It was early, the sun having just breached the horizon and casting its pure white rays over the sea. Silvery sparkles rolled in on the tide, rippling their way to Stormwind harbour as the sleeping city slowly began to stir.

Khadgar stretched lazily as the morning light filtered through a gap in the curtains. He rubbed the heels of his palms over his eyes, and carefully removed some sleep matter from their corners. He lifted his head from the pillows but promptly fell back into them, groaning.

Looked like today was going to be a little fragile after his over-indulgence of ale the night before. Should have known better, he muttered to himself. It was a well-known fact that if you drank with the Draenei it was at your peril. Although he had no evidence, he suspected his friend had the barmaid lace his drink. Khadgar, trying to be sensible and remain relatively sober, had refused the occasional refill. But as it turned out, there were gaps in his memory. He couldn't actually remember coming to bed. It had been just as well he had the foresight to book a room at the Golden Keg. At least he did not have far to stagger.

As he sat up, he groaned again. After a moment or two, he pulled back the covers and slid his legs over the edge of the bed. Bracing himself for a few seconds, he used his hands to push himself upright. The room swam but he continued taking deep breaths and eventually, everything settled.

A slight crick in his neck made him flinch, so he swivelled his head a few times, hearing the popping of taut muscles as they pinged back into place. He strolled over to the basin and pitcher on the sideboard where he poured cool water and splashed it vigorously over his face and neck. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he groaned. To say he looked rough was an understatement.

He would need to rein in such outings with his friend Ocel. Khadgar became the Leader of the Kirin Tor when Jaina shed the mantle following a difference of opinion. With the position came more responsibility. He could not afford to let his friend distract him from his work, even though it was fun at the time.

His aching head was only marginally better by the time he finished washing and drying himself. He combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it in its now customary tousled style. Hmm, needing another trim, he thought as he looked closer in the mirror. A good shave won't go amiss either. It was decided. After breakfast, he would pop down to the Stormwind Barber.

His clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Sighing loudly, he reprimanded himself and vowed he would try and be a little tidier in future. He pulled on his britches and shirt, then shrugged on his tunic. Fastening the belt, he glanced out the gap in the curtains.

He stepped forward and after sweeping the drapes aside, pushed the window open. A soft breeze rushed in to greet him, ruffling the hair at his temples. Breathing in he could smell a hint of the sea over the fresh dew-filled meadows to the east of the quarter. The sun now caressed the buildings and swept inwards toward the city centre.

And on cue, as with every morning, visions of Sarah's sweet face and slender body flooded his mind, holding his entire being to ransom. He'd endured such 'torture' since the day he'd banished Sarah back through the rift. Time had not eased his longing, nor the agony.

Trying desperately to dampen the urges Sarah still drove within him, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. But the exercise was futile. His mind hurtled back to the intimate moments they had shared. He moaned as he recounted the way she'd bathed and loved him so sweetly the first time they were together. He could remember the feel of her lips, the feathery touch of her hand, the softness of her body.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he relived their all-consuming passion on the eve of the battle in Goldshire. Beautiful though it had been, he was consumed by the constant castigation of his selfish act that day. An agony, so profound, confirmed she he would forever plague his mind.

How true Ocel's words still rang. But, they had not prepared him for the profound emptiness and loneliness he felt since sending Sarah home. How he ached for her. He squeezed his eyes shut again, forcing the memories to recede and leave him be. There was no room in his life for these desires anymore. He would have to curb the daily ache of his haunted heart and close the door on the blissful memory that was Sarah.

Unexpectedly, the woman from the inn the previous night sprang to mind. There had been something ... something so familiar. He shook his head. No; it could not be! He had witnessed Sarah pass through the rift and had remained to oversee it being sealed.

Glancing out the window one more time, he inadvertently uttered her name in a whisper. Regretfully, he resigned himself to the new order in his life.

The smells of fresh baked bread, ham, eggs and other dishes being prepared for breakfasts reached his nostrils. He brushed down his tunic for the third time before picking up his collar guard and fastening it in place.  With one last inspection of his reflection,  he then left the room.

Down in the tavern, the barmaid, Myrla Stoneround, bade him good morning. She enquired if he wished to have some breakfast, to which he readily answered yes. He was particularly hungry and hoped it would soak up the remaining dregs from last night's ale consumption. He sat at a table near the door, enjoying the morning breeze.

The staff had been busy it seemed. Other than the buntings and one or two balloons still floating against the ceiling, there was no lingering evidence of there having been a busy and rowdy evening the night before. The tables had been wiped clean, no more sticky residue of spilt ale or wine, and upon their polished surfaces sat small vases with singular blooms. Chairs were all neatly tucked under said tables. Even the floor had been swept and mopped.

He noticed a copy of the 'Stormwind Herald' at the next table. Some other patron must have left it behind. He reached over and picked it up. Reclining in his chair, he flicked open the newspaper and started to read.

News of the invasions had not lessened any. Now they had decimated areas of southern Kalimdor; the casualties were still being assessed although Azerothians were encouraged to be positive, for an ending to the war was in sight. "Pfft!" Khadgar expostulated as he turned the page to continue reading.

The KirinTor does not rest and its esteemed leader, Archmage Khadgar, has confirmed that they are within reach of the final piece of the Pillars of Creation...

"Drivel!" He grunted, knowing full well he had said nothing of the kind. The truth was they were still searching for the penultimate piece. Although they knew its location now, it would not be without some difficulty that they would acquire it.

