The day was grey and dark. Tevond Velmon rode under the crackling clouds on his blonde palfrey over verdant hilly plains, impatiently allowing the tired beast to trot. A useless thing, he though to himself, I ought to make a spell-mount that will not tire as this one does. As a mage of the kingdom of Lordaeron, Tevond certainly had the ability to research such a thing, but the war prevented it. Damnable orcs. Of all the wars to get involved in, it had to be with orcs... Tevond despised the green-skinned creatures. Not because they threatened his land or his kinsmen, but because they were his ticket to fame and fortune. And of all the ways to get money, this was the worst in his book.
The palfrey slowed its pace further as the town came into view. Tevond gave a cry of contempt and spurred the beast on, to no avail. He came to a stop, and dismounted. "I'm certain I can find better horses than you," he said to it, "Stay out here and get eaten by orcs for all I care!" He gesticulated wildly, filling the air with flames. The animal whinnied and ran off, afraid. Tevond grumbled about its sudden burst of speed and moved on at a brisk paced toward the ruined town.
Considering his life, Tevond thought himself rather unlucky. He had been born in a hamlet outside the 'great' town of Andorhal to poor farm workers. He had grown up to gain an affinity for magic, especially the arts of fire. His parents were proud to see their son learn such great things, until they discovered where he'd learned it all. Spurned for thievery. The mages were the thieves! They set unfair prices and cheated me... He remembered his parent's scorn well. It was a lesson that he could only trust himself. Even his friend Rupert had betrayed him. We were supposed to be a team, you and me. You teach me to steal and I teach you magic, that was the deal. Their deal had benefitted the both of them, until Tevond was found out. Then Rupert was too cowardly to keep up his work. After the second betrayal, Tevond had dedicated himself to becoming rich and famous, so when he was grown, he could teach his traitorous family and friends their lesson. So he had given himself to the mage Bartholomew Davids as an apprentice, so he could begin on his path. Davids had been a fair teacher, stern, but fair. Tevond respected him, but did not love him. In time, he outstripped his master. Then the refugees had started arriving.
The town approached Tevond slower than he liked, but his legs were sore and growing tired. In his boredom, he summoned a magic mirror to check his face. He liked keeping his looks in check when he could. In the enchanted glass, he saw his flat figures staring back at him. His face was tall and thin, but flat as a plate. His nose barely stuck out at him in the reflection. His long, but well-combed brown hair fell down to his shoulders, two smaller strands fell in front of his face, which he found interesting to look at, so it pleased him to keep it in order. His dull brown eyes also seemed to follow the flat theme of his face. They didn't pop or attract attention, but deep in them he saw the hunger that he knew would take him to the top of this world. This face may seem ordinary at first glance, but before I am done, this face will be the greatest in Azeroth!
Before he knew it, he had arrived in the town, and let his mirror vanish into thin air. A man in the steel and blue plate of Lordaeron approached him on an armored black horse, which carried its burden with grace and beauty. "State your business, mage," the knight said.
"I was sent by Khadgar to summon you lazy lot to the Black Morass. He says the war's close to done, but the Dark Portal's still standing." Tevond hated being a message carrier. Khadgar hadn't in fact sent him personally, but he thought his business sounded more important that way.
The knight seemed unimpressed. His stoic expression changed not at all as he said, "Very well. You may have food and lodging in the inn. I will deliver your message to Lord Redhelm as soon as he is available. No doubt you will be called before him with the details of Khadgar's missive on the morrow." When his words were done, he trotted off back to his post. Tevond glared after him. The sound of food and lodging appealed to him, so he followed his nose to the inn. Looks like another lot of pious pricks I have to serve. All I get are scraps now. Someday they will be feeding out of my hand. Tevond ruffled his hair and chuckled at what a sight it would be to have a line of knights in some fancy court waiting to eat his scraps.