In the thick of the human city of Stormwind, a man stood impatiently tapping an intricately carved staff on the floor of the huge spiraling tower of the Wizard’s Sanctum. The tower reached high overhead with a winding staircase from bottom to top and had a pointy roof not unlike the pointy wizard’s hat that was currently nestled snuggly atop the wizard’s head.

The man was a mage from the Kirin Tor in Dalaran City. He had been the youngest mage inducted into the society since its inception. Only a few months of studies were enough to show The Council of Six his potential and he was inducted shortly thereafter.

His knowledge of pyromancy and the like had earned him a name for himself, and he regularly tutored mages in the art. He was somewhat of a legend around the Academy. Not the least of which were his scholarly achievements. After all, he was single-handedly responsible for the creation of the incantation mimicking the effects of dragon’s breath.

This discovery had earned him his nickname among his peers. His colleagues had come running to his dormitory after hearing a terrible explosion (it was later discovered that the incantation actually mimicked a dragon’s roar and that is what caused the explosive sound) only to find him standing in the middle of his room waving smoke and ash away from himself. His clothes were scorched and his eyebrows and hair were completely singed. A single plume of smoke encircled his head.

That was several years ago, and now as Fireplume stood waiting for his party to arrive, he adjusted his long, red robe that skimmed the floor and covered his feet. The robe was a dazzling vermillion, and was inlaid with detailed patterns of amber flames coursing down the frock. The flames licked down the sleeves to the large hanging cuffs at his wrists. So too, did the flames reach down the front of the robes and stretch down to the bottom of the garment.

His shoes were soft-soled, dyed runecloth imbued with the magic of the primal elements found only in the lands of what remained of Draenor. He bore a flaming, pointy red hat that added a foot more to his height. He also wore the crisp, purple and gold tabard of the Kirin Tor for which he served, emblazoned across his chest.

In the distance, he saw several mounted figures headed towards the entrance of the mage tower. One figure was mounted on a two-legged robotic plainstrider, and seemed too big for the thing. Another, was a flaming horse that appeared not to have a rider on its leathery back. There was also a male night elf with long, flowing blue hair on a noisy machine with two wheels.

The mage walked out of the shadow of the tower and down the steps to meet them as they dismounted. From the back of the flaming horse, a familiar little gnome dismounted and the mage realized why the beast had appeared riderless. The gnome’s head barely rose above the saddle horn.

“Master!” the gnome squeaked as he plopped to the ground and headed towards the mage.

“I am no longer your master, Fabrisio Frayre. Your knowledge of the fire arts have outgrown my teachings but it is wonderful to see you nonetheless. And this must be Brohmide Shadowwalker?” he motioned to the strange shadow-inflamed elf standing next to the mechanostrider.

The elf nodded his head and said, “In the shadowy flesh. You are the one they call ‘Fireplume?’”

The man smiled warmly. “I am. My name is Edimond Delregard and I am an archmage of the Kirn Tor. It would appear, Fabrisio, that your “mission” has reached The Six and they have instructed me to aid you in any way that I can. I am told you need a ride to Kalimdor as well.”

“Aye and more, “ Fabrisio said. “We will need to get as close to the city as possible without being seen, and one of us will need to get into the city, break into the keep, rescue her to a safe location long enough to prepare for me to summon them to us. This is all branching on the hope that she will be conscious enough and strong enough to go through the Nether. If not, we will have to improvise. That is why Brohmide is going with us; along with a few others.

“I will do what I can. Druwyna has done much for the Kirin Tor. It would not be right for us to not do what we can,” Edimond said. “I will also say that the closest place we could safely teleport to the orc city is Theramore Isle. It is still a little trek to our destination but without being familiar with the surrounding area, Theramore is as close as I could comfortably land us. We wouldn’t want to phase into the wrong side of a ledge of a cliff would we? Not to mention orc scouts that might be in the area as we are materializing would not take kindly to a bunch of Alliance appearing out of nowhere. The teleportation process can be a little disorienting and with enemies near, we need to be on our guard,” he added.

“Theramore? Why not the Emerald Dream for as close as that is?” Brohmide said sarcastically. “We need to get to Azshara or Ashenvale at the very least. If we ride from Theramore we will be hard-pressed to avoid detection passing the half-dozen strongholds through the Barrens; not to mention the bottlenecked canyon in Duratar.”

Fabrisio scoffed, “Brohm; always the doomguard. Azshara has been inhabited by goblins and we would run the risk of detection by going there. No doubt this strange group would draw attention from the locals,” Fabrisio quipped.

“Aye, and the rupturings we have been experiencing on Azeroth have misshapen Ashenvale so badly I would not trust myself to teleport us safely. Theramore is our safest bet. And I do not think a mass of Alliance soldiers coming into the gryphon roost at Ratchet is wise either, so we will go on foot from the Isle,” Fireplume said decisively.

