"To ye, Scorane Fizzlebub, we, the Council of Mages Formerly of Gnomeregan but Due to Unfortunate Circumstances Now Residing in Ironforge, present the official title of Level 1 Mage. Bring pride to the Mages Formerly of Gnomeregan but Due to Unfortunate Circumstances Now Residing in Ironforge."
"It will be my honor, wise one."
A row of candles lit the dark stone chamber hidden deep below the Mystic Ward of the great stone city of Ironforge. By the flickering light of the small flames the young gnome could barely make out the silhouettes of three wrinkled and thin masters of the magical arts, each representing the best of his discipline. In the center sat the master of arcane magic, fire to his right and frost to his left. Standing before them was the newest addition to the ranks of gnomish mages, a young runt even by gnome standards named Scorane Fizzlebub. He saluted the tribunal in respect and spoke a word of gratitude in the arcane language known only to mages.
"You are dismissed, young one." The arcane master chanted a spell that opened a gateway to the small town of Anvilmar. The magical hole in the fabric of space was the only way in or out of the small chamber, and Scorane would never return to the room unless he became one of the three masters. The exact physical location of the stone chamber was unknown to anyone still living.
Stepping into the portal Scorane found himself arriving with a slight pop at a stone town built into a mountain. He stood near a small group outside, knee-deep in snow. A small cart and a barrel of ale stood near where he landed, along with several dwarves. A sense of pride filled his heart as he looked around, taking in the brisk mountain air.
Before he could take another step a voice boomed in his mind. Introducing itself as that of the frost master whom Scorane had just left, the disembodied voice scared the young gnome so that he almost jumped into a tree.
"Scorane Fizzlebub," spoke the deep echoing voice, "as a gift to you for your journey, I impart to you knowledge of Frost Armor Rank 1." No sooner had the echoes ceased than Scorane's head was overtaken with ancient scrolls, scripts, chants, and histories. The small mage fell backward, dizzy with the rush of information.
Climbing to his feet, Scorane immediately heard another voice in is head, this time of the fire master. "Scorane, understanding the power of fire for a mage is the first step in becoming a master of the ancient arts; therefore I impart to you the knowledge of Fireball Rank 1." If Frost Armor was a storm of knowledge, Fireball was a hurricane. The katrinal rush of information threw the new adventurer into the air, dropping him violently at the foot of a dwarf standing near the barrel.
The dwarf, Sten Stoutarm, spoke down at Scorane, "Ah, well aren't you a sturdy-looking one! Perhaps you can assist me with a thing or two. Not much help around here except for green apprentices, and they've other things to worry about."
Scorane scrambled to his feet, spraying snow in all directions. He saluted the snow-covered dwarf,saying with more formality than necessary, "Scorane Fizzlebub at your service, sir!" A passing dwarf muttered, "Noob," under his breath.
"What do we have here? You look as though you might need something to keep your hands warm, hm?
"I'll tell you what would help: a pair of nice warm gloves. And, being the kind soul that I am, I'd be more than happy to provide you with a suitable pair. I've one condition, however.
"I need you to go get me some wolf meat. Nice arrangement, hm? You bring me some wolf meat, and I'll make sure you don't lose any digits to frostbite. Well, what do you say?"
"I accept!" piped the small gnome in his high-pitched voice.
Scorane cheered as he ran from the small circle to fight his first battle. He Encased his body in ice with Frost Armor as he ran and felt the chill flow through his veins. His skin turned a slight shade of blue and hardened as he spotted a lone wandering wolf.
From a distance Scorane hit the ragged young wolf with a ireball, feeling the burning fire energy flowing through his hands. He threw another fireball when the wolf was near him, effectively killing the young beast. He cheered for his first kill and began to cut the meat off its charred body and moved on to the next.
The next wolf he fought proved to be much stronger than the first. Not only did it seem less damaged by the fireball, but it also ran behind a fallen tree as it charged, blocking Scorane from hitting it with any fire until it re-emerged. Fearing for his life, the young gnome turned and ran, hearing the snarls from the wolf close behind him. He clutched his staff, his heart beating, he could almost feel the wolf's breath on his back.
His staff…yes that was the answer! While not the strongest of adventurers, young Scorane did have some skill with weaponry. He turned to fight the wolf, swinging his bent staff hard at the singed dog. The animal attacked, slicing the gnome's apprentice robes, but one more swing and the beast let down dropped down in the grass, dead.
He killed three more wolves without incident, but on his sixth kill an interesting new experience befell the young mage. After hitting his newest target with one fireball, Scorane found himself unable to stay focused long enough to cast any spell, and although he killed the beast in melee, this new feeling of a lack of energy unnerved him. Brushing it off as a freak event, Scorane continued on to the task at hand.
After killing two more wolves, he felt a sudden surge of power flooding his senses. Somehow killing those animals had opened a new strength inside him, and he realized then that real experience separates the master from the apprentice, and no amount of studying could match the wisdom and power gained from being in the field and experiencing battles for oneself.
Figuring he had gathered enough meat for Stan, Scorane made his way back to the group. Seeing the gnome approach, Stoutarm laughed and said, "Wolves giving you a bit of troube? You'd do well to avoid the fangs and claws and other sharp bits, yes?"
"Nope, no trouble at all." Scorane presented his collection of wolf meat to the dwarf.
"Ah! Wonderful. The wolf meat should do nicely. Oh don't worry, Scorane, I wouldn't forget my part of the bargain. Here, one of these should fit you." Of three pairs of gloves laid before him, Scorane chose the pair that Stan described as being "fit for a rabbit handler"; made of cloth, they were the perfect size and shape for a young gnomish mage, who would need only minor physical protection but would require as little distraction by weight from his casting as possible.
