You're not in Telara anymore.

I got bored and have been playing World of Warcraft waaaaaay too much.

This would have been another JojoxJosie AU but I felt that I had a character who suited the role of Worgen much better :D

Cali, I hope I wrote Marshall right.  The story fit better from his P.O.V.

Lichmaw is the name of my Worgen Hunter but I gave it to Marshall's pet Worg. This is the story!Lichmaw I don't actually have a Worg as a pet.  I like my Devilsaur but I didn't think that Marshall could keep one of those without it eating everyone.

ALL THE STUFF THAT IS WORLD OF WARCRAFT BELONGS TO BLIZZARD.

Lt. Barclay, Vincent and Lichmaw, however, belong to me.

Marshall is Cali's.

P.S. Alex was eaten by Trolls.  Just thought ya'll should know.

They were not native. One day a band of them turned up just outside a small settlement where they menaced travellers, ate the livestock and generally made a nuisance of themselves to the point where they were viciously dangerous. No one wanted to travel there anymore. One day though, a wandering hero came through and the little band was gone. Stories rose up in their place and whispers of a city hidden behind the giant, towering wall where they were wiping out the humans one by one was carried on the tongues of travellers. Then one day there came news of that wall having been shattered and those things that had been little more than stories and nightmares came to life.

Marshall was huddled in a barn, the air thick and heavy around him. He clutched at his bow tightly and kept his ears attuned to the eerie sounds going on around him. His father and the rest of the men from the village had set out to defend their town from a gang of Gnolls that had migrated from Redridge. His father had left him two very important things; his musket and Lichmaw a black Worg he’d tamed in his youth in Silverpine Forest. The people in the town seemed to fear Lichmaw and Marshall often heard them whispering as he walked with his father and the wolf; stories of evil and curses and many claimed that were it not for his father’s standing in the village they would kill the Worg lest he kill them in their sleep. Marshall didn’t believe that the wolf was evil. He was old, his muzzle greying and he was blind in one eye and he kept Marshall warm on cold winter nights. The musket, however, seemed less important to Marshall. He had always preferred his bow to the use of a gun. Any passing Dwarf always seemed to find it funny how he didn’t like using such a weapon, but they were easily led onto a different topic whenever he brought up Ironforge. One Dwarf even tried to enlighten him on pick-up lines (“I like your hair, I think you’re pretty, here’s a drink. Are you ready now?”) but Marshall told him that he just wasn’t interested in seeing anyone right now. That had been well over four months ago and now Marshall was wishing he could just hang out in his family’s inn like he had always done instead of listening to the sounds of silence that seeped through what was left of his town.

The Gnolls had turned out to be controlled by a group of Forsaken who were using them as little more than a distraction so that they could slip into the town without the stronger townsfolk hinder their operation. The mayor (who conveniently hadn’t been in the Gnoll-raiding party) had sent urgent word to Stormwind for help, but whether their one rather old and worn Gryphon would make the trip was debateable.

And so Marshall hid in the barn; Marshall leaving his father’s musket in the Inn and Lichmaw faithfully following him. The large wolf was now sat opposite him, watching him with grey eyes as if waiting for him to command him to do something. While contemplating just what he should do there was a howl on the wind and Lichmaw’s ears perked. His nose went high and he sniffed at the air a few times before howling back. Marshall could feel his skin crawling at the frightening sound of the howls that answered back soon followed by the sound of fighting; swords meet swords, the bang of gunshot and the crackle of an ice spell as it froze its target. Clutching his bow tighter, Marshall nodded to the Worg and slowly stood up, preparing an arrow to shoot straight at the first intruder to his place of safety. As the sounds died down and no one entered, he was left wondering to the outcome of the battle. Slipping closer to the large wooden doors, Marshall listened out for voices. It was common knowledge that the Forsaken had taken up the Horde Orc tongue, but they could still use the Common from when they had once been human. What he could hear in the voices he could make out between the scuffles was voices with a growling undertone before an unmistakably human voice responded.

