Fabrisio Frayre was busying himself in the beautiful, cobbled city of Stormwind. A cathedral bell chimed merrily in the distance, giving away the late afternoon hour. The cadence of hooves clopping ceremoniously through the streets could be heard by every ear. Children laughed and skittered between the buildings as they played. And on a nearby dock, fishermen shouted their prices of marine fish freshly brought from the harbor.
Fabrisio rarely had time to take in the beauty of the city; from the decorative roof-tops to the lavishly dressed windows and entrance ways of the shops clustered along the main street of the Trading District. And he definitely did not have time to enjoy it today.
Having just left the auction house with a new bundle of runes and tomes, he was now in a hurry to get to his destination. It was not every day that the Arch Druid called upon someone with Fabrisio’s knowledge of magic. The clock bell chimed its last chime telling the city it was now four in the afternoon.
Fab, as his friends called him, was a gnome. A rather tall gnome if one could imagine. At three and a half feet tall, he was teased as a youngling for being the tallest of his class. He had dark hair, the color of charcoal. It was thick in most places, though he did have a slight comb over on the top of his small head. Fabrisio also fashioned a thin, curvy, handlebar mustache protruding above his thin, pink lips. What Fabrisio lacked in height, he made up for with his quick wit and feisty spirit, which always landed him in good company.
With some persuading on his family’s part when he was younger, Fabrisio went to Dalaran as an adolescent to study arcane magic. He stayed in the vibrant, floating city where he toggled between work and study well into his adult years.
The City of Magi, as it was called, Dalaran was a vast and mysterious place. The city itself was a thing of legend. Scholars and mages had long been studying the powerful magic that would have been required to rip an entire city up from the ground and teleport it across the world into the bleak, ever-wintery skies of Northrend.
But this was old news to Fabrisio. He had read the history books in his studies at the Kirin Tor Arcane Academy. He knew that with great power, anything was possible. And that the city had been relocated by the most powerful mages on Azeroth.
Dalaran, from afar, was nothing more than a purple, iridescent bubble floating high in the sky above Crystalsong Forest. Once through its magical barrier, it was a completely different place. The architecture was brilliant.
Tall, narrow towers and pillars with purple, bishop-shaped rooftops dominated the Dalaran cityscape. Magically-lit lanterns lined the bustling, cobbled streets. There were shops displaying all varieties of goods peppered throughout the city, where one could buy anything from the finest Elven wine, to powerful magical artifacts. This is where Fabrisio would call home for many, many years.
Soon, after arriving in Dalaran for the first time, Fabrisio had befriended a priest that he had met one day on his way to the Arcane Academy. Their friendship bloomed quite quickly. Though, it would be through a series of small events, that the two would truly form a bonded friendship.
As Fabrisio advanced through his studies, he began to become more fascinated by the darker magics of the world, and his focus soon shifted. In fact, Fabrisio eventually stopped his arcane studies altogether. He spent most of his off hours in the vast libraries of Dalaran, researching shadow spells and directions on how to summon dark creatures from the Nether.
Fabrisio’s priest friend, also finding fascination within the realm of dark magic, could always be found within the libraries alongside the gnome. Fabrisio became quite talented in the dark magics, and there soon grew an apparent disparity in the working knowledge of the shadow arts between the two. It seemed that the healer, being so long in the learned arts of the holy and light, had some ...limitations when attempting to control demonic runes or reciting the infernal incantations required by destruction and shadow magic. Fabrisio, on the other hand, was growing quite powerful in the arts of shadow magic.
The only elemental art Fabrisio continued to pursue was fire. He had always had a fascination with the destructive nature of fire and how much power it wielded as a force. And, as it turned out, his understanding of the element of fire only strengthened his understanding of destruction and shadow magic.
Fabrisio, now realizing the late hour, walked quickly around the auction house to a more secluded alleyway and took four runes from his bundle. He quickly tossed the runes on the ground in a circle around him, and began to chant in a harsh, foreign tongue. The incantation’s power magically distorted his voice, making it sound much lower and other-worldly.
Almost immediately, the ground around him began to change. Smoke began to billow up from the pavement, and the circle began to smolder and burn. Large chunks of cobblestone tore away and fell into an endless abyss. Fabrisio, his face puckered in concentration, remained unharmed by the fire as he stood next to the gaping hole. And from out of the depths of this yawning maw, a figure began to arise.
