Cult of the Malformed Fork Posts

Telinthos, a mage of great skill, stood on the precipice and examined the valley beneath him.

“So these orcs have enslaved your people?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to the elf standing next to him.

“Yes. For many years they have taken our youngest and raised them into mounts of war and destruction. I would slay my consort myself, but their forces are too strong.”

“Illusion is something I am familiar with. Allow me to assist you. I abhor nothing as much as Slavery.” Telinthos said, flexing his hands instinctively. I’ll have that fortress flattened within the hour.

“You must be wary, many of our eggs are hidden around the fortress, and I would ask of you to bring them back.” Make that two hours.

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Telinthos stood there, arms folded, a look of concern on his face.

“How well trained?”

The man, a Sunreaver and Blood Elf considered his words carefully before responding.

“Each Dragonhawk is raised from hatchling meticulously. Only the most docile and manageable creatures are allowed to mature in our liveries. The others are released into the wild. We’ve been breeding them for years to supply the Silvermoon stables and offer an aerial alternative to the Wyvern the Orcs are so fond of.”

This had been going on for the better part of an hour. Telinthos had been distracted into discussion when the vendor offered him a fine flying steed at a distractingly low price. Something the man called ‘Champion Seals’ were offered as part of the reward for service around the Tournament and these could be redeemed for various goods. The Dragonhawk was among those goods for offer.

“And you’ll just let me have one of these for? What? One hundred and fifty of these little tokens” Telinthos held up one of the tokens in question, it’s face covered in the heraldry of the Tournament sponsors, the Argent Crusade.

The vendor nodded. “And you can take one of these fine creatures home today. Each one is battle tested to ensure your safety should you come to arms with foul creatures or members of the Alliance.”

Telinthos handed the man a small pouch. “You’d best be right.” The man handed Telinthos a small whistle in a simple leather cord. “Blow once to summon.”

As he walked outside he wondered whether he’d made a foolish mistake. Alternatively, there was little else at the Tournament that warranted using the tokens. He pulled the whistle from his pocket and blew into it gently. From the air, a simple bird-like cry broke the din of Tournament events happening around him. A serpentine form with wings of feather circled the pavilion twice before coming to rest nearby.

Telinthos approached carefully. Bigger than I expected, he thought. Putting one foot into the stirrup he swung himself into position and grasped the reins.

“Now we see how docile you really are.” he said, spurring the creature into the air.

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The ground shook. Shuddered. Snow drifted from it’s tenuous perch on branches and the cliff above him. Telinthos cautiously glanced up, shifting his feet ready to run.

To hell with these earthquakes.

Finding no excuse to flee, Telinthos continued scanning the valley below him. He watched carefully, invisibly, as Gnomish troops gathered in tidy regimented lines and assaulted their subterranean lair.

Now what could warrant such devoted attention. He wondered, watching as time and again their lines attacked and retreated, like ocean waves.

The ground shook again. Snow fell in larger clumps, trees swayed. Telinthos deftly pulled his rolled up carpet from his pack and took to the air. Below him the ground rocked and nearby, Black Rock Mountain erupted, spewing liquid hot magma into the air.

A deafening roar filled the air. A massive shadow unlike anything seen in a thousand years took to the air.

By the heavens, Silvermoon must know what I have seen.

Telinthos landed a short distance away, on the first stable piece of land he could find. The shaking had knocked loose years of snow and ice, showering the valleys in avalanche while the eruption was spewing ash and fire everywhere else. He intoned the words necessary, keys to reality and opened a portal to Silvermoon and stepped through, sealing the hole behind him.

Elder and student magi standing around him were shocked by his sudden appearance and the chill wind that followed his footsteps as the portal sealed behind him. Gathering his wits about him, Telinthos marched from the Arcane Library to the Palace chambers, down the hall a short distance. Two guards lowered their spears, barring his passage.

“Regent Theron is in Council and cannot be disturbed.”

“I must speak with the Regent immediately. I have urgent news that cannot wait.”

“You must wa-” the guards words were cut off. Telinthos, short on patience, waved his hand and a pulse of energy knocked the guards aside.

Telinthos regained his stride as he marched into the Council chamber.

Lor’themar Theron, Regent Lord of the Blood Elves and ruler of Silvermoon City stood in meeting with a Troll liaison from Orgrimmar. Regent Theron turned, a scowl building on his face. “What?” his voice deep with ire.

“Regent Lord, my apologies. I have news from Black Rock Mountain. A dragon of immense size has emerged from deep below ground. I believe Deathwing has returned.”

Lor’themar stood. His face an unreadable wall of calm. “Very well. Please depart.” and turned back to the Troll standing with him.

