing, and when you do you can't tell where it's coming from. It gets in your nose, so you can't smell naught but wet and damp. He didn't pity the scouts right about now.
Baril shook his head like a wet dog might, sending water droplets every which way as he tucked the cloth into his belt and readied his sword.
He glanced at the members of the Night Watch gathered around him, defending their town. Their faces were pale and grim, but so was his. Men and woman he'd grown up with, farmers and shopkeepers turned trained soldiers. Baril hadn't had an ounce of fightin' blood in him either at one point. Funny how times had changed.
There were also a few adventurers hanging around who had decided to give defending Darkshire a shot, but Baril didn't expect them to hang around long.
He was the only member of Sterling present, the others having gone off to protect Ironforge and Stormwind. Baril had helped out for a bit, but he had an obligation to his hometown.
Besides, at the moment, Darkshire was the only thing standing between the undead from Booty Bay and Stormwind, if you didn't count Goldshire and figured the undead'd scoot around Sentinel Hill. Damn lucky boys in Westfall, at least they didn't have to deal with this s**t.
“Undead!” One of the adventurers shouted, readying her bow in nice, quick movements. The nightsaber at her side growled, its hackles bristling and a bit of drool seeping from its jaws. Baril wondered how the night elf could see in weather like this. He certainly couldn't. Made him feel damn vulnerable.
Everyone got real quiet then, trying to hear the first warning shuffle of an undead, or the gurgling cry of a ghoul. Baril kissed the symbol of the Holy Light hangin' around his neck, muttering a prayer and hoping it would do some good. The wind whipped past and for a moment, sweepin' the fog away, exposing dozens of ghouls trying to hide in the mist. Baril swore but the breeze had already disappeared and cloaked the undead in the mist. Then the soldier standing next to Baril toppled over as a ghoul started tearing and clawing. Baril smashed the ghoul's head in with his sword as people around him starting screaming, bellowing, shouting, sobbing or pissing themselves and running as the undead lurched into the town, spreading the plague to anyone they touched. It was getting more potent, and folks were turning in just a few seconds of being scratched or bitten. Baril knocked the head clear off a ghoul as an arrow whizzed past him, piercing a ghoul that had been creeping up behind him in the eye socket. It tumbled with a gurgle, trying to claw at Baril in the throes of death. He put it out of its misery before it could infect him. Baril looked around for the archer, but the fog was swirling around and making a mess out of everyone, people darting in and out of his line of sight then disappearing again just as quick. It was a confusing mess. Baril didn't even know if they were winnin' or not.
He cut down a few more ghouls, managing not to get infected, but he had no idea how anyone else fared, and Baril was too busy to ask. Then he heard a bunch of screams that shot through the mist like arrow, all concentrated, all in one place. A Night Watchman ran past and he heard the sound of others doing the same, but he didn't know what was coming. He turned to try and get up on one of the hills, try and see what it was, but something caught him across the back of the head and he was sent tumbling into the muddy road, landing flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. He was tryin' to scramble back up onto his feet when something sharp smacked him in the chest. Baril gasped and wheezed as he looked at the hooked blade sticking out of his chest. The abomination leered down at him, rain dripping off its great ugly head. Baril kicked at the undead; trying to get the blade out of his chest but the more he shoved upwards the abomination leaned down, putting more pressure on the thing. Baril gagged and hacked up blood, trying to wriggle free as his vision swam and blood poured out of his chest. Where was everyone? Why wasn't anyone helping him? The abomination twisted the blade with morbid curiosity and Baril jerked his head back, giving an agonized yell of pain.
The abomination gave a surprised ‘hnnghhh?’ as a swordsman charged into it. The blade was ripped out of Baril’s chest and he gasped and sputtered in pain. He yelped as the undead moved and to Baril’s surprise he was dragged along as well. He looked.
When trying to free himself his foot had become tangled in one of the chains attached to the abomination’s weapon. He tried to untangle his foot but his vision swam with every movement, so when the abomination lurched after someone all Baril could do was be dragged along. He tried to say something, tried to yell for help or to speak, say something, anything, but all that came out was a gurgle of blood.