“Are there any survivors?”

There was a loud sniff followed by a gruff “They’re hiding,” in reply.

Lichmaw bumped his cold, wet nose against Marshall’s hand as if encouraging him to make the leap into going outside. Pulling the barn door slightly open, Marshall peered out to see a three figures standing just on the other side. One was human, clad in shining armour while the other two were wolves taken upright form. Their arms were long and ended with claws and their feet were large paws. Marshall tore his eyes away from them to glance at Lichmaw then back at the two strangers again. They were completely wolf-like, from the long furred snout to the glowing eyes. One had orange while the one closest to Marshall had bright, golden yellow eyes that glowed even brighter. It sniffed the air again and one of those eyes moved to catch him just in the corner of its vision. Marshall had never seen a wolf smile, but this one that stood on two legs had the edges of its mouth curling upwards into a smile, flashing razor sharp fangs.

“Found one,” came that growling voice from before, rising up from the throat of the one looking at Marshall.

“Ah, good work!” replied the human, turning to Marshall and reaching up to remove his helm. “I am Lieutenant Barclay of the Stormwind City Guard. We received word of the Forsaken attack. Would you kindly show me to the one in charge please?”

Marshall could barely keep his eyes from the strange wolf-men to pay much attention to the Lieutenant. They were like wolves but wore clothes and armour. While the Lieutenant wore the Stormwind tabard these two wore a tabard Marshall had never seen before.

“Don’t get many Worgen in these parts, huh?” spoke Barclay, motioning to his two companions. “Come on lad, just tell me who’s in charge.”

So these were Worgen? These were the creature that lurked in shadows and curses, were the stuff of dark childhood tales. Nothing Marshall could have ever imagined would have ever compared to what stood before him now.

Seeing that he was being ignored, Lieutenant Barclay rolled his eyes and turned to the first Worgen. “Keep an eye on him, will you? Alex and I will search the rest of the town for survivors with the others. I’ll send out a scouting party to see if anymore of the undead scum are still lurking in the nearby forest.”

The yellowed eyed Worgen nodded and watched as his companions moved away. Once they were out of earshot he ducked down and reached out a clawed hand to the spot just behind Marshall’s legs. “Hey there.”

Lichmaw came forwards until he could sniff at the Worgen’s outstretched hand. Marshall watched in sheer amazement as the scene unfolded before him. “I thought Worgen only existed in stories,” he said finally.

The Worgen laughed, looking up at him from where he was crouched. “So you can speak!” Despite the teeth that appeared whenever he smiled he didn’t smile in a deadly way. It was a human smile in the face of an animal and yet they seemed to fit. Pushing up into a standing position again the Worgen towered over Marshall and he had to tilt his head back to look up at his face. “I’m Vincent,” he said, holding out his hand. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He paused, that smile becoming a cheeky grin. “Much…Unless you want me to.”

Marshall reached out and those giant claws slipped so gently around his smaller hand. “Marshall, and this is Lichmaw.”

-

It had been three weeks since the attack on his town. Lieutenant Barclay had ordered a few soldiers to stand guard and the town was slowly rebuilding itself after burying their dead. Marshall’s father had been one of the victims of the Gnoll attack. His body had been returned to him mangled and ripped to the point where he was almost unrecognizable. With his death meant that Marshall was now the owner of the Delicate Court Inn. In the guard that had come there had been a total of six Worgen including Vincent and all had left except for him. While he had been crucial in saving the town the citizens didn’t like having him staying in their little village and were refusing to go anywhere near the inn where he was staying. It was Marshall’s first time running the place without help and he had only one guest. For that he was a little bit thankful and a little bit annoyed. If he was to keep the place open then he needed more than a lone Worgen. As it turned out Vincent wasn’t a guardsman for Stormwind but a citizen of the fallen city of Gilneas and a wanderer. He didn’t speak much and kept mainly to himself but one evening when Marshall was sat at the first in the common room and wondering if he was going to get any customers the large black shape joined him, choosing to sit on the floor with Lichmaw while gently running his claws through the Worg’s shaggy fur. It was there that he learned that some of the tales of places his father claimed to have visited were true.