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The rest of the group nodded in agreement as Edimund continued to speak, “How many must needs go through the portal?”

A tall night elf with long, midnight-blue hair spoke up for the first time. “There will be roughly fifty of us going through. Will that be a problem?”

“Fifty!? How on Azeroth do you propose we “sneak” fifty mounted, armored soldiers into an enemy city crawling with scum?” asked a female night elf leaning up against a tall post with a lantern hanging down from its top. The she-elf had her arms folded and her black, chain-mail clad boots crossed at the ankles.

“My men will go separately from the rescue team. We will provide the diversion for the team to slip into the back gates unmolested,” the blue-haired elf said as he clutched his battle-worn helmet with his gauntlet-covered hand.

“Dru will not be pleased that so many are risking their lives for her,” Fabrisio said.

“She had best just be grateful for what we’re doing for her. What did this she-elf think she was doing going off and not telling anyone where she was headed? Bad protocol if you ask me.” The female night elf left the lamp post to join the group at the foot of the staircase. She re-adjusted her longbow as she walked.

“She will be grateful, to be sure, but her mission was supposed to be quiet. When our scouts had learned that Thrall was out of the city and that he left the barbarian warmonger, Hellscream in charge in his stead, it was too late. Malfurion was furious and was determined not to leave her fate in that bastard’s hands.” Fabrisio said firmly in his tinny voice.

“Regardless of the details, we will not leave her to rot in—“

“Assuming she is still alive...” the female night elf cut in.

“—those dungeons. And hold your tongue, soldier. She is still alive. Possibly worse for wear, but still alive,” said the blue-haired elf.

“And what exactly makes you so sure?” she hissed.

Fabrisio’s eyes narrowed into slits as he rounded on her. “Because I—along with Stormrage and several others—believe her to be. That is all that needs to be said.”

Unfazed, she replied, “My purpose is not to offend. I merely want to understand why we are risking so much for one over-friended do-good, tree-lover.”

“That’s your attempt to ‘not purposefully offend??” Fabriso trembled with anger; the wand he carried in a holster on his side glowed orange dangerously.

Delregard took a step forward and held his hands out towards the female night elf and the gnome to calm them, then turned to the she-elf. “My dear, I understand your concern, and I am sure it is quite appreciated by all.” At that he glanced down quickly to Fabrisio out of the corner of his eye, then continued. “This mission is not only a favor to the ones in present company and to the Kirin Tor, but also Malfurion himself. Not to mention, it is a direct order from King Varian, so perhaps we should save the poison for those arrows of yours hmmm?”

Without a word, the she-elf waved her hand and inclined her head in concession.

“Good!” the mage said, clasping his wooden staff with both hands. “When can this company be ready to mobilize?”

“My men can be ready within the hour. We have been stationed in The Keep since Malfurion arrived in the city,” the warrior elf said.

“Excellent! Let’s meet back here in an hour’s time. Bring only what you need. We will need to travel light and with haste. There is a stable there where mounts can be purchased if need be. The king uses them regularly to mount his guardsmen so they will have a good many available, but I fear there will not be enough for all of your regiment, Sentinel-Captain.”

“Understood. With all due respect, human, we are night elves of the Sentinel Army; trained in protecting the High Priestess herself. We can keep up with any horse your race can breed. However, we have arranged to have some wartigers there waiting for us,” the night elf replied.

Edimund smiled. “Very good then. See you on the hour,” and then in a plume of white smoke, he was gone.

Fabrisio chuckled. “That mage has a way with exits.”

Brohmide piped in, “Well we can’t all be invisible like gnomes. What’s the saying? ‘You can’t see what’s right under your nose’? Though in your case it is ‘you can’t see what’s under your kneecaps”.

“I am larger than your charm by a long shot. That and your ability to throw a joke,” Fabrisio said as he headed back towards the city. There was much to be done in an hour, and no time to waste.

An hour later the mage district was filled with clanking armor and chatter as the soldiers gathered ready to leave. The blue-haired night elf captain walked to the front stair of the tower as soon as the mage had magically re-appeared there.

The war veteran called for attention to his troops and immediately the rabble halted and the company lined up in five rows of ten then gave a tremendous shout of reply once they were in formation. The once-bustling and noisy mage district was now still, silent and at attention. Only the twills of songbirds in the trees pierced the silence.

The mage then shouted out orders for those going through the portal, then began to chant the incantation. The air swirled and bent to his will and as he concentrated harder, a bubble began to form until inside that bubble, the shape of Theramore Keep began to emerge. The image was small and distant at first, then grew larger and larger until the keep was in full view and almost tangible. Finally, when the castle was completely formed in the floating image, Edimund “Fireplume” Delregard motioned for the rescue party to enter the portal to rescue Druwyna Ravenheart.