Werewolves are indeed fierce in battle, and under the command of the Alpha Wolf the pack fights without fear of death. Day and night they launch wave after wave against Gilneas' defenses, piling mental and physical pressure on the garrison.
But however fast they run, werewolves are still ground troops; faced with Night Elves striking from the air they are uniquely fragile.
North of Gilneas remains impregnable under Darius' defense, while to the west lies a bay opening onto the Endless Sea. Only the city's south and east are simultaneously under werewolf assault.
Compared with the tangled terrain and dense Black Mire Forest to the south, the Embershard Plain east of Gilneas is nothing but a vast, cover-free shooting gallery for the flying fleet.
"Boom! Boom!"
Relentless salvos roar from the newly-commissioned sky-ships; arcane cannons of every caliber rake the ground in indiscriminate bombardment.
With no way to strike back, the werewolves can only race across the ground, desperate to outrun the long-range death raining from above.
"Awooo!"
A piercing howl rises from among the thousands; the wolves' once-chaotic movements snap into perfect unison.
Abandoning their assault on Gilneas City, they wheel south under the barked howls of their hidden commander, fleeing toward the broken terrain of southern Gilneas.
Without needing a hint from Andreas or Malfurion, Lairal and Vastann are already on deck, using their enhanced eyesight to pick out the werewolf alphas hidden inside the tide of beasts.
Genn returns to his palace for the first time in ages, draws a deep breath at the sight of the sky-battleships still pouring shells overhead.
"Times have changed… I can't cling to outdated ideas any longer."
The concept of the Gryphon Guard Wall—and the isolationism behind it—came not from Genn but from his father, the late King Archibald Greymane.
Stubborn as a bull, Archibald refused all outside help and still built Gilneas into a power; his success forged the political template young Genn would follow for decades.
But today's dwarven artillery, stronger with every generation, can already punch a breach in the Gryphon Guard Wall, while Gnomish individual flight packs let troops bypass it entirely.
The Night Elves have bluntly proven walls useless with their sky-armada, slashing the Wall's value and making isolationism obsolete in a world that now changes by the day.
Beset within and without, Gilneas needs allies.
Genn's first thought is the neighboring Alliance kingdoms, yet the Kingdom of Gilneas and the Kingdom of Alterac's open invasion of Silverpine Forest enrages him.
And since Gilneas itself abandoned that great forest, the vengeful old wolf-king vows never again to rely on such greedy neighbors.
The Night Elves have arrived at the perfect moment; however reclusive, Genn keeps track of the world as a king must.
From the day it appeared, the Night Elf Republic has stayed Azeroth's undisputed premier power.
They neither meddle in others' internal affairs nor seize territory by force—showing true great-state bearing compared with Lordaeron's old grab-what-you-can policy.
Having decided to scrap isolationism, a rebuilding Gilneas naturally wants the thickest leg around to hug—and the Night Elves are the obvious choice.
"Liam."
"Here, Father."
Genn hesitates. "I still need time to master shifting between worgen and human forms. Handle state affairs for now; ask your mother if anything puzzles you."
He turns to his surprised heir and actually smiles. "Strengthen ties with the Night Elf Republic as much as you can. We've broken with the Alliance; this new, mighty ally is indispensable."
Liam bows his head obediently. "Understood, Father."
Liam hasn't yet grasped Genn's deeper aim; Queen Mia shoots her husband a withering glare.
Realizing his scheme is exposed, Genn's weathered face reddens; he lifts his chin stubbornly and stalks into the palace's rear halls.
"Ignore him."
Queen Mia sighs. "Your father's been proud too long; he can't bear to cozy up to the Night Elves himself, so the chore falls to you."
Liam's mouth twitches. So my face doesn't count as a face?
Princess Tess, hiding behind her mother, quivers with silent laughter; even Mia feels a bit guilty—Genn's move is shabby and his excuse paper-thin.
Darius, also newly risen, is already leaping about the battlefield, showing no sign of trouble switching between worgen and human.
Ahem…
Mia clears her throat. "By the way, Genn has formally agreed to a cease-fire with Duke Crowley."