It was the figure of a horse, but unlike any equine described in any book. Instead of fur, its withers were covered in leathery scales. Its legs were thin and bony, and fire licked up from each of the creature’s cloven hooves. The creature’s tail was leather and whip-like and instead of a mane, the demon had several horns protruding from its head and neck.
The beast’s face was just as menacing. Thick, dark veins ran underneath the creature’s blackened skin on its narrow, attenuated muzzle. Bouts of fire and smoke surged from its black nostrils as it huffed out short bursts of hot air. Finishing off the demonic visage, the eye sockets were hollow and blackened; more dark flames licking out from within the empty depths.
A great, black saddle sat atop the creature’s back. Both the horn at the front, and the lining that ran the length of the saddle shimmered a deep, umber red. The seat of the apparatus looked to be made of molten rock. Black and red chunks swirled tumultuously underneath an invisible barrier as if it were flowing lava. And the creature’s bridle, while quite cool to the touch, was titanium that glowed red-hot from the heat being emitted from the beast.
Once the creature was fully raised from the chasm, the fire subsided from the circle and the hole closed up. The patch of street where the gnome and beast now stood, was completely unscathed. There was, however, a trace of smoldering ash temporarily left behind from the beast’s footfalls, and the faintest hint of brimstone in the air.
It was a dreadsteed. A name given to these demons not only because of their horrific appearance, but because the animal itself was once a mount of choice by dreadlords in a neighboring world called Xoroth. These creatures were captured and subjugated by vast demon armies after the Burning Legion invaded their homeworld.
Fabrisio had learned some years ago how to open a temporary rift to Xoroth, and summon one of these great beasts to do his bidding. These creatures, unlike horses, were exceptionally smart and were capable of rational thought. This particular beast called himself Drog’thor for Fabrisio’s benefit, since his name in its own native tongue was impossible for gnomes or man alike to pronounce.
Drog’thor was once a valued mount of a lieutenant in the Burning Legion’s army on Xoroth. But, because of Drog’thor’s exceptional intellect, he did not take well to the mistreating and demanding lifestyle of the Legion. So, one day he outwitted the stable master, Lord Hel’nurath, and escaped the fortress in which it was being held. The wrath of Lord Hel’nurath from being outwitted by a “devil horse”, was great. The stable keeper had demanded the beast’s head be brought back to mount in the stables to deter any further insubordination from other dreadsteeds.
Though many stable hands searched for weeks, they could not find Drog’thor, and gave up the search. But the demon horse was weakened by lack of food and shelter in the harsh climate of Xoroth. It was then that Fabrisio had chanted his summoning spell and pulled Drog’thor out of that world and into Azeroth. Fabrisio, seeing Drog’thor’s emaciated state, nurtured him back to health and only due to the gnome’s kindness did the two enter a mutual agreement. For not sending him back to Xoroth--to his certain death--Drog’thor would obey the gnome and serve as his steed.
“I must get to the keep quickly, Drog’thor,” said the gnome in a small, but articulate voice.
The beast nodded in acknowledgement and leaned down, stretching out his muscled leg for Fabrisio. Grabbing the bridle, the gnome hopped up and landed on the knee of Drog’thor’s outstretched leg. Then he leapt onto the horse’s back, plopping lightly into the saddle.
The look was almost comical. The gnome atop the steed’s back could not see over the horned head of the beast, but there was no need. Drog’thor knew their destination, so the gnome needn’t steer him. The gnome did grab the bridle, however; more for leverage, than anything else.
Drog’thor took in a raspy breath, and let out an eerie sound that was more like a screech than a winny. Then, the dreadsteed broke into a full run through the alleyway and towards the eastern part of the city. Onlookers amongst the city streets gawked in horror at the terrifying sight. Men and women ushered their children quickly into nearby shops to avoid the scene.
Drog’thor and his rider ran through a series of stone tunnels that lead over the canals that channeled the sea water from the harbor. These canals funneled the water into large lakes that surrounded the city like a moat. An echo from the horse’s hooves cascaded off the canal walls and amplified the sound greatly. Smoldering rocks and pebbles were kicked up each time Drog’thor’s fiery foot hit the ground in its beastly canter.
They rounded the final corner before the castle and Drog’thor came to an abrupt halt. The massive, royal staircase that snaked up to the main castle tower was lined with guards; more guards than usual. Some were sentinels dressed in fine Elvin armor; the others were Stormwind Guards, dressed in their Imperial Armor.
