Wolfsbane

[Duraza]

Spoiler:

"The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind."
- Friedrich Nietzsche

A Philosophy for Destroyers

The air was filled with shouts and the sound of metal clashing against metal. I rose from my knees while putting pressure on my chest. Blood trickled down my blue skin, dripping onto the bodies of the two satyr left dead on the ground. The moon started to brighten the area as the clouds that blocked it were pushed away by the wind. There were bodies scattered about, some satyr and others my kin.

Savage breaths filled my ears. When I looked into the bushes just a few feet away I saw a pair of amber eyes glowing between the leaves. We gazed upon each other for a moment before I let go of my wound. my fingers clenched into fists while my back hunched. A a snarl escaped my lips. No matter how many I killed they just seemed to keep coming. The worgen stood up, her black fur guarded by a broken mail tunic. Then, she threw her neck back and let out a howl.

My eyes dropped. It was not her howl that silenced me but what she wore that made me hesitate. "You too."

"It's a common story now, told over and over. If the bears are reproducing too quickly then kill off some of their offspring and mates. When the snakes eat too many of the mice you kill some of the snakes. We druids know the proper balance of the world and it is our duty to maintain that balance. A flower that starts to grow outside of its habitat must be contained. When a lion enters unfamiliar territory, we don't wait to see if he will adapt or coexist, we know better. We act to prevent an incident from happening. Equilibrium is a fragile thing."

I adjusted my seat. The taverns in Goldshire were never to my liking. Always far to cramped and not well built for Kaldorei. Normally I'd be pacing while thinking aloud, but the room left little space for that as well.

"Yet, when sentient beings get involved we falter. Druidism isn't a game for the weak-willed. Nature is not kind, she does not hide her fangs out of pity, why do we? When the worgen first appeared they were an imbalance. But we sympathized with them, decided to let them rest eternally. Now, thousands of years later, we see the devastating consequences but still fear to strike. How long will we wait?"

For a moment I thought back to the conversations I had with both Kalah and Malorak. The Watcher, though I respected her, showed a distaste of my ideals. Even tried to warn me that my words sounded like extremism. After that talk I realized that it wouldn't be wise to reveal my thoughts immediately to anyone, not even kin. Many had adopted a weak-hearted approach to living, even with the times as chaotic as they are. Out of desperation people start to cling to the few roots in their lives that they can find, even if those roots have barely started to take hold in the earth.

As for Malorak, I hadn't expected it when we first met, but the worgen's amber eyes made it clear that he was once a druid of pack. Malorak told me that he was unsure that the feral power of the pack form was truly under control, that the new worgen might have similar problems mastering their own rage. This was all I needed to hear before knowing that the worgen were without a doubt too great of a risk, a chance foolishly taken by the Alliance without considering the possible consequences. That left one option, wipe out the weed before spreads. That is the way of the druid.

"No more," I murmured. "I will teach the my fellow druids, my people, and the Alliance. Even if those lessons must be accompanied by pain."