"Gilneas can't survive another civil war. To bind the two sides and manage disputes, your father and Darius have decided to have Lorna marry into the royal family as a bridge between the Crowleys and the crown."
"Marry into the royal family?" Liam blinks. "Who's the lucky one?"
Lorna is Gilneas' famed rose with thorns—beautiful and toned from constant training, but never one to be trifled with.
Stronger than many noble sons, stubborn and soft only to kindness, she leaves any suitor who pushes too hard bleeding. Over time no one dares approach the ducal lady.
Mia's expression turns odd. "What are you imagining? Of course it's you."
"You're hardly a child any more. Look at Varian—only a few years older and his brats already run circles around the palace. Marry soon and continue the royal line."
Liam: "…Huh?"
...Aboard the Third Sky-Fleet's flagship, Andreas' group reaches the air above Black Mire Forest; most werewolves have retreated into this stronghold, hoping the dense trees will shield them from the sky-cannons.
Nature-loving Night Elves will not, save as a last resort, blast the forest with heavy weapons.
Drop-troops link up with Gilneas forces, surrounding Black Mire on three sides.
"I advise against sending a large force into the woods."
At the allied council Andreas taps the forest's center. "My scouts have found the worgen den—dead center."
"An old saying goes: 'Enter no forest lightly,' because woods are ideal for ambush."
"If we drive a big column inside, the rested worgen can hit us at leisure, using home-ground advantage. Even if we reach their lair the cost will outweigh the gain."
Still reeling from one 'bad news' after another, Liam forces a nod. "Then… we slip elite squads in for a decapitation strike?"
Andreas shrugs. "Raid teams left early—some followed the wolf-king's shadow and dropped straight into the trees during the airborne landing."
Seeing Liam's stunned look, Andreas pats the inexperienced heir's shoulder. "Wait for word—I trust they'll finish the job."
The Pack Leader of Gilneas is named Yiva. Unlike other worgen blinded by rage, Yiva was lucky enough to gradually regain his sanity after his transformation.
With a powerful physique and the cleverness of a sentient being, he defeated minor worgen chieftains one by one and rose to become leader of all worgen—Lord of the Pack.
Though he had regained the intellect of his human self, Yiva felt utterly lost after seizing the worgen throne.
He had no idea what the future held—for himself or for the pack.
Yiva knew nothing about reversing the worgen curse; he even believed he would remain this furry form forever, right up to the end of his life.
Since he was no longer human, Yiva began to abandon the thought patterns of his former life.
He racked his brain over how so many worgen would survive. As pack king, how could he keep his kin from starving?
Perhaps the Worgen Virus had dulled his mind—after days of mulling, he arrived at a bizarre brainwave.
If every Gilnean became a worgen, the nation could endure in a new form: a realm of worgen.
The successful ambushes on Genn and Darius once convinced Yiva his goal was within reach—but the two miraculously regained their reason, and even mastered shifting between human and worgen forms.
The appearance of more such worgen only sped Yiva's dream along. This time, rather than converting leaders, he ordered the packs to gnaw away at Gilneas step by step.
At first the plan went smoothly; the defenses of Stormglen Cliff collapsed at the first touch of the worgen tide.
But when they reached Gilneas City, Yiva's worgen met a grim obstacle—lofty, solid walls.
Before Yiva's none-too-clever mind could devise a way over them, disaster struck from the sky.
Yiva could no longer recall what he had been in human life, but he was certain he had never seen these flying… metal boxes.
Not only could they fly, they also unleashed devastating attacks; the pack could only be pummeled with no way to strike back.
Left with no choice, Yiva abandoned his grand plan and ordered the worgen to retreat into the Black Mire Forest, waiting for things to calm before scouting again.
To keep foes from chasing them in, Yiva laid ambushes throughout the woods—any reckless intruder would be torn apart by his worgen.
Pack Leader Yiva still did not know that a small band of worgen outside his control had slipped into the forest.
These outliers were none other than Lairal's Fang Druids and the Wolf-Spirit Druids under Vastann's banner.