“We must be on time for the party,” Fabrisio said to the horse, the beast nodding and huffing through its nose in agreement.
Fabrisio snapped the reins lightly and the two of them began a slow ascention up the twisting, stone stairs. The enormous, carved likeness of King Varian Wrynn stood before them, holding his sword proudly atop a beautiful, sparkling fountain. The king’s face was frozen in a permanent look of triumph as he stared blankly towards his aloft sword.
The gnome and the dreadsteed walked onward up the stairs, leaving the babbling of the fountain water behind them. They turned a corner, and saw that there were guards lined along the staircase wall leading the way to the entrance of the great keep. The top half of the King’s statue could still be seen from the peak of the great stone steps, and an enormous lion’s head was erected above the heavy, keep doors. The lion was both ferocious and regal; frozen in mid-roar and bearing its huge, deadly teeth. Several guards were standing beneath the lion’s shadow, in front of the doorway.
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Fab breathed a determined sigh and began to slide off Drog’thor’s back. The demon horse, in reaction, knelt down slightly to aid his rider’s dismount. Fabrisio landed easily on the ground, and straightened his flowing, purple robes as he stood up straight.
Fabrisio turned back to Drog’thor, “Thank you for the ride. I will not be long if you will wait please.” The hell-horse nodded and panted in acceptance; thick plumes of smoke billowing out of his nostrils as he did so. Drog’thor backed a few paces down the final row of steps to give way for the entrance, as the gnome continued up the stairs alone.
Two of the guards upon Fabrisio approaching the door stepped in his path with hands on their hilts. “Halt, Little One. What business have you in the King’s Keep?” one of them said sternly.
Fabrisio’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “I,” he replied in haughty voice, “am Fabrisio Frayre, Warlock of the Dreadnaught, Society in Cold Ridge Valley, and a decorated Master Summoner from Dalaran City. I am here on urgent business with The King and Malfurion Stormrage. Tell me, guard, is it customary to interrogate everyone that tries to enter the keep or do you only allow Dragonkin and Twilight Cultists to slip past your tiny eyesight? Pray tell, Stormrage did mention that I was to arrive today, did he not?”
The guard stuttered for a moment in surprise at the retort, “Stormrage?..uh.. er… Well, the King did mention… Yessir, go in, straight away, sir.”
The two guards shuffled quickly out of Fabrisio’s way and allowed him to enter. The gnome grinned a little too smugly and proceeded to walk through the massive, keep doorway. Once inside, there was a long, vast hallway that was lined with more guards. And at the other end of the hallway, stood the great throne with more lion heads decorated upon it.
“These humans and their lions..” Fabrisio mumbled under his breath. The gnome walked up the hallway, aware that the guards were watching him. His padded-sole shoes making a light, insignificant plopping sound on the marble floor. He approached the throne where the teenaged Prince sat quite bemused with his chin in his palm, kicking his foot with boredom. He stood quickly with Fab’s approach and approached the little gnome.
“Fabrisio? .. Fabrisio Frayre?” the young man said politely.
“Yes, that’s me,” Fab said with a bow; his nose very nearly touching the ground.
“They are awaiting you in the Table Chamber,” the Prince said, and pointed to a large room to the side of the throne room. Fabrisio made haste towards it.
Upon entering the great stone room, Fabrisio saw several square tables with huge maps of Azeroth painted onto them. Running almost the entire length of the huge room, there was a massive table with at least two dozen chairs on each side, sitting in the middle of the room.
There were also many banners hanging from the ceiling all around the room. The Stormwind banners were the most prominent. The long, velvet banners were blue with golden trim and a drawing of a great, golden lion on them.
There were also banners that were hung in between the regal lions. These banners were a deep, royal purple with a white tree and a crescent moon above it. This was the banner used by the great Night Elf city of Darnassus.
As Fabrisio marched into the room, a murmur was buzzing but was quickly silenced when a booming, male voice said, “Ahhhh, Fabrisio!! At last! I trust your travels were well?”
The gnome swallowed hard. Even though Fabrisio had expected to see Malfurion there that day, the warlock had not expected to be this nervous in his presence. Malfurion was legend. The first mortal druid to walk Azeroth and the sole reason night elves had access to knowledge of druidism to this day. The night elf had done so many wonders for the world, it was impossible to list them all, and just being near him left a feeling of reverent awe.
