[The death of the Lich King is a cause for celebration among all the peoples of Azeroth, but not all the people are celebrating. With Arthas dead, that just leaves all the other problems that need to be dealt with. The magisters still do their political samba around the ruling council and the regent-lord, and the apprentices do their own dance around the magisters, attempting to curry favor.
Belthazar has taken part in this strange passive-aggressive ritual for several years now. If there is one thing he's learned amongst all the secrets and lore passed down to him, it's that his work never ends. That doesn't mean he can't make progress on his own projects, however. A true master of multitasking, the elf boy walks with his face in a tome about curses; meanwhile, his water elemental carries several wooden boxes beside him. The elemental is sadly non-verbal, or else it might warn its master about getting into a traffic accident on the way to Fairbreeze.
It's too late. One moment, he's engrossed in a depiction of the magical threads surrounding a prison. The next, he's colliding with a solid wall of wicked armor, frozen undead flesh and hooves. He wheels backward, stumbling into a row of planters with a scream.
His elemental waits patiently at the side of the road-- almost expectantly, as if it is used to this.]
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Belthazar has taken part in this strange passive-aggressive ritual for several years now. If there is one thing he's learned amongst all the secrets and lore passed down to him, it's that his work never ends. That doesn't mean he can't make progress on his own projects, however. A true master of multitasking, the elf boy walks with his face in a tome about curses; meanwhile, his water elemental carries several wooden boxes beside him. The elemental is sadly non-verbal, or else it might warn its master about getting into a traffic accident on the way to Fairbreeze.
It's too late. One moment, he's engrossed in a depiction of the magical threads surrounding a prison. The next, he's colliding with a solid wall of wicked armor, frozen undead flesh and hooves. He wheels backward, stumbling into a row of planters with a scream.
His elemental waits patiently at the side of the road-- almost expectantly, as if it is used to this.]