Category: Video Game

I dislike Sand. It has its’ uses, sure. For those times, I find Sand quite agreeable. In it’s native form however, I find it rather annoying. Aggravating, like a droning sound you can’t actively hear yet is perceptible to the sleeping mind.

I recently spent days in Uldum, helping the Ramakhen and some intrepid adventurer solving Mysteries of the Ancients.

I spared Squire the agony of the journey and left him in.. uh..
..oh damn. I’ll have to go find Squire again. Now that I think about it.. I might have left him in Caer Darrow.

I’m still pouring sand out of my boots on occasion, the stuff got into everything no matter how hard I tried. And if the sand wasn’t bad enough, the shifting wind did it’s best to blow me off course more than once.

I’m saving choice words for the Bastion of Four Winds when I find my way there. Choice words indeed.

Now i’m off to find Squire.

To those that know and those that do not. I am Telinthos. This is a journal of sorts, a recollection of past and present.

You might ask yourself questions. Who am I? What am I? What makes this important?

The matter is simple. I am a Mage.

In the beginning it was simple. I was under an illusion so powerful that in time even I could not remember who I was originally. I was a Gnome at a time when trust was a rare commodity and the world a very different place.

Telinthos slid the barely tarnished key into the aged, yet serviceable, lock. It turned easily and opened with the faintest creak. His nose was assaulted by the scents of death and decay, of incense and perfume. A faint shuffling sound and muttered chanting carried by a chorus of individuals greeted his ears.

They’ve been busy. I always appreciated that about Cultists, determined.. like rats.

Telinthos closed the door and relocked it, leaving as quietly as he’d arrived. His intent was simple, report his findings to his colleagues, they’d be interested to know the Cult of the Damned was still active.

Telinthos, a mage of great skill, stood on the precipice and examined the valley beneath him.

“So these orcs have enslaved your people?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to the elf standing next to him.

“Yes. For many years they have taken our youngest and raised them into mounts of war and destruction. I would slay my consort myself, but their forces are too strong.”

“Illusion is something I am familiar with. Allow me to assist you. I abhor nothing as much as Slavery.” Telinthos said, flexing his hands instinctively. I’ll have that fortress flattened within the hour.

“You must be wary, many of our eggs are hidden around the fortress, and I would ask of you to bring them back.” Make that two hours.

Telinthos stood there, arms folded, a look of concern on his face.

“How well trained?”

The man, a Sunreaver and Blood Elf considered his words carefully before responding.

“Each Dragonhawk is raised from hatchling meticulously. Only the most docile and manageable creatures are allowed to mature in our liveries. The others are released into the wild. We’ve been breeding them for years to supply the Silvermoon stables and offer an aerial alternative to the Wyvern the Orcs are so fond of.”

This had been going on for the better part of an hour. Telinthos had been distracted into discussion when the vendor offered him a fine flying steed at a distractingly low price. Something the man called ‘Champion Seals’ were offered as part of the reward for service around the Tournament and these could be redeemed for various goods. The Dragonhawk was among those goods for offer.

“And you’ll just let me have one of these for? What? One hundred and fifty of these little tokens” Telinthos held up one of the tokens in question, it’s face covered in the heraldry of the Tournament sponsors, the Argent Crusade.

The vendor nodded. “And you can take one of these fine creatures home today. Each one is battle tested to ensure your safety should you come to arms with foul creatures or members of the Alliance.”

Telinthos handed the man a small pouch. “You’d best be right.” The man handed Telinthos a small whistle in a simple leather cord. “Blow once to summon.”

As he walked outside he wondered whether he’d made a foolish mistake. Alternatively, there was little else at the Tournament that warranted using the tokens. He pulled the whistle from his pocket and blew into it gently. From the air, a simple bird-like cry broke the din of Tournament events happening around him. A serpentine form with wings of feather circled the pavilion twice before coming to rest nearby.

Telinthos approached carefully. Bigger than I expected, he thought. Putting one foot into the stirrup he swung himself into position and grasped the reins.

“Now we see how docile you really are.” he said, spurring the creature into the air.