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The first kind is from… well, not our world. They’re permanently in that form, and that may well be their natural state. How they’re summoned to Azeroth is beyond a simple man like myself. Those are not the Worgen we deal with.”
“When one of those natural Worgen bites a mortal, they become, shall we say, infected. They will pass one moonrise unaffected, but on the next will transform come sundown into their own wolfish state. From then on, they will mutate every dusk and revert to their normal shape every dawn. And there is no cure—once you are bitten, you are cursed for the rest of your life.” Jati wisely said nothing.
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However, something did seem strange. “Magistrate,” she interrupted, “yer saying the Worgen dun’ sleep? Ever? If they’re human by day and maraudin’ by night, that must get pretty tirin’.”
Ardus shook his head. “The body does not rest, know—and we have seen Worgen collapse from exhaustion before. However, you must understand the nature of these beasts.” He paused, taking a sip of wine from the goblet in front of him. “The Worg is a creature of instinct, pure and simple. At their heart? They are still a Human… or a Dwarf, or an Elf. However, there is little to no conscious thought involved. They hunger for food and combat and for sexual conquest. They fear irrationally—we’ve noticed that they tend to shy away from magical forces or Fire. Imagine the rational, civilized mind with all the veneer of civilization and higher knowledge stripped away… lower than even an Orc or Troll. A Worg is primal and base on every level. When the man becomes the beast, their conscious mind goes to sleep—so, while the body may be active, the mind is resting.”
“This is not to say, however, that they are incapable of conscious thought.
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