Llane gazed at Anduin, utterly at a loss. "How does a garrison of thirty men disappear without a whisper?" "The fel," came a young, strong voice, "or at least its influence." Callan Lothar - a young knight of 17 and also Anduin's son - reaches out and extends an arm in front of the young mage who had spoken, preventing him from approaching the king.

The man who stood by Callan was a scruffy looking mage, around Callan's height, messy brown hair and an anticipatory look in his eyes. He'd been caught in royal barracks searching deceased bodies for dark magic and Callan had accompanied him to Stormwind for an audience with the king himself.

The chatter faltered. Llane, along with everyone else in the room, knights and couriers - all except for Anduin, looked from the king - his brother in law - and to the newcomer who stood there. The king raised a slender eyebrow, his curious gaze filled with scrutiny as he stared at the young mage. "Is this him?"