“My trip was fine, thank you. The Tram, on schedule, as always,” Fabrisio replied, then cleared his throat nervously.
Stormrage smiled back at Fabrisio. “I am Malfurion Stormrage and this is King Varian Wrynn,” he said motioning to a tall man in regal clothing and bushy, black hair. “Do you know why we have asked you here, Mr. Frayre?”.
The room was completely quiet at this point, all eyes and ears on the conversation. Fabrisio stood in quiet contemplation for a moment. Then answered, “I confess, I was more curious than confident of what matters you might request from me, Sir. I will say that whatever it is, I shall do my very best to aid you however I can.”
Malfurion smiled warmly, “Thank you, Fabrisio. No doubt your knowledge will prove most helpful. Tell me, Fabrisio, you are said to be one of the best summoners ever to come out of Dalaran. What say you of this “reputation” you’ve been given?”
The little gnome smiled in spite of himself, and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He had summoned anything from horrid, vial creatures that he subdued upon their arrival into the Azerothian realm, to summoning loved ones for people from across the globe. He had even once plucked a man from a sinking tarpit in the Un’goro Crater just in the nick of time, saving the man from certain death. “I’d say they were accurate statements, Sire.”
“That’s what I was hoping to hear, Good Fabrisio. It seems I … we... are in need of your aid with a summons from the depths of Kalimdor.” Malfurion replied hesitantly.
“Kalimdor? What have we in Kalimdor that we cannot just retrieve, Sir?” Fabrisio said inquisitively.
“Not what.. but ‘whom’,” the Archdruid corrected.
Malfurion approached Fabrisio, the little gnome nearly engulfed in Malfurion’s shadow. The night elf was nothing like any druids Fabrisio had ever seen. He had great antlers, not unlike those of an elk’s, growing out of his head. And he had thick, long hair the color of spring moss flowing down around his face. This thick hair intertwined with his beard and gave the appearance of a lion’s mane encircling Malfurions’s face. His arms were covered mostly in thick feathers growing out of his pinkish-purple skin. Each feather was like the wing feathers of an enormous bird of prey, such as a hawk or raven.
Even more bizarre, the only things covering his bare chest--besides his beard--were bright, glowing blue runes that shimmered and flared in the light. These runes ran up his chest and down his arms in the shapes of Elven symbols. Each one glowed with skittering jolts of electricity flowing down the length of each one like a current. His huge feet were the shape of a great bird’s, and had enormous talons protruding from the end of each toe. He was a sight to behold. A sight that demanded respect.
The druid spoke, looking down at Fabrisio, but without condescension. “Have you heard of the name ‘Druwyna Ravenheart’?”
The gnome’s eyes narrowed, confused. “Druwyna? Yes, I know her. What is this about, Mr. Stormrage?”
“Please, call me Malfurion.”
“Is she hurt? Is she in need of aid? Where is she? What do you know of her? Tell me, Night Elf!” Fabrisio sputtered, his voice getting filled with urgency the more he spoke.
Malfurion showed no sign of irritation nor impatience as the gnome grew frantic. He merely took in a slow, calming breath before he spoke in a fatherly tone, “Judging by your concern I would say you two are acquainted, and though I do not hold the answers to all of your questions, I do believe that we can assist each other. Druwyna was, and remains, one of my most loyal students of druidic nature. She has studied the art and has mastered it beyond any I have seen.
“For this reason, I sent her--and her alone--on a very dangerous task. One that I could not fulfill myself, yet I entrusted no other to do it for me. She embarked on this task several weeks ago. However, her return is long since overdue. That is where you come in my ‘tall-in-stature’ friend.”
Though he knew the druid’s size comment was intended to be friendly, Fabrisio was always a bit touchy on the subject of his size. Too many times in his life had he been prejudged by it. He decided to swallow his pride, however, and focus on the conversation at hand. “Where do we think she is?”
“We are not completely certain, but our sources report last seeing her entering Orgrimmar,” the druid replied.
“Org--..Orgrimmar!? What on Azeroth would she have been doing in Orgrimmar!?” the gnome shouted in spite of himself. “What demon possessed her into thinking that was a good idea?” Fabrisio looked back and forth between the very quiet King Wrynn and Malfurion.