Yiva's worgen also kept wolves for the hunt, though their beasts were mostly black or grey.
Vastann's striking moon-white pelt drew every eye as he strode through the trees, drawing admiring glances from countless she-wolves.
Leiana, in grey-wolf form, "escorted" her husband deeper in, fangs bared the whole way.
These Shameless Hussies' pheromones clearly signaled designs on her mate.
Amused yet irritated, Leiana instinctively shifted into an aggressive stance, warning the wild wolves that Vastann was taken.
Lairal's expression was odd; had speech been possible, he would have asked the White Wolf's gloomy face how it felt.
"Whuff!"
Snapping out of his daze, Vastann let out a sharp warning growl.
"Arooo!"
A grey-black worgen burst from the trees, eyeing them in puzzlement and sniffing the air.
"You… not… my… kin."
Long disuse had rusted Yiva's speech, yet he sensed something off about these worgen and wolves—they carried the scent of man-made things.
Vastann exhaled in relief. "Hooked at last—looks like this is the Wolf King."
Seasoned druids would never make the rookie mistake of carrying artifacts into the wild; they had done it deliberately to lure out a worgen king rumored to possess reason.
Yiva crouched into a fighting stance, baring fangs long stained a pale red by blood.
"Intruders… die!"
"Arooo!"
The Wolf King's howl stirred every ambusher. Andreas and the others heard the cry and saw the forest ripple as packs raced toward a single point.
"Looks like they've found the target."
With a pop Andreas shifted into a Golden Eagle and, alongside Storm Crow Malfurion, swooped toward the commotion.
Liam glanced helplessly at a druid who stayed behind. "Does your leader always charge the front line?"
The druid blinked innocently. "Is there a problem?"
Liam: "…"
'Am I the odd one, or is this world just insane?'
Worgen swarmed around Vastann and Lairal's group, while the druids in turn ringed Pack Leader Yiva—nested circles of predators and prey.
Yiva's personal strength was respectable, but facing millennia-old druidic monsters he dared not move after sounding the call.
The killing intent of Vastann and the others locked him in place—any twitch would invite attacks from every side.
The worgen pack likewise held back, fearing for their king's life, leaving both sides frozen in a tense standoff.
"Open!"
A familiar voice from above lifted Vastann's spirits. A fierce wind scattered the nearby worgen, and a sky-piercing Tornado walled off the clearing, trapping Yiva and company inside while keeping the rest of the pack out.
Resuming human form, Andreas glanced in surprise at Malfurio maintaining the spell. "Master, that move carries a hint of demigodhood—on the verge of a breakthrough?"
Malfurion smiled modestly. "Cenarius says the same; odds are good. After this I'll enter seclusion."
Under Yiva's snarling threat, Andreas landed with hands behind his back, barely three paces away—one swift pounce would bring the Wolf King to him.
Yet beast-instinct warned Yiva: move and doom follows.
The chief difference between man and beast—beyond creation—lies in restraining desire.
Self-control let Yiva choose wisely; seeing no attack, Andreas dispersed the chaotic energy gathered in his palm.
"Whew—"
Sensing the lethal threat fade, Yiva cautiously stepped back. "You… what… are you? Why… invade… my forest?"
Andreas chuckled. "Mister Wolf, you've got your cause and effect backward."
"Before it was your lair, the Black Mire Forest belonged to the kingdom of Gilneas."
"As Gilneas' ally, the Night Elf Republic has accepted Prince Liam's commission to eliminate the worgen menace."
Andreas drove the Staff of Ganir into the ground, power coursing through it, and studied the bristling Yiva. "I'll ask only once—think carefully."
"Pack Leader—do you want to live, or to die?"
Yiva, as the leader of the wolf pack, is a wise werewolf, unlike other mad werewolves who lack awareness of life and death.
Intelligent beings instinctively stay away from death and yearn for survival, and Yiva is no exception.
"I... choose... to live."
Andreas saw the will to survive displayed on Yiva's furred face and nodded approvingly.
"Very well, then there is still a chance for us to talk."
