At least no one had heard the short scuffle. I leaned against the crystal that provided my only cover, feeling its warmth through my cloak, and breathed a soft sigh of relief. This entire expedition had been nothing but strange from the very beginning, and my latest task had my nerves on edge.

I kneeled and busied my hands by checking the Orc's coinpurse, dwelling on recent events. The Cenarion Circle had requested my presence in Silithus weeks ago, and, as a dutiful Druid, I'd heeded the call, riding my trusty kodo down to the shifting sands in southwest Kalimdor. I was an experienced adventurer, after all; surely I'd be able to handle whatever this sand pit could throw at me!

It was no secret that the Druids held concerns about the presence of the Silithid, alien creatures slowly invading the continent, and I shared them. They were... unnatural, somehow, a blight upon Azeroth. If I could do anything to get to the bottom of their existence here, I would, and that meant coming to this dusty, arid hole.

One thing led to another, as it always did, and now I found myself working against the Twilight's Hammer. My eyes drifted over the Orc's vestments - they held the familiar dark purple of similar cultists when I'd encountered them before in Blackfathom and the prisons of Blackrock Depths. The zealot's light had long left this particular fanatic's eyes, but his expression still held the fervor of one willing to die for his insane cause. I shuddered inwardly. If even half of what I'd heard about their goals was true, stopping them was more important now than ever before.

I'd nearly left this all when I heard my current task. The plan was ludicrous, and I desperately wanted to be flying back to Mulgore, leaving this insanity behind. But to do that would be turning my back on the order I swore to follow; I'd never forgive myself. Gritting my teeth, I started picking at the knot holding the Orc's cowl on his head with my thick fingers, gently working it loose. Though it was tied tightly, the cloth yielded to persistent pressure, and it came free. Making as little noise as possible, I removed his mantle and robe, and then began removing my own chestpiece. I squeezed into the robe, trying not to breathe - while the cultist was large for his race, he was still no match for a Mulgore-bred Druid like myself. I tied the mantle in place and put on the cowl, working the fabric around my horns.

"This is crazy," I muttered under my breath. "I'm going to get killed."

Once again I peeked around the crystal discreetly. Despite my disguise, they would surely recognize a stranger, particularly a large, hulking, horned one. I'd need to avoid their patrols if at all possible. I closed my eyes. The image of a familiar form - sleek, horned, and furred - came into focus. My form melted, muscle and bone molding into a new shape, one that specialized in avoiding notice.

I slunk around the crystal, waiting for my chance. The patrol passed; it was a simple matter to slip in step behind the hammer-wielding Forsaken. My careful paws worked through the maze of zealots - my goal was deep in the camp, and a single misstep would bring agonizing failure. Carefully I crept around the strange blue firelight they tended. At last, the pedestal - and the object I sought - lay before me. I only hoped I was far enough away that they would think me one of their own. As quickly as I could manage, I shifted back, my disguise thankfully still intact.

The stone lay before me, a miniature obelisk floating over its pedestal. There was nothing for it. To delay further would bring about discovery and death. I shut my eyes and placed my hands on the wind stone.

Searing fire lanced through my brain...