Name: Garret De’Lerandar<br/>Race: Human (neutral technically but we’ll see what happens ^.^)<br/>Class: Chronomancer, not an official wow class<br/>Gender: Male<br/>Level: ehhh... not a official wow character so thats hard to say, let us simply say he's on par with you guys<br/><br/>The air just outside the entrance to the smithy seemed too take on a bitter coppery tang and slowly began to fill with static… Arcane auras saturated the area, though no trained magic user would be able to identify what kind of magic was creating this aura. Every few seconds electricity flashed and crackled, every discharge becoming brighter and louder. Three minutes later and the electricity in the air discharged in a blinding flash and a massive thunderclap, the smell of burning grass and leather quickly following it.<br/><br/>All of the sudden there was a man standing just next to freshly raised banner of the Horde. He was of a lithe frame, with an elegantly angled face covered by black steel rimmed goggles. His body was draped in a black leather trench coat which barely covered the grips of what appeared to be two sabres. Upon close inspection the coat appeared to be adorned with a series of runes (some ancient dialect of draconic) marked out in some kind of gloss that shimmered in the light. A blue tome draped in adamantite chains hung off his left shoulder, just next to a pitch black rifle with two barrels. Smoke seemed to pour out of every crease and fold in the coat, even the youth’s raven black hair seemed to be smouldering.<br/><br/><span style="color: blue">“Well that went much better than expected...”</span>Garret muttered to himself, a relieved smile appearing on his face... Though the expression was quickly replaced by a slightly concerned frown as he saw the strangely empty smithy behind him and the Horde banner flying atop the flagpole next to him.<span style="color: blue">“Alright, location could definetly have been a little better,”</span>He added, already beginning to guess at where he had landed... right hand straying to the grip on his left hip, eyes scanning the smithy in front of him for signs of potential enemies. His goggles, normally able to detect most magical energies, failed to notice the ever so slight trail that the forsaken's minor spell had left behind, as it was smothered by the residues from Garret's own arrival.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>