As the gnome turned away, Stan reached into a pouch and pulled out a note. "While you were helping me out, this memorandum was given to me to pass on to you. Take some time to read it if you have a chance, I'm thinkin' it came from the mage trainer, Marryk. Take a gander at it and go find him in Anvilmar when you've a chance.
No sooner had he taken the sheet from Stan's hand then the gnome dropped to the cold ground and began reading. His eyes glistened in excitement as he read his next step in becoming a master mage.
To: New Students of the Arcane Arts:
You are required to seek out and study under the gnome Marryk Nurribit until such time comes that you are called upon to aid your people in re-establishing themselves in a new habitation. Please, without trepidation, prepare yourself for rigorous testing procedures and a difficult acclimation process as you find a domicile and/or any form of companionship with the local denizens.
Questions regarding your duties and abilities should be directed to Marryk Nurribit.
Scorane jumped with excitement at finding out he was to train to learn new spells. He ran as fast as his short gnome legs could take him to get up the hill leading into the stone town of Anvilmar.
Before even stepping foot in the building Scorane was met with a warm, welcoming contrast to the biting snow of the fields outside. The smell of roasting meat wafted through the entrance, drawing him irresistibly deeper inward. Upon rounding the second corner he gazed upon a large round room, dwarves and gnomes walking busily about. In the center of the room was a large fire, six anvils arranged in a semicircle around it. Scorane wandered through the room, smelling the food and beer, hearing the chatter and laughs, and relaxing his weary body in the heat emanating from the flame in the center. He passed a pacing gnome muttering aloud about his tools, a weaponsmith lazily repairing a broken sword for a young warrior, and an amorsmith trying to sell a paladin a new shield. He finally reached a set of stairs leading down into an adjacent room, wherein he found a gnome Scorane immediately recognized as one of the Order of the Gnomeregan Mages. The young apprentice ran swiftly to his new master, eager for training.
Before saying anything Scorane was met with Marryk's knowing eye. "Greetings. I'm a gnome mage trainer, and you're a mage." Scorane, overwhelmed with Marryk's ability to pick out a mage with as little skill as himself, muttered his name and presented the memorandum.
Marryk cupped his hand behind his ear and said, "Yah, what's that gnome? Speak up, if you don't mind, I don't hear so good after a few ales." He read the paper and turned back to his new pupil. "Oh, yeah! Arcane Arts…of course.
"Here's what you need to know, Scorane: Don't get into too much trouble. Save a coin to buy me an ale…or any spells ya might want. And stay the heck away from Gnomeregan. Other than that, have a good day! I'll be here if you need me or want to train…or whatever."
Surprised almost as much by Marryk's lack of formality as by the feeling of getting his first spell, Scorane stood silent for a moment. Once he regained his composure, he spoke up. "I am interested in mage training, sir."
"Alrighty then. Let's see." Marryk looked for a moment at the young gnome before him, then finally said, "The only spell you're ready for is Arcane Intellect, and that'll cost ten copper."
Scorane almost cried in disappointment upon hearing of the cost. "But I only have five copper, I can't afford it!"
"Tough break, kid. My advice is go kill some wolves and sell their pelts; you'll make a lot of money. I'd give you a loan, but I need my money for my own purposes." He looked to a nearby bartender and called for another ale, smiling and stroking his beer-soaked moustache in anticipation.
With new resolve, Scorane marched out of the warm glowing Anvilmar and into the biting wind and snow of the fields outside. He decided the best place to get the copper he needed must be somewhere to the south, and so he ignored anyone around him and ran straight into the depths of Coldridge Valley.
The bald young mage ran past rabbits, wolves, bears, even troggs until he found prey he felt would be a decent source of funds: the Frostmane Trolls. A tribe of aqua-skinned trolls resided in a cave due south of Anvilmar, and Scorane was sure he would make the money he needed by fighting them.
The first troll the young gnome fought was an easy kill—three fireballs and it became a lifeless torched corpse. Emboldened by the easy kill and driven by the desire to find the last copper he needed to afford his spell, Scorane drew closer to the mouth of the cave, where he once again engaged a troll in mortal combat.
As with the wolves earlier, the second battle gave him more trouble than the first. This troll reached him and struck him with a hammer several times before falling in bloodied snow. Undaunted, the prideful young mage continued to fight through his enemies.
Before long young Scorane had killed several trolls and found enough money to buy the spell twice if he could. But the foolish young mage had pushed from his mind the frightening event he encountered during his sixth battle with the wolves, and while he was fighting another troll, it happened again. His mind was drained of magical energy required to cast a spell. Weak, helpless, and alone, Scorane did the best he could to fight the troll in melee combat, but he was far outmatched by the creature's brute strength. With one final blow, the troll killed the youngest gnome mage, leaving his body to the wolves among the trees of Coldridge Valley.
A wandering tauren passed by his decomposing body later that day and spat on his half-eaten corpse. The tauren was later slain by a hidden rogue who would immediately after lose a duel with a warrior. The next day a group of adventurers killed Edwin Van Cleef, the leader of the Defias Brotherhood in Westfall. Later that week another group rescued Reginald Windsor from a volcanic cave and denounced the High Advisor of Stormwind as a dragon masquerading as Lady Katrana Prestor, and a fortnight after that a group of 107 fighters marched from the ruins of Lordaeron to Ironforge with the intent to kill Magni Bronzebeard, but was slaughtered by the guards and Alliance soldiers before they even reached the dwarven king. One undead rogue made it to the throne room, but was seen before his dagger neared the ruler of the Khaz Modan and killed by a mage.
In all this chaos, the story of Scorane Fizzlebub ended before it began.