Malfurion drew in a breath but remained silent as the truth set in for the warlock.
Fabrisio was outraged now. “This was your dangerous task? To send her in ALONE!? You sent my best friend, and your best student into the belly of that savage city ALONE!? You are supposed to be wise beyond your years. What would compel you to send a member of the Alliance into that horrid place to take on the orc nation single-handedly?”
“Her mission was not to combat; merely to be diplomatic with them. She was to enter the city under the guise of a lone blood elf and request an audience with Thrall so we could work out a solution to an anomaly we have been tracking in The Great Sea. My face is far too distinguishable and she could slip in easily as a rogue blood elf merely seeking to trade at the market,” he replied calmly.
“Diplomatic?!Oh, sure. Because orcs are renowned for their show of diplomacy! You have sent Druwyna to her death!” Fabrisio shouted again.
This time it was King Varian that spoke, his voice gruff and matter-of-fact. “Ravenheart knew what she was signing up for, and she did so bravely and willingly. Who are you, little one, to question that of your friend and Malfurion himself? She knew the stakes when she went. She also was well aware that it may end as a one-way trip.”
“Forgive me, High King, but we aren’t all as lucky as some to disappear for years and come back unscathed or return from battle with nothing but a few scars to show. And who are you calling little? I hold more intellect and power in one finger than half of your buffoon army holds collectively. I heard yet another spy was captured just last week was it?” As soon as he’d said it, he regretted doing so but he was so infuriated with them for sending Dru off alone he could not stop himself.
The room erupted in shouting from the King, the keep guards and even the sentinels so that no one phrase was decipherable. Malfurion raised his feathered arms high into the air and exclaimed, “Enough!”
He breathed in and allowed the room to settle then said in a calm tone, “Peace, friends. Arguing will not bring her back at this point. Fabrisio, if you are to be angry with someone, be angry with me. I sent her on this task; not Varian. Furthermore, she is not dead. She is still alive. I know this for a fact. We need to focus on summoning her back from there.”
Fabrisio clenched his jaw slightly but nodded in acceptance, “My apologies, Highness. Druwyna has been a close friend for years and learning that she has taken on such a fool’s errand without a word is not easy for me.” He looked back to Stormrage and said, “How is it that I am to summon her? Is she lying in hiding to where I can call upon her? Is she awaiting it?”
It was the king that spoke, “To our knowledge she is unaware of any such rescue to be launched. There was never a rendezvous point made. Her mission was merely to go to Thrall and set up a meeting. We have since found out that Thrall is no longer in Orgrimmar. He has left Hellscream on his throne for the time being. We fear that with Hellscream in Thrall’s stead on the throne, her mission was folly before she even attempted to carry it out.
It is for this reason we must summon her home quickly. Hellscream will not leave her alive for long and what time she does live will most assuredly not be pleasant,” Varian said grimly, pursing his lips.
“But surely you know that summoning beings from our own realm just does not work that way,” Fabrisio said shaking his head. “They have to be aware or conscious of the summon and they have to be strong enough to make it through the nether. If she is weakened at all, she may get stuck halfway through,” he paused. “And lost.”
Malfurion shifted his weight and put his hand to his chin in thought, “Hmmmmmm.”
“What? You’re sure of this?” Wrynn asked quickly.
“Well of course I’m sure. This is why you asked me here isn’t it? Because I’m the best gnome for the job?” Fabrisio said. “We have to go in and save her. Perhaps we could launch an assault on the Orgrimmar as a diversion and sneak her out via other means?”
“Provoke a war you mean?” Varian said sarcastically.
“With Hellscream on the throne, war is imminent,” Fabrisio said. “At least this way we would have the element of surprise. He will more than likely not be expecting the alliance to make the first move.”
“We will not wage war to save one. Not even for Druwyna Ravenheart. We will have to find another way,” Malfurion said with finality.
“Well, what if we could get someone on the inside to get to her? If someone could get to her I could summon them ...and Druwyna, by proxy. All they would have to do is hold onto her and she would be pulled through as well as long as she is strong enough. But, if this someone was trained in the art of healing magical maladies...,” Fabrisio faded off, in thought..
“But who could get into Orgrimmar undetected? If a druid couldn’t do it, then who? ” Varian asked doubtfully.
“We’re going to need a team. And I know just the elf to invite first,” Fabrisio said smugly.