((This covers the journeys and adventures of Rhork Greymantle, a young mage coming into his power under guide of a very irritable tutor))
“Wait.” Rhork takes in the crisp scent of high altitude air and gazes into the infinite blue of the sky, the sheer vastness of the open space enthralls him. The sun shines clear, sharp as any crystal, the rays free from some of the pesky layers of atmosphere. Beside him, a carrion bird idly flaps its wings to stay aloft. The creature stares at him, its beady eyes gazing directly into his. There was no way he could have predicted this. It's what he gets for throwing caution to the wind during his spell-weaving. Out of all of his attempts to teleport successfully to Darnassus, he was sure this time would work. Clearly that is not the case as gravity begins to remind him it is still a thing.
“Godsdamnit!” He roars, twisting his body to face the hard-packed earth of the Barrens now rushing to give him its rocky ‘hello’. Panic begins to set in while adrenaline does him a favor and ignites his every nerve, shocking his system into overdrive. The wind rushes past him, threatening new rends and tears in the already worn fabric of the dull gray clothing reserved for his training. They are already frayed enough. Likely he’ll need to replace them after – Oh right.
Rhork’s first instinct is to tap into his core, that integral part of him which enables the spell craft he’s come to love. Just as he is about to awaken that slumbering beast, he hesitates as fear of its use creeps into his thoughts, slowing his calculations for another teleport. Shifting gears, the terror of the fast approaching ground wins out his attentions. He opts to utilize the reserves set aside each day instead of taking another risk, it's what got him into this mess in the first place. As only precious seconds remain, he reaches the conclusion to his casting: choice of location. Anywhere, damnit, anywhere soft! The spell activates and Rhork disappears, much to the dismay of the hungry buzzard and his friends circling nearby.
In Stormwind, more specifically the Stormwind Lake, a citizen spends his time fishing for the day’s meal. Leaning back in his chair, he sips at a fresh glass of lemonade. Far from that conjured crap those highborn nobles like, this lemonade is the real deal. His wife made him a pitcher to which he happily continues to steadily drain. Without warning, his fishing rod jerks forward. In a sudden flinch to grip it, the precious drink spills to his overalls. If the fish is as big as he thinks it is, the loss is worth it, but just barely.
“Awh Fel yeah! C’mon, that’s it! Make me fight fer it!” He hollers with a grin at the challenge. He braces a foot against a stump and resists the fish’s attempt to dive with a sharp tug. The line catches along a log stuck in between some boulders and a few rocks that extends out a yard or two over the water. It bites into the soaked bark as the might of man and fish combat for dominance. Just a few yards away his wife lifts her skirt to quicken her pace, a hand at the side of her mouth as she yells, “Get it Dean!” Around her torso is a pack filled with a small lunch of bread, cheese, and a few bites of summer sausage.
Dean tosses her a wide, toothy smile and a wink, “Martha, don’t think this’ll be th’ only thing I’ll be catchin’ t’night.” His hint makes her blush and quicken her pace to reach him. A strong pull from the line snaps Dean’s attention back to his battle, “Woah there, I ain’t fergot about you!” Again he braces against the stump, thwarting another attempt to dive while reeling back the pole. With Martha cheering him on, he maneuvers the fish to a shallow pool. Sweat begins to bead as victory is nearly in his grasp. “Got ya!” He cheers, making for the final tug.
Thankfully, the teleport slowed his momentum enough to where the water would merely leave bruises across the majority of his body. Rhork slams into the murky surface directly on top of the fish Dean so nearly caught. His sudden appearance leaves the couple along the shore speechless, mouths slightly agape as they turn their heads toward each other for confirmation of what they just saw. The line is snapped, the fish is free, and Rhork floats face down in the water, slowly drifting along the reeds. With a bubbly groan, he turns to float on his back and gargles a little water as well. He spits it and coughs, the wind finally coming back to him. The two citizens toss insults and curses his way but he pays them no mind as their voices slowly fade once they depart. For a few moments he just floats, content and glad to be alive.
"Going to need the church’s services again…ugh…"
Rhork kicks lightly to shore, dredging his exhausted frame up from the water. The dull ache of slamming side first into the muddy lake begins to reach noticeable levels. A spike of pain here and there, notably from his ribs and arm, nearly doubles him over. With a sigh, he makes for the Cathedral, hoping he’ll at least dry off a little by the time he arrives. On the way, he gives some much-needed thought over his attempts to teleport to the Kaldorei capital. Swallowing his pride, he resolves to actually ask for help from his tutor. Better that than to show up at this Empire guild meeting in a body cast. Wouldn't make for a good first impression at all.