Maiar stood on the shore watching the fragile waves overlap each other in a desperate plight to avoid freezing in mid motion. This was #life in Northrend, keeping one step ahead of the cold just to survive. Nothing was safe from the unrelenting bitterness, not even the great ocean. The Mage could protect himself from the climate but he chose to suffer in the conditions, they affected him not. The the mindset he found himself could thaw any chill. 'I have faced the monsters of Arthas and the elemental rage of Deathwing all in the name of The Kirin Tor. Never did I dream I would have to battle demons from within the walls of Dalaran. How does one rationalise to a soul so tortured?' Since the destruction of Theramore, tensions had been high amongst the Mage society. Jaina Proudmore had suffered, as a direct result, the way of #life amongst the ancient order was now in peril. Jaina had broken the neutral standing of the Kirin Tor to join with the Alliance. Whilst Varian, King of Stormwind treated the Horde as a enemy to hold at bay, Jaina was hell bent on it's utter destruction. Her empathy burnt away and her heart cold with revenge, she was systematically dismantling the very soul of Dalaran into a ruthless war-hub with a keen inclination towards OCR centred genocide. 'Does she realise that in suffering Garrosh's actions over and over she is letting herself be inflicted with the same darkness which placed the Warchief in a state of tyrannical madness? If I could just.....' The wind shifted and over the distant mountains Thunder rumbled, but this was not what troubled Maiar. Out of the ocean came a direct reminder as to why he was walking the wilds of Dragonblight; a Mage hunter. Since the Lich King Arthas was defeated, the race of hunters, who feed off the arcane essence of a mage or witch, had grown in numbers and were now independent of the powers of the scourge. Across the grand rolling cogs of war across Azeroth this was a minor concern, but Maiar needed to leave Dalaran before he was removed permanently or flung in the magical dungeons below the great foating city. Maiar was not a leader amongst the violent council but an exhaulted 'adventurer' which offered him some influence and opportunities, he had even ventured into the secret council. Despite is statue, he felt any influence he may radiate had met a rather immovable barrier. Maiar needed to find another way to engage with the Jaina of old. Choosing to task himself against the menace of Mage Hunters provided valuable thinking time away from Dalaran, even if it was straight into the arms of peril. The mage hunter was now fully emerged from the waves, it was easily the largest and indeed ugliest Maiar had encountered on his wanderings. The hunter looked at Maiar in the same manner an hungry Orc eyes a haunch of meat. The hunter was clearly feeding off the arcane emitting from the powerful mage. The monster smiled and held aloft an abomination of a weapon which looked to Maiar like a hideous stave with multiple heads and crystals. Maiar's heart darkened as he recognised the crystal heads. Violet. Dalarian. The staves had belonged to mages devoured by this creature. The monster's huge squared jaw dropped and made a circular movement. It rumbled a sound 'pheg', again whilst holding his weapon aloft. 'Pheg' louder this time almost matching the rumbling from the distant storm. Maiar rationalised this as some crude attempt at an honourable initiation of combat. Maiar nodded at his new companion as Pheg strolled on four legs towards the human. Mage hunters have one tactic; absorb spells, energise, and redirect back at the target with lethal accuracy. Mage hunters have an innate power which allows them to create a static field of inverse arcane energy which naturally repels any magnetised magic away from the hunter as a defense mechanism. It also allows them to devour the arcane energy, it was their addiction and they are never truly satisfied. Long ago, the race tailored the ability for a specific and deadly attack, they targeted mages because in combat, magic is all they have to fight with. This ruthless technique had claimed the lives of countless mages. Pheg stopped ten paces from Maiar most likely wondering why the mage wasn't flinging spells in manic desperation. Instead the man was just stood his ground. Pheg began to focus as this had not happened to it before in combat. He threw a rusty old dagger at the mage which bounced off a shield of energy. The hunter sensed the ripples of magic and began to move as a circling predator smells the #lifeblood of wounded prey. This gave it a sense of authority, 'the mage is using magic, Pleg's magic, the not worthy of the combat of Pheg. The hunter charged zapping the mage with an arcane bolt from one of the stave crystals. He didn't anticipate what happened next. Maiar could still see Jaina's face as the hunter charged, her face had soured the last time she looked upon him. Pheg was closing in allowing Maiar to sense it's pulsing yet warped magic. Of late, it seemed to him that many things in the world felt this way. Maiar batted away the weak arcane bolt and focused on the charging hunter. He noticed it was coiling its torso to the right as it charged. Undoubtedly the creature intended to force a magical defense out of the Mage. 