The Light seemed to brighten as he opened his eyes to the birdsong and the magic that eminated from the purple brick walls.
He thought primarily at the location he was in, but later acknowledged it as his new home, Dalaran. The bastion of magic in Azeroth, floating above the Frozen North.
He got up and stretched his built arms wilst walking towards the diamond shaped windowsill. He perched his body and looked outward. In the distance he saw Crystalsong Forest lying below and spreading in the horizon. The ancient plantation in all its majestic glory, as far as the eye could see was laying there, solidified, dead but never the less beautiful. He gasped in the wonder at how something so surreal could be so lethal.
The light seperated as it struck the mirror edges of the trees and formed exquisite colours to the eye.
Archaius the Draenei Mage was finally welcomed into the tight circle of the Kirin Tor. He had Proven his worth and his Alliance against the Burning Crusade in his homeland.
He peered at the water jug on the table beside him, the inanimate object stood there, lifeless. He flicked his hand and a purple hue engulfed the Jug, lifted it up and poured water into the bowl next to it. He proceeded to get washed while admiring his reflection in the water. He smiled as the Liquid touched his face, cooling him.
His long greying hair established a sense of wisdom and experience. He tied it into his staple Foxtail and it glistened like the moonlight. His complextion a glowing blue complimented it perfectly.
On a chair nearby his new attire was waiting, the Kirin Tor robe was folded, expensive and the tailoring that proceeded to make this garment was excellent. The combination of purple materials seemed to make it part of Dalaran itself. But the most eye catching aspect of this robe was the crest of Dalaran itself. It seemed to gaze into the soul, searching through, for the most minute of truths. The Eye of Dalaran above three daggers pointing downwards, a symbol that magic prevails over everything.
He positioned the robe over his head and allowed it to drop over his chunky muscular frame. It flowed downwards fitting him perfectly. The sleeves seemed to tighten along his upper arms with excellent precision. The robe fell just above his hooves, hooves that with one kick could stun, disarm and kill instantly. Behind him something seemed to move, just underneath his robe. Grabbing his spellblade Archaius made an incision on his newly crafted robe whils he felt a slight discomfort in minutely damaging the garment.
A long appendage flung out and within an instant of appearing found immediate ease, the gold ring that adorned it had runes of magic etched upon it. His tail offered him balance and dexterity and the occasional flirtatious swings.
His ankles where covered with his traditional homeland anklewraps, passed down by his father after he fell in battle. They where encrusted in gems, his signature purple colour that enhanced his abilities, they withstood alot over the generations as they posessed the power of invulnerability.
Last night he was paid a visit non other than Rhonin the Red himself, requesting him to meet this morning.
His red Flaming Hair looked like a lions mane and his face had no expression. His eyes appeard glassy in the darkenss. Archaius was reading a scroll he had recovered from his previous excursion at ShadowmoonValley, it was old, yellowed by time and the writing and runes on it appeared to glow an eerie green.
-Rhonin, to what i owe this pleasure?
Rhonin stepped forward, his face bareley noticable by the little candlelight that showered him.”I may have a Job for you Archaius, one that interests you fully!”
Archaius lifted himself from the ground and stood stoic.
Rhonin looked up at Archaius, his tiny frame was nothing compared to the muscular tall build of the wise mage. Two humans put side by side will barely make up his width and he was tall forcing Rhonin to strain in order to stare him in the eyes.
-I have a message from my scouts, Rhonin Paused, I am sorry to inform you that Minaloushe has failed in his mission.
“Failed?”, Archaius sniggered, “Then he will by all means keep trying to finish it, Minaloushe is not one to take failure lightly”.
-It seemed that the scourge army overwhelemed the small party i sent, including him, many have perished. Rhonin looked away and out to the darkeness.
Archaius’s eyes quickly dimmed and lost any vitality they had in them, he was saddened that his dear friend fell to the Scourge. As quickly as the Dimmed they flared up again, exposing an angered glare in his Amethyst coloured eyes, burning so bright where they that Rhonin’s face was fully visible.
-Explain, how did this happen! , Archaius was decisive while staring the Leader in the eyes.
“His body is to be retreived and brought to us tomorrow, for the medics to examine, i would expect you to be there, in first light.” Rhonin also seemed to grieve and with a wave of his hand he vanished, just as silently as he appeared.
Archaius was distraught and angry, his friend devoured by the plague called the scourge and the battle against the damned Lich King, that bastard Arthas.
He knelt down on one knee and closed his eyes. He would pray to the light for his lost friend, his comrade, and his brother. He prayed to the Naaru that the unfortunate High Elf’s soul was not to be sucked in to the Lich Kings will, but safely move on to the afterlife and find peace. His body glowed a golden hew, a ball of light formed before him and with words of the ancient Naaru send it towards the night sky, where it slowly lost its shine and disintegrated.
He wandered to his bedding, lay down and closed his heavy eyelids, his mind was in overdrive. The worries of the next day, Minaloushe, the Scourge, the mission, the Lich King.
Archaius gathered his elusive mind, too much passed through him that he lost the essence of time, what will he witness today, and what would Rhonin ask of him?
He took a deep breath and pulled the heavy timber door of his quarters. It was time to find out.