“It’s true that there are mammoths in Northrend,” Vincent said when Marshall had said his father boasted about skinning one. “Their leather doesn’t sell for much though.” The fire glinted in his eyes and off his teeth whenever he smiled and Marshall found himself transfixed on the wolf-man. “When Gilneas was attacked by the feral Worgen and then the Forsaken I didn’t feel like there was much need to stay there so I’ve just sort of wandered,” he explained in a way that made it seem his was telling his story to Lichmaw’s fur instead of Marshall since he kept those bright yellow eyes fixed on the Worg.

On another night Vincent explained why he felt close to Lichmaw (other than on some beast level due to them both being “wolves”). “There’s a lot of black Worgs in the forests outside Gilneas. Now and again one would slip through the wall and his hide would end up on the market. I always wanted to see a live one that wasn’t trying to kill me.”

By week four Marshall was starting to wonder just why Vincent had decided to stick around in such a small town. He had slowly won over a few of the citizens by helping them with odd jobs and such (fetching things, killing beasts that were bothering them, etc) and Marshall was finally glad to have customers again but when the travelling kind came and went and Vincent remained he was curious as to why. Leaving the barmaid who had finally agreed to come back to work to watch the few customers they had milling about inside Marshall ventured out back to where Vincent was sitting bathed in half-moonlight while re-stringing Marshall’s bow. During the times he wasn’t making himself useful to the town he had been teaching Marshall how to make better use of his bow.

The sound of Vincent sniffing at the air was the way Marshall knew he had been found and he didn’t bother to mask his approach. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he asked once he was at the side of the bench where Vincent was sat. When the Worgen gave a snort in response he ploughed on ahead. “How come you’re still here? We’ve got guards set up now and everyone else you came with has gone.” He licked at his lips, watching as Vincent methodically worked without saying much, amazed at how those powerful claws could do such delicate work. “Not that I don’t mind having you around,” he added hastily. “I was just curious, that was all.”

Vincent chuckled, lifting the bow up and pulling on it a few times. “I have decided that…I want to stay and protect someone very important.”

Marshall could feel his eyes widening in surprise and tried not to say anything stupid. “R-Really?” There didn’t seem to be anyone in the town that Vincent had grown close to in the time he had spent there. In fact the only person Vincent spent the most time with was him. “That’s really nice.” He stared at Vincent, unsure of himself or what to say. Vincent was a truly amazing piece of work but he carried the weight of ‘curse’ on his shoulders. Even Vincent admitted that it was a curse that had been inflicted upon him when he had been just a boy. He had said that there are very few Worgen out there who are ‘in control’ and many are simply feral creatures forced to spend their lives as little more than beasts. It was Night Elves that had come to the aid of the curse inflicted Gilneans to try and offer them some form of hope. Whatever that hope had been Vincent hadn’t told him. Marshall supposed it was merely remaining ‘human’ while in such a form. For there to be someone, especially in his town, to see past ‘cursed beast’ and actually see Vincent beside himself was completely improbable. It must have been one of the people he’d helped who managed touched a place inside him that made him want to stay. “And it’s really nice having your around.” While Marshall did feel a little bit jealous that Vincent had someone he was glad he wasn’t losing the Worgen’s company. Without Vincent, Marshall doubted he would have been able to handle his father’s death.

There had even been that one night he’d buried himself in that warm, black fur and cried his eyes out when the sense of loss finally sunk in completely. Vincent had held him so tenderly and hadn’t said a word. There had been nothing but a gentle rumble deep within his chest. Standing next to him now, Marshall just wanted to curl his fingers into that fur again, to smell the moonlight, grass and wild that clung to that soft fur.

Vincent lowered the bow and looked straight at Marshall, a small smile curling his lips upwards. “It’s you, stupid,” he said plainly. Lowering the long bow to the ground he stood up and moved to face Marshall completely. “I want to show you something but you have to promise not to tell anyone otherwise they’ll make me do it all the time and that’s just not who I am.”