He flipped some more pages, browsing local interest articles:-

Brackwell's Pumpkins were looking to produce record fruits this year, the most recent crop having boasted a massive pumpkin weighing in at twenty-eight pounds. The Stormwind based patch is the prime supplier for Robby Flay who has this year improved the recipe of his already outstanding Pumpkin Pancakes.

Khadgar sniffed and turned another page. He looked over the myriad of advertisements all in their uniform little boxes. This page always amused him.

Eldraeith's Herbal Remedies

For All Your Herbalism Supplies & Recipes

Are you constipated? Having difficulty passing last night's Mystery Meat Parcels?

Try "Purge" made from the Aloe Thistle, this remedy provides a gentle laxative to bring you light relief.

Read the small print - If dosage exceeded, will produce 'Red Rim' due to severe diarrhoea. This can be remedied with our recent import "Plug" made from Kingsblood extract, which soothes gastrointestinal upsets. Warning: it may, however, make your 'Red Rim' turn black.

Khadgar laughed out loud at Purge and Plug, then quickly looked around to ensure no-one heard him or dared asked what he found so amusing. He resumed his study of the adverts.

At the sound of footfalls approaching, he glanced up again. Erik Longmaster entered the tavern but suddenly seemed to have second thoughts on seeing the Archmage at a nearby table and briskly did a u-turn.

"Erik!" Khadgar greeted him, closing and folding the Stormwind Herald.

The dwarf stopped, wobbling slightly, as his upper half had wanted to continue onwards. He gained his balance and turned to face Khadgar. "Mornin'," he replied with a forced wave of salutation. "How are ye?" The dwarf's eyes darted around the inn.

Khadgar's brow furrowed slightly at the obvious awkwardness of the hunter. "I'm fine thank you, Erik, apart from a slight hangover from last night's festivities."

"Aye, well, that's whit happens when ye dinnae huv the likes o' ma drinkin' stamina," the dwarf said. He waited for the Archmage to respond. He didn't. "Ah well, must be off!" He chirped, turning to leave.

Khadgar cleared his throat. "How are your relatives, this morning?" The question was out before he knew it.

"Relatives?" Erik faced Khadgar again.

"Yes. The one you were carrying last night and the young woman who accompanied you. Your ... sister's husband's cousin's sister and her brother, I think you said?" This was nonsensical and he knew it; he really had more important matters at hand. But he felt almost driven to find out about the mysterious companions of the dwarf. Besides, they did not look like dwarves to Khadgar, and he was pretty sure Erik's lineage was pure.

"Oh! Oh aye. They're fine, thank you."

Myrla arrived with Khadgar's breakfast, a plate of ham and herb baked eggs with a side of fresh bread and pumpkin preserve.

"Are ye just going to stand there or order something Erik?" The barmaid fired at the red-haired dwarf.

"Well...ah was jist..." Erik was caught off-guard.

"Yes, he will. Join me, Erik. Order what you will," Khadgar indicated a seat with his fork.

Erik took his seat and for easiness, ordered what Khadgar was having. Myrla nodded and off she trundled with the order.

"So, are your family visiting for the Faire?" Khadgar pursued, lifting a forkful of ham and eggs to his mouth.

Erik started to fidget. "Erm...aye, you got it in one."

"And do they have names?" Khadgar eyed Erik, the steel orbs harbouring a predatory focus. He popped the food into his mouth and chewed slowly.

"Dug," Erik said quickly.

"Hmm." The Archmage swallowed and then prepared another forkful of food. "And the young woman? I presume that was the boy's name just now?" Khadgar said with a good-humoured smile.

Erik smirked in response. "Aye. Oh, she's ... Betty, I mean Beth, she prefers Beth. Yes...Beth."

Khadgar was not convinced. "Perhaps I can be introduced to them properly then?"

"Perhaps ... but actually, I doubt they will be around for long. Other family to visit, elsewhere, ye understand."

"Ah. Shame." He felt genuinely disappointed, yet he did not know why exactly. He had been working on a very unrealistic hunch.

Myrla arrived with Erik's breakfast and slapped it down in front of him. He nodded thanks and started shovelling the food over his throat.

Khadgar raised an eyebrow. "You will get indigestion eating like that," he said. The Purge and Plug advertisement suddenly flooded Khadgar's mind; he fought to keep a straight face.

"Well," Erik mumbled, his mouth full. "Ah huv things to be daein', Khadgar. Ah'm oan an errand fur Lukha and Taril."

"I see. Nevertheless, it's best to enjoy your food at a steady pace."

"Ah um!" Erik said, still shovelling the food in.

The dwarf cleared his plate before Khadgar finished his bread and preserve. Scraping his chair back, hurriedly Erik stood, thanked the Archmage for breakfast, then shot out the door.

Khadgar leaned pensively, his hand covering his mouth. Erik was on edge, that much was obvious.

Maybe I'm reading more into it than there actually is, Khadgar mused. Hoping for the impossible. And maybe not. Oh, how he wished he could clear his mind of Sarah. It was as if she haunted him; punishing him. Would he ever be free of this torment?

"Are you finished, Archmage?" Myrla's voice interrupted his thoughts. Quickly regaining his composure he nodded, thanked her and left the money on the table for the meals and room. Tucking the newspaper under his arm he headed out the door.

The food and the fresh air helped to clear his head. For that he was thankful. He had a busy day ahead of him. Firstly he still had one or two more volumes at Karazhan to catch up on. Next, he would return to Dalaran and the Broken Isles to assist allies still searching for the two remaining sections of the Pillars of Creation. They were confident they would have the second last one by the end of the day; leaving the search for the final Pillar to commence.

All going well, he should at least be back in Stormwind with an update if nothing else, for the king in three days.

But first, he thought, time for a haircut and a shave.

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