...The werewolf uprising has been sweeping Gilneas for several years, and the spreading werewolf virus has caused great harm to Gilneas.
Yiva constantly feels a massive threat from Andreas; his fur bristling with tension never calms, and unwilling to die, he gathers all the wolves in the forest around a clearing.
After a rough calculation, Yiva commands roughly one hundred thousand werewolves, which is still not the total number in Gilneas; some wild werewolves in the wilderness remain beyond Yiva's control.
These werewolves were once citizens of Gilneas, and the emergence of hundreds of thousands of them has led to the loss of tens of thousands of Gilneas' population.
Not every Gilnean attacked by werewolves can be smoothly transformed; those deemed a threat and who resist fiercely are torn to pieces by the pack on the spot.
Since Gilneas has become an ally of the Night Elf Republic, Andreas, to preserve his ally's combat strength, naturally strives to save these werewolves and reconvert them into Gilneas' citizens.
Vastann's previous rituals were all one-on-one; when Andreas requested a mass conversion of werewolves, he said he needed to first research and test with the Wolf-Spirit Druids.
Setting up a large ritual site is a major challenge; even if pack leader Yiva is willing to regain a human body while retaining his werewolf form, restoring sanity to so many werewolves is no easy task.
Before a suitable method is found, Vastann first completes Yiva's conversion; the newly human Yiva stands dazed, his memories blocked by werewolf rage gradually returning.
"I remember now..."
Yiva let out a long sigh and recalled his identity and origins.
Before becoming pack leader, Yiva was a somewhat famous solo adventurer; although born in Gilneas, his line of work kept him from residing there long-term.
Highly mobile professions often drift to bustling regions for work, and Yiva was no different; his main activities were once around Lordaeron and Dalaran.
Good times were short; a sudden cataclysmic plague devastated Lordaeron, and Yiva, using his survival skills as an adventurer, barely escaped the turned-into-a-hellscape Lordaeron Capital City.
Shaken, Yiva fled with refugees back to his homeland Gilneas, bribed a guard of the Gryphon Guard Wall with his adventuring earnings, and was allowed entry into Gilgiss territory.
Before Yiva could enjoy his homecoming, Arugal's summoned werewolves, unleashed to repel the cataclysm, ran amok; many villages outside the capital were breached, and most residents were turned into a new generation of werewolves.
When the scandal broke, Arugal shrugged and led most of the first-generation werewolves away, leaving Gilneas with a mess impossible to tidy.
Werewolves are extremely swift; even mounted humans cannot outrun them, and the rapidly spreading werewolf disaster soon engulfed most of Gilneas.
Genn, to prevent werewolves from storming the city and causing more damage, was forced to abandon the outer territories and seal the capital gates.
While Genn remained occupied with Darius' internal war, Yiva, a member of the pack, unexpectedly regained some sanity.
Although he lost most of his previous memories and his thinking is clouded by the werewolf virus, the sanity he regained is enough to let him gradually become pack leader.
In human form, Yiva is a hulking, rugged man, muscles bulging—a clear sign he's not to be trifled with, which explains why his werewolf form boasts superior combat ability.
He stroked his thick red beard, chuckled bitterly and shook his head, "It seems I was doomed to this calamity; after barely escaping the cataclysm, I still couldn't avoid the werewolf uprising."
Yiva is an orphan who has always worked alone as an adventurer, only recruiting teammates when a task is too difficult to handle solo.
He knows few people within Gilneas, and amid the chaos it's hard to check on every friend's status.
Having lived as a werewolf for years, Yiva has grown accustomed to life with the pack; suddenly reverting to human form leaves him somewhat disoriented.
After staying a few days in nearby villages, Yiva still can't find his old rhythm, so he reverts to werewolf form and returns to Black Mire Forest to help Gilneas manage the unruly wolves.
With the pack leader secured, most werewolves in Black Mire Forest abandon resistance under his call.
King Genn, who had been secluding himself in the palace citing familiarity with werewolf form, finally appears once everything settles.
Perhaps persuaded by the queen, the Old Wolf King steps over his mental barrier; his close demeanor toward Andreas makes Andreas feel a bit uneasy.