Swallowing at the lump in his throat Marshall nodded, still taken aback by the fact that it was him – he was the person that Vincent thought was important – that Vincent was staying for. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Vincent grunted, reaching up with his huge right paw and scratch the back of his neck, ruffling the long, shaggy mane he had sticking out the back of his shirt. “People in the big cities know we can do this but I’m glad out here you still think we’re stuck like this. Not glad that I’m stuck like this, but it’s who I am now. Until there’s a full cure, I don’t believe in a half-cure.”

Not having a clue what the Worgen was talking about, Marshall watched and listened in stunned silence as a strange mist enveloped Vincent and the shadow within the churning grey clouds changed and shifted. When the dust and mist cleared away there stood a human in the clothes the Worgen had been wearing. His hair was shaggy and black and his eyes were…his eyes were that bright golden yellow that Marshall remembered seeing when he had slipped from the gloom of the barn. Vincent was just a few years older than himself and bore a few scars here and there on his face, neck and arms. In the grin he could see that smile that graced the face of a wolf. “You…You can change back into a human?” he choked out.

Vincent frowned, glancing down and away. “It’s not permanent and if I do anything like get into a fight or Darkflight then I instantly change back, but yeah, I don’t have to stay in that form.” He shifted uneasily on his feet, shuffling them on the ground. “But because this isn’t permanent and I’ve spent so long just being a Worgen I don’t really see myself as a human anymore so I don’t like it being thrust upon me. I want people to accept us and not just because we’re accepted in the Alliance again, but really accept us as more than those monsters that are out there. It’s not like I’m Legion or anything…”

Carefully, Marshall moved in closer, reaching out to take Vincent’s hand in his own, feeling the difference in weight compared to how it felt to have those big claws hold him. “So does this mean this is my secret?” he asked.

Vincent tilted his head to the side in a very wolf-like manner and Marshall was expecting his ears to perk. “Yeah,” he nodded and closed his fingers around Marshall’s hand, stepping even closer until they were almost chest-to-chest. Marshall was now a touch taller than Vincent meaning he no longer had to crane his head back to look into those glowing eyes. Their smiles matched and then suddenly Vincent leaned in and kissed him. Marshall wasn’t even surprised when he found himself kissing him back. The simple brush of lips melted into tongues and teeth (Vincent had a bad habit of nibbling on Marshall’s tongue and lower lip) and it was the best kiss Marshall had ever experienced.

-

They were considered the ‘Odd Couple’ and there were some travellers that came to his inn specifically to see if the rumours were true. Vincent’s secret eventually got out to the rest of the town when more Worgen started passing through and were shifting forms in sight and sometimes he was caught off guard. One morning had been rather eventful when one of the barmaid’s daughter had spotted Vincent in his human form leaving Marshall’s bedroom one morning and then proceeded to try and find Vincent the Worgen to inform him that Marshall had been cheating on him with a human and Vincent had to explain to her that Vincent the Worgen and the man she had seen were the same person. Eventually he gave in and just showed her. When the weather grew cooler and the fire wasn’t warm enough and many of the inns patrons were either drunk or sleeping Marshall would curl into Vincent’s black fur and breathe in the scents he gave off. Sometimes, Marshall would stand on his tip toes and reach up and pull Vincent’s head down where he could plant a kiss to the feathery soft fur on the top of his muzzle and then Vincent would lick his face in return.

Whatever the stories and fables he had heard growing up in Delicate Court Inn many seemed to paint the strange wolf-men as monsters and nightmares but now, in a small town on the Eastern Kingdoms there was one of those cursed men living and contributing as a functioning member of society. Children went to sleep with thoughts of him in their heads and he would fight off the horrors with a loud roar and a swipe of his claws. People no longer saw Lichmaw as a violent beast but as a loveable old Worg who lived with a human and a man who had been a beast but became a lover.

Marshall wouldn’t ever have it any other way.