His head hit a rock painfully hard, and he passed out.
Baril’s eyes widened and he looked around, every sense on alert for enemies. He sat up quick, too quick, then groaned and sunk back down onto the bed, closing his eyes. Bed? He coughed, his breath shallow and painful, and then slowly opened his eyes. He was in a building with lots of windows, filled with warm sunlight- something unheard of in Duskwood. Most of the room was white, except for the wooden walls which were unpainted. He tried to see out the window without causing himself pain, but it was damn near impossible.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
He turned his head at the voice, suppressing a growl. The worgen didn’t like to be seen when he was injured. Baril gazed at a woman who was obviously a priest, wearing pale linen robes. She smiled at him warmly, and then sat down on the edge of his bed. Baril picked up a trace of sadness in that smile.
“Where am I?” He rasped. His voice was surprisingly hoarse.
“You’re in Westfall.” She didn’t speak like someone from Westfall. It sounded more Elywnn then anything. Baril guessed she was a priest from Northshire Abbey. “You were taken here after the fight. I… I’m afraid that while I was able to heal your injury, the wound is still infected. I don’t know why you haven’t turned yet.”
Baril’s mouth fell open slightly. No, no, no. That… No. It… Baril had a feeling the worgen was the only thing that was keeping him from turning into a ghoul right now, but if he was going to turn… He had to get to Argent Healer. Baril tried to sit up but there was a fiery pain in his chest and he whimpered, leaning back.
“You’re too ill to travel. I’m so sorry.”
Baril growled at her. His control was absolutely shot when he was this wounded. “So what!? You’re just gonna wait ‘til I’m a zombie and put a sword n’ me?!” She winced. “You’d just kill yourself trying to get to a healer, I… There’s nothing we can do. I’m so sorry.” Poor girl looked like she was gonna cry, but Baril was more focused on his survival then feeling pity. “Look at me.” He commanded. “Look, you’re gonna find some paper,” His vision started to darken. He spoke faster, “And you’re gonna write a letter to a draenei named Noctalya.” Red started to appear around the edges of his vision. “And you’re… Gonna… Tell…” A voice suddenly bellowed in his mind, utterly consuming it, blocking out all other thoughts:
Kill her.
And Baril found himself feeling as though he hadn’t been stabbed by an abomination the night before. He sat up with ease, and he smiled charmingly at the woman before he reached out and throttled her. Her eyes widened in alarm as she tried to get away, but he was bigger and stronger then her. She gasped and convulsed and tried valiantly to free herself as his hands tightened around her neck, but eventually her movements slowed, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Baril let the corpse fall to the floor.
Baril whistled tunelessly as he strode down the stairs, feeling absolutely wonderful. Nothing hurt, and the voice that was commanding him had approved of his actions so very much. Now it was calling him, so he slipped quietly out of the building, casually striding away from Sentinel Hill.
As he walked, he heard shouts. No doubt someone had found the unfortunate Priestess. Baril laughed like it was the best joke he’d heard in years. He shook his head as he came to the Darkened Bank, still grinning as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Baril saw a bridge in the distance, and there was something familiar at it. Hadn’t he met someone there? But he couldn’t remember, and the voice didn’t care, so Baril shrugged the thought away.
He stripped, and then transformed into the worgen. He laughed, an awful guttural sound, and loped off towards Stormwind. He wasn’t actually planning to go to Stormwind itself; that was suicide.
But the necropolis, that would work. Baril needed desperately to find the voice, and it was calling him north. He whined as he came to the river, and then jumped it, drooling at the thought of what the voice was promising him: Power, and the ability to wreck as much havoc and destruction as he could. The worgen cherished the thought, and Baril was swept along as he ungainly sprinted through Elywnn on all fours. He was silent and stealthy, but only because the voice ordered him to be. He longed to tear through the towns and farms, killing anyone he could, but the beckoning voice overrode his bloodlust.
The wraiths and skeletons ignored him as he walked past, looking around.
Audric Lithdel Community Member 
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