With Yiva's cooperation, most roaming werewolves are gathered into Black Mire Forest, and the tens of thousands of them leave Genn both hopeful and worried.
If these werewolves can all be reconverted to humans, the severely damaged Gilneas can regain some vitality; if the ritual fails, the same mass could still cause a significant societal shock.
Werewolf births stem from Goldrinn's uncontrolled rage; the moonglaive can soothe their hearts to some extent, and through rituals and potions their nature can be restrained.
But with the sheer number of werewolves Vastann and others face now, the old method is far too inefficient.
Forced to act, Vastann dives into the Emerald Dream seeking the wolf god's aid; Goldrinn, unperturbed, readily agrees to the chief disciple's request and quickly arrives from Kalimdor.
"Sniff~ sniff~"
After observing the werewolves for a while, Goldrinn muses, "These werewolves differ from Lairal's group; the anger's influence is lighter, no need for potions—let's hold a large ritual, and I'll infuse it with power."
Guided by the wolf god, Vastann feels relieved and begins setting up the ritual site.
Under Goldrinn's watchful eye, a veil of misty moonlight descends over Black Mire Forest; the wolves bathed in it writhe and moan as they begin to change.
Absorbing moonlight mixed with Goldrinn's power, their fur contracts rapidly, and they soon revert to human form.
Having just shed their mindless werewolf state, many stand dumbfounded, trying to piece together their memories.
Goldrinn nods satisfactorily, "Now it's complete. With my faint blessing, these Mortals can be counted among my broad followers."
Including Genn and Darius, anyone who has suffered the werewolf disaster can now switch between the two forms at will.
Those with higher control, like Darius, can even directly sense the source of werewolf power, which emanates from the elegant, beautiful massive white wolf before them.
Darius had prayed to the Holy Light for help in his darkest hours, but the Light could not cure the Worgen curse; in the end he lost his mind as his consciousness sank into oblivion.
After a trial that took him from death to life, Darius' faith in the Holy Light clearly waned. Once he saw with his own eyes the Wild God Goldrinn leading the pack, he quickly changed the object of his worship.
King Genn sensed in Darius' conversion a perfect chance to sever Gilneas from the Alliance for good.
The old wolf-king declared that, because the Holy Light had abandoned Gilneas, the whole kingdom would abandon its blind reverence for the Light and instead worship the Wolf God Goldrinn who now sheltered them.
A Gilneas long tormented by the Worgen upheaval felt this deeply; under the state's deliberate guidance faith gradually shifted, Holy Light churches were abandoned en masse, and sacred altars bearing statues of the wolf god took their place.
With Darius representing the Crowley Family in formally signing an armistice with House Greymane, the years-long Worgen turmoil and civil war finally ended, and battered Gilneas entered a season of peaceful development.
During those chaotic years many Gilneans had grown utterly disillusioned with an Alliance that looked on coldly and even profited from their misery; when the Night Elf Republic offered an olive branch, they accepted the new ally at once.
Druids led by Vastann and Lairal stayed behind for the moment to help the recently re-humanized Worgen reintegrate into civilized society.
Throughout the upheaval King Genn witnessed first-hand the wondrous shape-shifting profession of the druids.
Having cast off the Holy Light, Gilneas now needed a healing-oriented warrior-path to fill the void; seizing the chance to befriend the Night Elves, Genn cautiously asked Andreas whether Gilneas could obtain druidic teachings.
As leader of the Cenarion Circle and head of the druidic orders, Malfurion welcomed anyone willing to join the druidic way; he volunteered to remain in Gilneas for a time to help the locals master nature's power and grasp the essence of druidism.
Andreas had no objection—one more shared topic would effectively deepen the friendship between the two nations.
Besides, Worgen were essentially the product of nature-magic run wild; Gilneas truly needed orthodox druidic faith to gradually untangle its land overrun by Worgen. With the crisis smoothly resolved and King Genn's friendship secured, Andreas—at Gilneas' request—left a large corps of druids to guide them in comprehending the druidic way and to help rebuild their homeland.
