The blue-clad worgen mage took the the last weapon, having been present from the start. She simply glanced at the others, seemingly already distrustful. She was a Gilnean, and the time behind the Greymane Wall had left her very distrusting of the other nations and races of the world. Racism came naturally to her when she had only dealt with her own kind for nearly twenty years. She had taken the sword, looking at it rather agitatedly, clearly not pleased - she was quite obviously a pessimist, by the look of her - yet she remained silent. Her master, and his companions were still standing before her, so she would have to wait before tinkering with the dull spell-blade. She had little doubt Kalecgos had actually been part of it's creation, though it was indeed powerful, like the other three weapons their party had been gifted.<br/><br/><span style="color: mediumturquoise">"So,"</span>she began to speak, looking more like she was speaking to her own master,<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Where are we to go first? We will need a clue as to find these warlocks."</span><br/><br/>The reply came simply, from Wrathion, whom had yet again interrupted his elders. "Go to my shrine... We found traces of their filthy Fel magic there..."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>