'A sound strategy, if I won't attack with magic make me defend with it! It will be just as satisfying to the monster'. Maiar obliged but not in the fashion the mate hunter was expecting. Maiar conjured a magical sign with subconscious thought. This being an autonomous process skilled mages learn in contrast to novices who draw spells in runes or surfaces markers. Maiar's body blinked forward ten paces just passing the charging hunter who stopped suddenly pausing to drink in the magical essence left over from the spell. The hunter turned to face Maiar grinning with a victorious yet sinister expression, it then received a heavy handed blow to the face crunching an eye socket in the process. The hunter screamed in painful rage and disbelief, was this not a mage? It had never been struck in this manner before. It was the main reason why Pheg's kind shied away from races with sheilds and big hammers! The hunter growled at Maiar but stepped back as the man, tall and heavy set compared to the usual thinner and compliant prey, unsheathed a weapon Pheg found naturally intimating. 'This is Glarshard, the Battle Stave. It's seen the end of many foes. Your blood will set free the souls of my brethren devoured and tortured for your sport and wicked desires'. The Mage hunter grew evermore uncertain, it began to dawn on the creature that this may not been his pray but his predator. Pheg studied the weapon and panicked. It was a stave with a wooden hand closed in a fist to protect what looked like a violet crystal in its palm. The beautiful crystal let out a warm glow which snaked out from in between the wooden fingers. If the top of the stave impressed the hunter, the bottom was the source of his current despair. The last third of the stave ended in a runed blade. The hunter could not decipher the runes but could guess from the blue glow glistening off the blade that a blow would have dire consequences. The Mage hunter's fear induced a full panic, it completely lost control and lunged at the Mage swinging it's stave wildly from high right to low left. Maiar parried the attack with the blade end of Glarshard placing a foot backwards to negate the bulk of the forward pressing hunter. Maiar let the blow slide off to his right slide forcing the hunter to shift towards him, as he did so Glarshard swung from high left downwards smashing Pheg on the left side of his head crushing his other eyesocket. The huge Mage hunter was now blind only seeing blurred glimpses of his immediate surroundings. What was this new feeling, Pheg felt scared and utterly vulnerable. Suddenly, and to the surprise of the monster, it began to feel the familiar sweet-warm feeling of magic soaking into his skin. Confused but elated, the magic helped him to heal his vision return just enough to focus back on the Mage, he had just enough time to see the man slide the blade deep into his chest. Pheg's instincts were right, the blue essence on the blade was ice cold to the touch and burned as it pierced his torso. The shock of the fatal blow allowing the brief clarity of rational thought. The man stood over Pheg as his bulk collapsed to the floor. The convulsions ripped at Pheg's large frame but the hunter did not cry aloud. 'This death of Pheg, marks the end of your kind in Northrend, I Maiar did this,' Maiar withdrew the blade from the Mage hunter and watched as the creature's body disintegrated into a raw arcane cloud which took flight on the cold breeze towards the struggling ocean. Maiar took no pleasure from his latest kill, his actions against the Mage Hunters of Northrend were born out of a necessity for revenge. The hunters posed a threat to Dalaran so they were destroyed. They also struck first and sought to devour every man woman and child who knew magic. They killed our kind, so we killed theirs. Funny how small skirmishes often mirror the large ones perfectly. 'Darkness approaches, as does my leave for these lands'. Maiar whirled his hands and arcane signals cracked into #life forming a porthole, a floating city came to #life inside the bite size maelstrom. 