Before leaving Gilneas, Andreas received the latest word from Dun Morogh: with allied help the Gnomes had largely retaken the districts occupied by the troggs.
Using metal materials the Gnomes reinforced the defenses of their subterranean city Gnomeregan, ensuring the troggs could no longer tunnel in at will.
Now the only problem High Tinker Mekkatorque faced was the rebellion of Sicco Thermaplugg.
Thermaplugg was, after all, merely a gifted tinker; once his hot-headed revolt began, he discovered events unfolding nothing like he had imagined.
Fortunately the High Tinker had been busy battling troggs and reclaiming his city, leaving him no time to deal with the traitors—for the moment.
After the dwarves and Stormwind humans returned home to Gelbin's gratitude, the High Tinker finally redirected the forces previously guarding against troggs toward Thermaplugg.
The disparity in numbers was overwhelming; having retaken the Tinkers' Quarter, Gelbin regained access to the Gnomes' precision weaponry and gained absolute dominance in the fight against the rebels.
In despair, Thermaplugg—unable to halt Mekkatorque's advance—opened Gnomeregan's irradiation tanks when left with no way out.
The sectors held by the rebels were instantly blanketed in radioactive contamination. High Tinker Mekkatorque hastily ordered a full withdrawal and permanently sealed off the irradiated districts.
Thermaplugg had succeeded in repelling the assault, but he and his followers were mutated by the radiation into hideous, brutal leper gnomes.
Until a device to cleanse the contamination could be devised, High Tinker Mekkatorque strictly forbade opening the quarantine gates, leaving Sicco Thermaplugg's leper gnomes to rot in madness for the time being. Back in Astranaar, Andreas at last enjoyed a rare stretch of quiet rest.
Attacks from the Burning Legion had temporarily fallen silent, and the Old Gods could find no suitable opening for mischief; after its long turmoil Azeroth was, for the moment, calm.
Although minor skirmishes still flared here and there, they were too small to affect the big picture, and the nations or races involved could handle them on their own.
In the year 24 after the Dark Portal, Andreas joyfully welcomed his second child—this time the jackpot went to Celeste.
Judging by the Night Elves' annual population figures, their low birth-rate had not improved in peacetime; it remained as tepid as ever.
The sudden good news sent the Moonshadow household into a flurry of excitement; even Aurora rushed back from Quel'Thalas, bringing along Prince Kael'thas' congratulations and an invitation letter.
The congratulations need no explanation; the invitation concerned Kael'thas' coronation ceremony.
Anasterian was advanced in years and had drawn considerable ire during Quel'Thalas' great reforms; at last the Sun King resolved to retire officially, braving the criticism, and cede the throne to Kael'thas.
Quel'Thalas had changed markedly in recent years: the high-elf kingdom had abandoned its former isolationism and begun reaching out to the world.
Though the High Elves' inborn haughtiness remained, most races learned to overlook it as contacts multiplied.
Apart from the occasional bizarre remark from a handful of "wise public intellectuals," humans, dwarves and others found that most High Elves were not as difficult to get along with as they had imagined.
Expanding foreign trade made high-elf luxury goods sell briskly across Azeroth; even many Night Elves took a keen interest in high-elf enchanted accessories.
It was not that the Night Elves could not craft items of similar potency, but the High Elves were uniquely gifted artistically, and their distinctive design philosophy was indeed superior.
As Andreas saw it, the Night Elves were akin to an industrially mighty but artistically plain nation, whereas the High Elves resembled a romantic-by-nature but militarily lax people.
Elated, Andreas readily accepted Kael'thas' invitation; through ambassador Vereesa he assured Quel'Thalas he would personally attend the succession rite the following March.
Busy caring for his pregnant wife, Andreas paid less attention to state affairs, yet with Maiev and Fandral watching, no trouble could arise.
All were kin and understood the Night Elves' low fecundity; Council members sympathized with Andreas' excitement.
Yet while the Night Elf Republic relaxed a little in peacetime, a race that had bided its time for millennia finally grew unwilling to remain forever second-best and began revealing ambitions to reclaim its former glory.