The bitter north wind wailed like a child in pain, sweeping savagely across Tirisfal Glades and into Lordaeron City.
It was winter, and cold currents of air continually swept through the world.
The cold spared nowhere. On the streets of Lordaeron City, people coming and going involuntarily quickened their steps.
The freezing weather outside made them reluctant to linger.
Yet one man walked slowly along the street.
He wore a cloak as black as ink, which fluttered and shuddered in the relentless north wind.
His steps were slow but firm.
Before long, he left the street behind and arrived outside a mansion.
It was an exceedingly luxurious mansion. A single glance at its gates was enough to make that clear.
The gates were made from a special wood grown in Eversong Woods. Near the Sunwell, those trees had been steeped in magical energy for years, giving their wood a unique power.
It was material used to make staves, yet here it had been used to build ordinary gates with no practical value.
Their sole purpose was to display the mansion owner's extravagance.
He approached the gates step by step, only to be stopped as he drew near.
The men blocking him were armed, armored guards. Armor covered them from head to toe, and metal faceplates concealed their features completely. When they moved, they resembled machines, their armor clanking with every step. A deep voice rang out from behind one faceplate, thunderous enough to make the metal buzz.
"You there, hiding your face. This isn't a place for you."
"I wish to see the master of the mansion." His manner remained perfectly civil. The rebuke had not disturbed him in the slightest, and his voice was calm.
"Impossible," another guard said.
"He's right. Unless you take off your cloak, we can't