((First time posting in this place. Here's a story I thought up on the spot. Please be gentle.))
It was not often that Terenimus wandered far from his quarters in Surwich. Even if he did, his travels would take him no further than Darkshire in order to get more personal alchemy supplies; Stormwind, if the doctor felt like socializing, but this was also a rarity in itself. No, Terenimus spent the majority of his days cooped up in his lab, tirelessly working on research new and old. Whether it was experimentation of a prototype elixir or improving an older recipe, Teren's passion was medicinal alchemy. While skilled in the healing ways of the Light, Teren believed it couldn't effectively handle every bodily ailment as efficiently as an alchemical substitute. Mending with the Light was good in a pinch, but it wasn't always good for long term problems. This was, of course, his personal belief and it was for this reason that he chose to pursue a medical career. The doctor was a busy man and had a justifiable excuse for choosing to be a hermit most of the time.
How strange it was, then, that he would find himself in the southeastern region of the Ghostlands on this stormy day of March.
Teren was on the verge of a breakthrough with a new concoction he had come up with several months prior. Time and again the various recipes he came up with we're either too volatile or an outright dud. Eventually, he concluded that the herb he needed was found only in the northernmost regions of the eastern kingdoms.
Horde territory.
The herb he was looking for was called Ghostweed, formerly known as Bloodthistle prior to the Scourge invasion some years ago. His research of the stuff came from old and possibly outdated herbal books. These herbs may have died out due to the harsh conditions that surrounded them. Teren was concerned that he would have to travel further north in order to find this particular herb.
The doctor called on no one for help. Being his stubborn self, he was convinced that only himself was capable of carrying out this delicate operation; the herb, some books stated, was fragile and prone to rapid deterioration once it was extracted from the soil. Teren knew how to handle herbs like these skillfully. Albeit stubborn, he was confident he could find and take this "Ghostweed" without repercussions. Teren was no master of stealth, but he had come prepared with several illusionist potions. Upon entering the Blood Elven borders, he would imbibe one of these potions and transform into one of the area's denizens. The only drawback was the potion didn't last long under any circumstances.
Here, now, the worgen stood: the gates of the Ghostlands only several blocks down the road which led into hostile territory. He was flying blind. Having only skimmed over outdated maps, his first illusionist elixir already imbibed, Terenimus proceeded into the unknown in search of his coveted prize.
((More to come, I promise. Just started losing momentum. It'll (hopefully) get more interesting as the story progresses. :X Apologies for any typos. Typed all this on my iPhone.))
It was not often that Terenimus wandered far from his quarters in Surwich. Even if he did, his travels would take him no further than Darkshire in order to get more personal alchemy supplies; Stormwind, if the doctor felt like socializing, but this was also a rarity in itself. No, Terenimus spent the majority of his days cooped up in his lab, tirelessly working on research new and old. Whether it was experimentation of a prototype elixir or improving an older recipe, Teren's passion was medicinal alchemy. While skilled in the healing ways of the Light, Teren believed it couldn't effectively handle every bodily ailment as efficiently as an alchemical substitute. Mending with the Light was good in a pinch, but it wasn't always good for long term problems. This was, of course, his personal belief and it was for this reason that he chose to pursue a medical career. The doctor was a busy man and had a justifiable excuse for choosing to be a hermit most of the time.
How strange it was, then, that he would find himself in the southeastern region of the Ghostlands on this stormy day of March.
Teren was on the verge of a breakthrough with a new concoction he had come up with several months prior. Time and again the various recipes he came up with we're either too volatile or an outright dud. Eventually, he concluded that the herb he needed was found only in the northernmost regions of the eastern kingdoms.
Horde territory.
The herb he was looking for was called Ghostweed, formerly known as Bloodthistle prior to the Scourge invasion some years ago. His research of the stuff came from old and possibly outdated herbal books. These herbs may have died out due to the harsh conditions that surrounded them. Teren was concerned that he would have to travel further north in order to find this particular herb.
The doctor called on no one for help. Being his stubborn self, he was convinced that only himself was capable of carrying out this delicate operation; the herb, some books stated, was fragile and prone to rapid deterioration once it was extracted from the soil. Teren knew how to handle herbs like these skillfully. Albeit stubborn, he was confident he could find and take this "Ghostweed" without repercussions. Teren was no master of stealth, but he had come prepared with several illusionist potions. Upon entering the Blood Elven borders, he would imbibe one of these potions and transform into one of the area's denizens. The only drawback was the potion didn't last long under any circumstances.
Here, now, the worgen stood: the gates of the Ghostlands only several blocks down the road which led into hostile territory. He was flying blind. Having only skimmed over outdated maps, his first illusionist elixir already imbibed, Terenimus proceeded into the unknown in search of his coveted prize.
((More to come, I promise. Just started losing momentum. It'll (hopefully) get more interesting as the story progresses. :X Apologies for any typos. Typed all this on my iPhone.))