'Are my actions on these shores any different from what Jaina intends for the Horde?' Maiar, Battlemage of Azeroth, stepped into the porthole and left the tide to continue to fight for natural fluidity. Chapter 2 Transporting through a porthole is an unpleasant experience for some adventurers souls, it can result in hardships such as vertigo, the bends or blackouts. Others suffer minor concerns such as vomiting or dizziness. A priest in Lordearon of old once wrote a paper suggesting that teleportation was unnatural and dimmed the spirit of the individual each time it is undertaken. To scholars in Dalaran this was just seen as another vehicle to disparage the Arcane cohort, a historical spat between the classes rides back all the way to the ancient times of the Arathi and the human's first alliance with the Elves. To a mage, the journey through a porthole was highly advantageous. For example, One could replenish their mana pool as the porthole harnesses the residual arcane energy which still resided in Azeroth from the legendary sundering event when the great well of power split the land mass into the continents that make up Azeroth today. Such invocation was most beneficial for any mage entering, or indeed retreating, from a conflict. On this occasion Maiar was using the transportation to slow down his sense of reality to allow him time to think about what he was about to do, and more importantly, what he was to say. 'This time I will get through to her, I must otherwise all is in vain. Maiar, somewhat purposefully, hadn't thought what he would do if his latest, and most probably, final attempts to sway Jaina failed to make an impact on the Kirin Tor leader. After all, I am but a friend and the new Jaina doesn't revere her friends as she once did. 'she must leave the horde to the concern of King Varian's and focus on rebuilding strength in Dalaran'. The city nation's struggles with the Scourge had prevented them from reaching the former glory Dalaran enjoyed before Archimond ripped through the heart of the city. The endless fighting gave no respite to reestablish the magical society back to the appropriate depths of wisdom and thought required to maintain a balance to the powers of magic in the world. Despite Maiar's specific calling, he desired peace amongst his immediate kin. Maiar materialised outside a tailoring shop. In real time it was like walking through a door, one room held the cold wilds of Dragonblight, the other the cool, crisp air and violent street hue of Dalaran. Of course to Maiar, he had spent the last few hours meditating on what words might have the chance to get through to the Leader of the Kirin Tor. Maiar looked into the shop briefly. He found placing his porthole exit here beneficial as he often needed cloth armour repaired after a skirmish or extended marshalling in the wild places of Azeroth. Maiar saw an old man stitching up his own robe, the robe of an Archmage, Maiar recognised him immediately and ventured inside the shop stopping just short and directly behind to the elderly figure. The Archmage did not slow the rhythm of his needlework. 'You know during my apprenticeship I was made to work my own cloth, old and new. My master said it sharpens the way the mind works, the finer forms of dexterity is of much importance to our calling as spellcasters'. The Archmage looked up and at Glarshard directly. 'how goes your needlework Maiar?' Maiar smirked. 'I have just comeback from an extended exercise of needlework, unfortunately I have no new attire for your perusal, sire'. The Archmage glanced from Glarshard to place his old but young eyes into Maiar's. 'Medivh would have liked your jest only as as it comes at my expense my friend,. Alas, he would not have approved of that weapon you carry. Also, do not call me Sire for remember, I am till five years your junior!' Nor are you to call me Archmage, 'Khadgar is my name, you know I belong to it." Maiar picked at a cable of wool strung to the wall. 'Five years contested years old man, pray tell is your birth scroll still collecting dust in the alcoves of Karazastan? One day I will have to retrieve that item for you Khadgar!' The elderly looking man returned to his needlework and failed to contain a smile. 'This i would entertain as jest if I thought you would see the sense in not entering that place. But know this my friend, if you ever enter that tower, understand that I will have no choice but to be by your side and not just to claim that parchment first. Come now, we must talk.' Khadgar looked like an old man but he walked with a sturdy gait heralding an unexpected walking pace . Maiar respected the Archmage. Here was an individual who had survived the first Orc war, studied and later battled the mighty Medivh the last great Guardian of Trisifal. Khadgar had marched into Draneor, an alien world and stood toe to toe against the Black Dread himself. Of course Deathwing has since been destroyed but still Khadgar did not speak about the fallen dragon aspect. So famous the dragon's last words to the Archmage even the cooks and cleaners of Dalaran knew the tale. 