Three – A Frosty Meeting

The guard watched as a lone paladin approached the mage ruled city of Dalaran.

Dressed in full armor with a mace across his back the paladin dismounted from his tired horse and removed his helm.

"Good morning, milord," saluted the footman.

"Morning soldier, I trust everything is in order?"

"Indeed sir, I believe the Council is waiting for you."

"Late already am I?" the paladin smiled to himself as he left his horse with the guard and walked through the gate.

Behind him, the guard visibly relaxed. After all it wasn't everyday a lowly footman met a member of the Silver Hand. Or maybe there is something else…

They called him Purist Thunderwrath. The first was for his cause, the latter for his hammer. An orphan of war, wandering through the aftermath of a battle, he had been found by Uther the Lightbringer whilst scavenging for food. Uther had taken him in and raised him as a son. Fifteen years later, Purist had been with Uther whilst Artha's destroyed Stratholme. However, when the Lightbringer fell, he had not.

At this moment in time however, Purist was frustrated. Firstly, because it was midday, he was in full armor and it was stifling hot. Secondly, because he had no idea why he had been ordered here in the first place. Thirdly, because he would much rather be joining the war effort against the Scourge. Lastly, he was frustrated because he was tired of dreaming the same dream each night.

It had been the same for the last three nights now. He would be underwater, searching. Always searching but never finding. He had come close last night.

He could feel it. If only he hadn't been startled awake by the approaching messenger. Lost in his reverie, he turned a corner and—

"Ow! Watch it you clumsy oaf!"

Purist looked down to see a young woman sprawled on the ground with a staff clutched tightly in her grasp. Purist marked her as a mage immediately. The magus was wearing a deep blue hood that almost concealed her golden curls.

She had obviously been in a hurry to leave the city.

"Sorry my lady," he said as he removed his gauntlet. Holding out a hand to help her up, Purist thought he felt a chill creep up his arm as the mage accepted it.

"Hmm," the woman mused as her clear blue eyes looked him up and down.

"You didn't see me. I wasn't here. This never happened. Got it?" she said a moment later.

"Got it," replied Purist slightly puzzled. He didn't question her further though. Magi were all strange. Usually the more powerful they became, the less sane they were. That's what he believed anyway.

Purist watched as the mage hurried away as he replaced his gauntlet. He felt chills race down his spine. He wasn't hot anymore; he was freezing. Whoever she was, by the Light, she was powerful. Putting his dreams and the woman out of his mind, he continued walking through the silent streets.

"Good day, sir. The Council has been waiting for you," said another footman as the paladin approached the steps of the Violet Citadel.

"Any idea what the mages have done this time soldier?" asked Purist in an offhand manner.

"What are you talking about sir?" replied the footman suddenly nervous.

"You know," said Purist his eyes narrowing. "The usual: Unexplained explosions, missing mages, outbreaks of plagues with magical origin, rogue mages…wasn't there an execution a few days ago?"

"I don't know sir, I am new here," the footman said. Purist watched as the footman's shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was hiding something and obviously nervous.

"But surely, you would have heard of something as big as mage being hung…" began the paladin. Purist thought he had a fair idea of why he had been sent to Dalaran now.

"Please sir, the Council is waiting for you," pleaded the poor footman. The man was obviously under orders to remain silent on the incident. Good man, Purist thought. Such a pity he was a terrible liar.

"Ah Purist, I thought I heard your dulcet tones," said an elderly voice from behind the footman. "Stop grueling the poor man and come inside. We don't have much time."

"Ezalor!" Purist exclaimed, as he quickened his pace to catch up to the old man. "I didn't expect to see you here. Shouldn't you be down by the Vaults or something?"

"In light of recent events, I now have other duties elsewhere," said the Keeper gruffly.

"Let me guess— " began Purist.

"Don't," interrupted Ezalor, "Save your shrewd deductions for the Six my friend. We're here anyway."

The pair entered the pitch black chamber where Six Mages of Dalaran held council. Their identities were generally kept secret, even from each other, although Purist knew a few and could guess at the names of a few others. In the darkness, Purist could see six vague figures. They stood still and unmoving like statues.

"Purist Thunderwrath," a mage began, "A member of our Order has recently turned traitor. After being discovered practicing necromancy, a capital offense, the Council of Six ordered his death! However, on the morning of his execution—"

"He escaped obviously," interrupted Purist. He had little patience for formalities.

"How did you—"started another mage.

"Then he entered the Vaults," continued Purist in a dry voice and a glance at Ezalor. "Disabled your wards and other protections, stole a magical artifact or artifacts before disappearing."

"Who tol—"stuttered the mage.

"Easy enough to deduce," explained the paladin with a smirk on his face. "All your footmen are on the edge, the streets are far too quiet and Ezalor isn't beneath the city anymore."

"But—"

"Oh, and I assume, due to my unique expertise, you want me to track down this rogue mage of yours," Purist said, interrupting the mage again.

"Well yes—"

"Excellent. Where do I start?"

The room was silent. Then a voice Purist recognized as Rhonin spoke. "North. We have reasons to believe Ari'el has gone north. Maybe even as far as Northrend."

Purist sighed. "Very helpful, now I only have to search the half of Azeroth occupied by Scourge! Can't you mages do any better?"

"You will not be searching alone. Ezalor will also be searching. There have been several locations resonating strong magical residue in the last few days. We believe Ari'el is trying to do something big."

Purist spared another glance at the vague form of his friend beside him. "Are you sure about this?"

"The Order is under alot of strain Purist," said Rhonin. "We all do what we can. Ezalor is stronger than he looks and will begin searching in Quel'thalas. He has connections there and the Blood Elves will be more likely to accept him."

"Wait, you mean—"

"Yes. We will teleport you to the Night Elf settlement of Auberdine in Dark Shore. You will begin searching north of there," said Rhonin as he began to cast. A rift appeared in front of the paladin. Purist could see scenes flash by him at a tremendous speed.

"Go my friend. May the Light forever shine upon you," whispered Rhonin as Purist stepped into the rift. "The fate of Azeroth could very well be resting on your shoulders paladin."