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"Ah, Talrendar. Come in, have a seat. I will be with you momentarily." said Magister Loren, with a slight tightening about the eyes.

"Thank you, my Lord." I replied. This was not going to go well. He went on with his parchment at length, leaving me to stew I suspect. Scratching away as if I wasn't even in the room.

"Now then. The Masters at the academy tell me you have abandoned your studies as a Mage. Explain." He commanded.

"I must follow a new path my Lord. It was a personal decision." I replied with steel in my voice, barely able to meet his icy glare.

"And where, pray tell, does this path take you, child?" He asked condescendingly.

"I have found the healing arts, Magister. I wish to share the Light with those in need, and guide the Horde to victory." I replied, a tad more sharply than I intended. One does not anger a Magister.

"I see. Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you don't have the stomach for the kind of power we wield. Perhaps it is better that you go now, before your weakness might cause the deaths of your betters." He uttered vehemently, dismissing me with no little rancor. I left the Magister in his foul little alcove, seething at his journals and grimoires.

In the darkness below Murder Row, I found him. Ages ago it seems since I first laid eyes on him, his radiance, his presence. Caged like an animal, forced to feed my kind forever. He called to me, I think. He knew of my crimes, intuited my depravity, but saw in me a tiny fragment of hope. I must see him again, before I leave the city forever.

In the dim glow of his fading power, I approach. His musical voice sounds in my head, beautiful in its sorrow.

"Is it done?"

"Yes, Great Lord M'iru. I have broken with the Magisters and begun my training in the manipulation of the Light."

"And the other task?"

"Yes. She has been exhumed and burned. My last task as a Mage, I think. An associate of my father, an undead rogue named Turig, carried her ashes to the lake outside Shattrath for me, as you asked."

"Good. She will find peace in A'dal's radiance. It is a small salve for your soul, murderer."

"I will not defend myself to you. The mana sickness is completely..."

"No! Do not try my patience with your pathetic excuses! Your "sickness" is [i]social, nothing more. Few of your race can be redeemed. But I would see you turned to the task, even unto death. Take what little power that remains within me. Bring the light to the Horde. Bring the light to your soul, murderer."[/i]

I could smell his stench as I walked out into the alley. The smell of decay, the smell of death.

"Tough conversation, boy?" hissed Turig from the shadows. For once I would prefer he was visible during these conversations, even if he is difficult to look upon.

"Yes it was. He won't survive much longer. He will fade, or turn. I do not know which." I replied, attempting to at least discern where he was.

He appeared directly in front of me, his glowing eyes and pallid skin a frightful combination. "Your father asked me to watch out for your sorry hide. Said I should help you. Well, there's plenty of gold in your pouch. That's all you get outta me, boy." He spat as he turned to walk away. "If you run into a tight spot, don't bother callin' me. I don't like children much. If you have to, call a friend of mine. A shaman, one o' those big bulls from the plains. Lurie's his name. Leave me be, Lightsworn."

Slowly he faded away and was gone. I knew that I was alone then. Bowing my head, I made my way back to the dragonhawk witch, back to quiet war with corruption in the Ghostlands.

~weeks later~

My tasks are daunting. There are few of us that remain here. Tranquilien has become quiet, with only the locals to converse. There aren't enough of us to mount sufficient force against the monsters that inhabit these lands. The undead, vicious night elves, and altered beasts of all kinds. I sent a letter to the shaman Turig had mentioned, Lurie. Perhaps he could aid me. Perhaps...

A huge shadow covers my journal and fetid breath blows my silver-white hair into my eyes. Even here, perhaps I am not safe. I spring away, trying to gain enough distance to defend myself. Gods Curse It, where are the guards?! As I begin my spell I see him. No beast have slunk into town. He is savage, to be sure, raw fury bound up within muscle and bone. A shaman of immense power.

"Greetings, young Tal. You have called, and I have come. Where do we begin?" He said in a voice deep as the stone of the earth. Perhaps, now, my tasks are not so difficult. Perhaps, with the aid of Lurie and his Tribe, I will find my redemption. Earn my peace.

Finally, have you read our Code of Conduct, and do you agree to abide by the rules stated in it? If so, please state so here in addition to a reply to the post itself. I agree to abide by the Code of Conduct, and follow the dictates of the Elders of the Ironsong Tribe.
Lurie stepped carefully around this Sin'dorei priest, curious, but cautious. He'd never been too trusting of Blood Elves, but times were changing. Perhaps this one was different.

...or perhaps not. He frowned behind his lupine guise, at the gaunt figure before him. Thin, possibly suffering the common Sin'doran ailment of magic sickness. It was as if the light faded in his very presence, as if Talrendar were attempting to drain the area of its magic. It could have been an illusion caused by the lighting, and Lurie hoped it was. He did not feel any drain.

The priest did not answer his initial query, so he continued, "We can help, if the cause is worthy of the aid. Come with me."

(( This is a good, real-life friend of mine, whom I respect a great deal. He is of excellent caliber, and definitely belongs here, in my opinion. ))
Oh how excellent, another elf...

Greetings Priest, I am Dergash, a humble Warlock in service to the Tribe.
Our weekly guild Moots are held Thursday evening at a random location, 6pm Orgrimmar (server) time.
Please contact your sponsor Lurie for the location on that day. Or if he is unavailable any other member of the Tribe can tell you where to meet.
Do try and attend so we may better judge your character and determine if you are worthy to join our Tribe.
Etsuko - Monk
Razzlixx Blingwell - Warlock
Cloudjumper Wildmane - Druid (Inactive)
<perks her ears straight forward and twitches her tail quickly> Humble?...warlock? <snorts quietly and melds into a tree>
Don't mess with the trees!

"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody."

~Bill Cosby

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