It seems hard to believe it has been over a year since my apprenticeship ended and I entered the ranks of the Conclave of Warlocks. Sometimes, I think that if I knew then how much of my soul I would have to give up to the Powers that fuel my Art, I may have chosen another path. Of course, the adventures I have been a part of and the secrets I have learned would have been but the idle dreams of the innkeeper’s son I was born.
The path my life has taken was set the first time I laid eye on the warlock Garza. Clothed in black, and carrying an aura of danger and power around him, he had stopped at my father’s inn during an excursion to some ruins in search of lost lore.
Throughout the night I noticed Garza’s gaze tracking me from his seat in the common room as I brought out food and cleared tables. Eventually I gathered enough courage to stare back and to my surprise he motioned me over to his table. As I stood before, him he asked me if I had ever heard of warlocks. I admitted that I had heard the whispers concerning these practitioners of dark arts. It was said that warlocks sold their souls in exchange for worldly powers and entered into pacts with demoniac familiars for lost secrets of ages past.
Graza laughed at this and shook his head. The ignorant always feared that which they could not understand he said. Power was only as corrupt as the uses it was put to. By his reasoning, only a coward would refuse to use all the tools available to him to obtain his destiny. He also mentioned how blood set the warlock on his path. According to him, only those who already had a touch of the infernal in their line could learn to harness the energies necessary for his craft.
I was about to ask him what concern all this was of mine, when he pulled a small purplish crystal from a pouch on his belt. He bid me hold it and as I took it up, I noticed a strange sheen that played about its facets. Graza asked me to shut my eyes and concentrate on the crystal. I must admit that I was terrified of this stranger by this point, and wanted nothing more than to bolt into the relative safety of the kitchens. But something about the crystal fascinated me. With a fierce grip on my shoulder, Graza leaned close and asked what I felt. As I focused on the crystal, I thought I could feel it slowly pulsing, as if it followed the heartbeat of someone asleep. My eyes snapped open and I nearly dropped the crystal in my fright and need to be away from this man, but Graza shook my shoulder sharply to draw my attention away from what I held in my hand. I told him that the crystal felt alive as he leaned back with a strange smile.
Graza took the crystal and placed it back in his pouch. He then told me it seemed he was right, that I had the potential of the gift and that when this inn became too small to hold my dreams, that I should seek him in Stormwind. He would show me a road to power that few had courage to tread, and even fewer could master.
At this point, I turned and fled back to the kitchens and my duties trying to put the whole unsettling experience behind me. It was only later that night, as I lay in my bed, that I wondered why I had not mentioned I thought I could hear a faint voice crying out from within the crystal; a voice in pain. Mostly though, I wondered why that voiced had excited me.
By the hand of Abdul Alhazred Vizier in the Conclave of Warlocks