Silvermoon was heaving with activity, sidewalks were clogged with people and the streets full of carriages and carts from all corners of the Hordes’ domain. Even after the shattering and the open conflicts it had brought, market days within the big cities could still fetch massive crowds. Garret gave a sigh as he weaved his way through the walk of elders, his gaze constantly observing the damaged buildings around him (all things said and done at least this place wasn’t as ravaged as Goldshire but it was still impressive).<span style="color: navy">“Such beautiful and graceful architecture ravaged… By time itself how I wish I could have witnessed what did this.”</span>The Chronomancer murmured as he pushed his way through the crowded sidewalk his voice sounded amazed… and yet somehow disappointed at the same time.<br/><br/>How he had managed to miss the shattering AGAIN was beyond him. It seemed no matter how carefully he prepared his rituals; no matter how carefully he drew the runes and recited the spells, he never landed in the right time period. He always materialized either far too early or only just too late, never in time to see the Shattering. To boot, he’d have to stay in the time he landed in for at least a few weeks (or more if Nozdormu’s brood managed to track him) while he waited for the right conditions to cast his ritual again. Suffice to say it was a source of immense frustration to Garret.<span style="color: navy">’Oh well… At least you’re making the best of it, after you get that Kirin Tor’s brat back you can wait in Luxury. Might even be interesting.’</span>He thought with a wry smile, remembering the desperation of Lord Aradaneth... It had been very easy to negotiate a rather handsome reward. Plus travel expenses of course. How hard could it possibly be? Fizzlespurk would certainly be a dangerous and crafty opponent, but Garret had faced far far worse. Chortling to himself he reached into the confines of his coat for a cigarette.<br/><br/>The right hand that remerged from the black confines of the trenchcoat with cigarette and lighter had no flesh on its fingers, all that remained of them was gleaming white bone held together by cartilage. His left hand was in the same decayed state. With a fluid and skilled motion the cigarette was in his mouth, lit, and the lighter pocketed once more. Garret took a deep drag on the fag, smoke curling out of the jagged hole in his right cheek… filtering through the two rows of exposed black and yellow teeth. When coupled with the dead lifeless gray flesh it did dent his otherwise quite handsome features. Quite an illusion, one Garret would not have been able to create without the aid of the effeminate troll (it had been ever so long since he’d dabbled in regular arcana, he needed assistance to remember some of the ropes). The spell wouldn’t hold up to close magical inspection, but it would do. What it wasn’t able to impersonate was the characteristic slouch of the Forsaken… That Garret had to do himself and thanks to the tome slung across his shoulders, his back was already aching furiously.<br/><br/><span style="color: navy">“So boys, I suggest we start by snooping around Murder Row, then move on to the Bazaar. I wouldn’t put it past the Goblin to have a noticeable presence in both districts. We're just a couple of wealthy men seeking some expensive pleasures for our amusement,”</span>He turned his goggled gaze to the figures behind him.<span style="color: navy">“Any objections or suggestions?”</span>He asked, turning to face his companions. He didn't quite know what to make of them all... Having not spent enough time around any of them to get a firm read, Lord Ardaneth had rushed them along so fast there had hardly been enough time for introductions.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>