The frigid wind shrieked and howled outside the Wintergarde Keep inn. Anslym cracked the door open and hurried inside seeking reprieve from the relentless undead and the relentless wind. As he shut the door the wind’s long cold fingers were prying their way inside the inn but the fire in the hearth kept them at bay. Anslym shivered, while the warmth of the flames breath warmed his skin from an extreme blue to just a bluish hue the chill had set deep in his bones. He would have to ask the spirit of fire for help the next time he went out.
“Some mail came for you sire Anslym, I left it in your room,” the bartender by the name of Illusia said. She was of kaldorei decent, the flames played haunting shadows on her skin. Anslym nodded as he walked around a long table of Seventh legion infantrymen who were off duty, taking refuge from the wind. The laughter and ale poured from the table behind Anslym as he ascended the stairs toward his room.
As he opened the door to his room he paused and let his eyes become accustomed to the room’s darkness. The fire had died in Anslym’s absence so the room was almost as cold as it was outside. Whispering to the spirit of fire the torches sprang to life around the room and the fireplace was crackling once again. As warmth spread through the room Anslym felt the spirit of the wind hammer at his window. Staring out the foggy window Anslym saw the flying necropolis, Naxxramas floating in the sky.
He sighed in disgust as he closed the curtains hanging on the window, not wanting to see the Lich King’s work any longer. Unstrapping his gear and stowing them away in the wardrobe, emptying his herb bag at the table, and sitting down on his bed finally getting to his mail that was left on his pillow.
He recognized the untidy sprawl on the envelope immediately and prepared himself for what was going to come next. He slipped the letter from the envelope and laid it on his lap, while he whispered to the winds in anticipation. He opened the letter and nothing happened, he breathed a sigh of relief. He opened the letter to find a muddy paw print in the middle of the page, and etched in the paw print was etched,
Two weeks till Northrend
Excitement bubbled inside of Anslym. He was going to see his old friend again, a Night Elf by the name of Stalkuren. Anslym let his eyes wander under the paw print where the letter continued in ink.
I didn’t think this letter needed the spores, nothing important anyway, and I’m fairly certain that the spirit of air hates being called just to blow away a few poisonous spores in an effort to save just your life.
In return I should hope you won’t infuse your next letters ink with the spirit of water because I’ve run out of spores to make sure your words don’t run.
I have finished up my work in Moonglade and I will be joining you in Northrend shortly. I can’t wait to hear your adventures, especially what happened at the Wrathgate. I’ve heard different accounts of what occurred and let me tell you, each is crazier then the next.
So two weeks, till then.
That was just like him. Anslym and Stalkuren met in Zangarmarsh when they did combat against scores of Naga. Why Stalkuren always down played his rank Anslym never knew but what the letter should have been signed,
Stalkuren, Guardian of Cenarius, Rider of Anzu, and Tamer of a green whelp.
dedicated to: Stalkuren, Guardian of Cenarius, Rider of Anzu, and Tamer of a green whelp and most importantly, my friend.