A Myriad of Tales

Kardel Sharpeye / Razzil Timidcoil / Illfenas Moonfall / Demos Barilla / Tolric Eidhart - This is an inspiration blog for a roleplay character(s) on World of Warcraft (WrA). All posts here may be used for either IC or OOC reference to my character(s).

[myriadoftales]

...And So Our Story Begins

Two men, Dwarf and Gnome, sat hushed around a modest meal on the second floor of the Stonefire Tavern. The Commons of Ironforge had lost its usual bustling soundscape; talk of war cleared the pavements. The lowlight of the lone candle cast shadows upon the two, their dinner a blank canvas of mixed proportions and bland taste. Kardel Sharpeye, a Dwarven marksman, sat upright in his seat, the audible cracks of dry wood causing the diffident Razzil Timidcoil to spring starbound in excitement. Before the Gnome could speak his duress, Kardel piped forward, a coarse tone emerging behind the dimly lit cigar that nestled itself between his dirty lips.

“Oi, Razzil, I know what I heard: The footmen spoke of a winged figure darting towards the Dark Portal. You think I’m mad? If so, what happened to Thatcher?” the dwarf shouted. “Caerwich never spoke of it and neither did the Grudgebearer. No one did! Not Illfenas, not anyone! You tell me what I’m ‘spose to believe then. If Thatcher is out there, I plan to find him. Simple as that."

“You speak of a fool’s errand Kardel!” piped Razzil, his concerned pitch a stark contrast to the Dwarf’s, “We know not of what is transpiring beyond that fiendish gate and Draenor is a wasp’s nest! I’ve not the mindset to plan for such contingencies! My grimoire’s rusty and my… I don’t want to fight anymore Kardel. I’m too feeble! