There comes a time in every young person's life when they get a sense of their destiny. It takes hold of their soul and whisks them away on a journey.
Deep in the forests of Ashenvale, a herd of large deer could be heard thundering in the moonlight. The tree tops above them rustled as a young night elf woman jumped from branch to branch, spying on the herd as it moved. Her goal was not to hunt down the creatures, only to track them. That herd was the life force of a tiny village nestled in the hills above them. After the herd settled for the night, the night elf retied her silver hair and headed back home.
In her cottage near the center of the village, she fastened the door tight for the night and went to slump over on her bedroll. Instead of laying on soft furs, she laid on a large, oval object. Startled, she flipped over and object rolled across the floor until it was caught in the moonlight. The object in question was blue but shimmered a deep violet in color. The night elf crawled towards it and placed her hands on it. It was smooth and warm to the touch. As her hands stayed on it it started to burn. Wincing, she found herself unable to remove her hands from the object. The pain grew unbearable as she heard a faint voice whispering a foreign language in her ear. As the chanting grew louder, the room started to swirl and she started to sway back and forth until she was consumed by darkness and she slumped over with a loud thump on the oaken floor.