'I will remember your face little mage' it was enough to give even one of the worlds mightiest wizards a chill even if it came from the grave! Khadgar had survived the implosion of an entire planet only to later act as an emissary to the mythical beings trying to heal it. Yes Maiar respected the Archmage and his great feats but he was fonder of the man behind them. Medivh's last act as a corrupted vessel was to drain the vitality and steal the youth of a man too pure to conquer with dark intent. But even as this process stole decades of physical years from the man, it also defined him in a way he needed to be the man who has stood against such dark times. Maiar saw Khadgar as a true hero of Azeroth, not that he would ever admit as much to his friend of many years. The two men walked across Krasus's landing and looked out into the purple haze of the Crystalsong forest below. Maiar didn't need to wonder why they were here, Khadgar had a task for him and judging by their location, it was a secret task. "Maiar, I know you intend to reach out to our leader." Maiar shifted uneasily but kept his gaze on the purple swirl below. "I fear Jaina is out of our reach now" Khadgar sensed the worry cast over Maiar's face. "Relax friend, the Archmage is safe within the walls of the violet city" Maiar noticed the distinction being made to Jaina Proudmore and her vocation but he remained quiet. "Jaina, our friend is lost, she is lost to herself and I'm afraid there is no one in this city, continent or indeed world who can bring her back". "Your words fill me with despair my friend but in my heart I believe you to be right. But we must not lose hope, you know I will do whatever it takes to bring clarity back into her clouded world." Khadgar smiled at the response as it was a response he expected and indeed hoped for. "I feel what may shake the periphery of her vision maybe a person. Not you or I or Varian...." Maiar looked at the Archmage, "surely you cannot mean Thrall? Jaina speaks Ill of him these days where once hoped shined in her eyes upon the mention of the Orc's name" Khadgar frowned. "I considered the former Warchief but too much ground has been covered since the fall of Garrosh, the Alliance has drawn a line between us, a line that we must adhere to now we are a functioning arm of the Alliance fighting body." "Then who is the individual who can possibly face down and more importantly get through to Jaina?" Maiar looked at Khagar with hope, despair and expectation all at once. Khadgar felt Maiar's gaze but continued to watch the purple haze shimmer. "We need someone who has faced such loss before and facilitated it's damage and helped to build a new person from the rubble which remained." Maiar did not understand at first but he continued to watch his friend's face. Khagar held a frozen look but one with a slightest of warm smiles. Maiar thought he understood and whispered a name. "Turalyon........" Khadgar looked at Maiar. "Yes and that is where you come in old friend." CHAPTER 3 Khadgar had not remained in Dalaran long enough to discuss the finer details of his plan to find and bring back one of the great heroes of Azeroth who was presumed dead on an entirely different world. 'Go find him, now I'm leaving now' Maiar grumbled to himself in mock tone. This was his old friend all over. Khadgar gave the impression that finding Turalyon was similar to finding a piece to solve a puzzle but Maiar knew better. Turalyon was a brother in arms to Khadgar, they fought together during the Ocr wars serving Azeroth's greatest military leader the mighty Lion of Azeroth. Turalyon took leadership when Lothar was slain by the then Orc Warchief Origram Doomhammer. Turalyon found his strength that day taking up Lothar's broken sword to defend his leader's dying body and ultimately defeated the Orc chief ten and his blood lusted army. Figures in such demanding and perilous times often merge in spirits and in nature. Such was the way between the two defenders of Azeroth. Even when pledged to the salvation of Outland, Khadgar never got the opportunity to seek out the fortune of his missing friends. Although he never talked openly about his thoughts on Turalyon and Alleria Windrunner, Maiar knew it was an ever growing cloud troubling the Archmage's subconscious. Maiar stopped mid pace when the thought hit him, it struck like a Thunderclap. Alleria Windrunner, death may well act as comfort for the news that awaits her. Maiar understood that if he found Alleria, it will be down to him to break her heart entirely. Maiar grumbled again 'I'd rather face an army of Mage Hunters.' Chapter 3 It took longer to reach The Dark Portal in the Blasted lands. Maiar had teleported to Ironforge to stock up on supplies and to surprise warped.