Winter rain—only the elves of the Ghostlands could truly experience it. Cold air originating in the Howling Fjord swept south, giving the elves accustomed to comfort in Quel'Thalas an unfamiliar experience.
The sky was gray, the ground muddy, and the rain on their skin made every elf shiver. No one wanted to go out at a time like this. Yet one party crossed Quel'Thalas's boundary marker and traveled through the damned weather.
After seven or eight days, they finally caught sight of the white tower.
"My lord, why did we have to come all the way from Silvermoon City? Wouldn't it have been better to teleport directly?"
"My student." The elf addressed as my lord was tall and slender, more than a head taller than ordinary elves. His sharply defined features seemed carved by a blade, and there was something mysterious in his gaze that readily brought secrets to mind. "The fact that you managed to hold that question in until now means you've improved quite a bit. Why did we come on foot? Because His Majesty values the Dawnblade, and the owner of that mage tower is an important candidate to become the Dawnblade's next leader. Think about it. If His Majesty simply sent someone to teleport to the mage tower, say a few words, and leave, what would you think?"
"I would think... that the king looked down on him?"
"You still have much to learn."
The elf who had spoken first fell silent. With a shout from the leader, the party quickened its pace. Everyone wanted to find somewhere warm as soon as possible, sit by a fire, and eat something hot. Before long, they reached the outside of the barrier.
"Royal envoy Velles Deep Shadow, royal court advisor representing His Majesty. Open the gate at once."