Lord Gerard Aislinghall: An Introduction

The Violet City had long since lost its magic for him.

Less did the arcane lanterns of Dalaran seem wondrous to him than that when he walked in Stormwind - or in the cities of Lordaeron before that land's fall - the dim streets and sputtering oil lamps seemed primitive and dirty. All other cities and their surrounding villages were the works of children, struggling to see beyond the mud and drudgery that pinned them to their mundane lives.

Not everyone could live the life of a mage, of course; but Gerard pitied the others in a vague, distant way. They had no idea how meaningless were their labours.

With these thoughts in his mind, he drew the runes to open the lock on his study and stepped through into the haphazard room. Tomes lay everywhere, and sheets of parchment blotted with ethereal inks littered the desk and floor alike. A dim purple flame burned in a brazier in the corner, and from a wooden perch a snowy owl eyed Gerard balefully.

The mage took a deep breath, taking in the scents of magic and old leather. He was home.

'You should clean this place up, Aislinghall.' A reedy, mournful voice floated through the air.

'Be silent,' muttered Gerard, picking his way through the organised chaos toward his desk.

The voice complied, but a moment later a quill rose from a dusty pile and began to scratch words across a parchment already half-covered in notes. As Gerard snatched the quill away, he read; 'You're as moody as a woman.'

'That's my research you're covering with idiotic scrawl,' he snapped, keeping hold of the quill as it fluttered feebly.

'Oh very well,' sighed the voice, and the quill ceased to move.

Gerard looked toward the corner as a shape flickered and then materialised into a spindly little figure with curling horns.

'You're the one who summoned me, you know. Not even a kind word, after all I've done for you.' The imp folded its arms and turned to face the wall.

'All you've done? All I seem to remember that you've done is singe Garaveth's feathers with your infernal firebolts, and now you've ruined a perfectly good page of notes.' Gerard looked up toward the owl, who shifted on his perch, feathers ruffling, and hooted his indignance.

'See?' said Gerard, gathering up stray parchments into a stack. 'Not to mention, do you have any notion of how many wards I have had to put up to summon you? This is Dalaran, not some backwater cave. You should be grateful.'

'Grateful?' The imp squeaked, turning to hop across several similar parchment stacks. 'I have nothing to do! And besides, the owl keeps staring at me.'

The mage gave the papers a final shuffle and looked up at the familiar, shaking his head. 'Fortunately I did not summon you for your scintillating conversation. You want something to do? Very well. I have the entire day set aside for research, so let us go to work.'

I laughed out loud at the sulky imp. Brilliant. The whole scene puts me strongly in mind of a villain in a Disney film.

Awh thank you. I didn't quite have disney villain in mind but I can totally see it.

I'd planned to write a more serious intro - I don't tend to write much humour - to the fact that he's a mage experimenting with forbidden bad-news magic, but the sulky imp seemed just right.

Thank you so much for your kind comments.