Telinthos walked back down the hallway into Silvermoon City. The fools will likely fail to act and we will lose everything. Again. Glancing around Silvermoon one last time, Telinthos unfurled his carpet and took to the air.

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Tired and weary, the days’ travel behind him. Telinthos pulled a jug of fine Dark Iron mead from his packs and drank from it heavily.

Watching as his Dranei blue skin started to fade slowly and return to the pinkish hue of his elven origins, he mused.

“I’m going to miss the tail.”

“I won’t. Nor the hooves.” Savandra remarked as she adjusted, searching for a comfortable way to sit. The shapechange masking their bodies took the greatest toll on her. Probably because this was her first change and likely the last.

Having completed their foray into scouting Alliance battle strategy and economic position, Telinthos had enacted the ritual magicks necessary to undo the polymorph binding his form to that of a broad-shouldered Dranei.

“Well, at least you’re not gaining five feet of height. Try being a Gnome for a while.”

“Pass.” she commented, finally giving up and laying upon her belly. “This will be done in the morning?”

“Long before then, but you’ll want to be asleep or drunk for the transition. It can be disorienting, at best.” Telinthos pulled another jug from his pack and handed it to her. “It’s no kungaloosh, but it does the trick.”

Telinthos took a long pull from the jug, emptying it’s contents into his belly and threw himself to the ground to sleep off the effects as his mind slipped from it’s precarious grasp on reality into the spiraling whirlwind of inebriation.

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I flew into the encampment with a hint of unease. I had and had not been there before ever. My old life behind me like a morning fog, I landed my carpet and took to foot before the Argent Pavilion.

“Name?” a guard asked, as he eyed me suspiciously.

“Uurem Antaridos, of Exodar.” I recounted, strange sounding to me yet impulsive and as natural as walking or breathing.

The Pavilion wasn’t anything special. A collection of supplies in crate flanked the main entrance, a notary and commander before me with pews to my right and yet more supplies to the left.

The commander, wrinkles creased her face, sighed heavily before looking up. “And you are?”

And again I repeated by impulse more than control. “Uurem of Exodar” The notary took this information into his ledger, many pages in and well worn from travel. “Mage?” she said, her gaze passing over the fine cloth I called armor and a blade that spoke volumes to my journeys and abilities. I nodded.

“Report to the Silver Covenant on the other side of the grounds.” and she turned back to some report she had been examining moments before.

The air back outside was cool. I hadn’t noticed immediately, but Icecrown was one of those places you bundle up tighter than others, where the wind comes in off the sea and lashes at you, biting your ears and lips.

I trod along the encampment, making note of vendors hawking refreshments, a central coliseum housing a mighty tournament by the sounds of the roaring crowd. The steps before the Silver Covenants tent was flanked by mounts tethered. Nightsaber, Elekk, Horse and Ram all tied to their post awaiting master to return.

Everything seemed familiar and yet new. Like visiting a village after many years growth, seeing faces after a long vacation.

The arrangement inside was spacious. A large central area for prospective members to gather, accept tasks and hold audience and separate berths for a representative of each city to gather. Notable in it’s strangeness was the Gnomish representative for Gnomeregan, which I’d come to understand was under siege and in ruin.

I spoke briefly with Colosos, of Exodar, to introduce myself and gauge his reaction to my perceived origins. He merely nodded and wished me luck in my aspiration before beckoning me to speak with the orator in the center of the tent.

Another bureaucrat who took my name, only this one then issued me tasks to complete before I should return.

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Waking up in the Exodar was a strange experience. Being underground, but unlike the Undercity. The ceilings were high, the chambers well-lit. Very little of the surroundings were unfamiliar and yet comforting.

Guards greeted him as one of their own, shopkeeps sold their goods unaware of the truth.

Even this person didn’t fully remember. A necessary precaution in the spellcraft, to prevent prying minds from unraveling his secrets. Another five years under the guise before Silvermoon would ever be called home.

Five years as Draenei.

As he sat down in the nearest Inn, opting to drown his confusion in several pints of the strongest drink, he encountered a sharp pinching pain.

Yes. The tail would take some getting used to.

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He had met her in the Frozen North. They had traveled the tundras, plundered tombs and slaughtered fel creatures great and small.

It was when the mage spoke, that he spoke to them both. The enchantment would be more than polymorph and something less than illusion. They would journey together, witness changes in the Alliance. A coming storm was rumored, changes in the world, and the Silvermoon council wanted news. It was willing to risk dearly and pay heavily for it’s intel.

And so, geared and prepped, Telinthos and Savandra met a small cadre of mages deep in Eversong Woods, far from prying eyes. In those woods they stood in a circle of dust and energies, bathed in the transition.

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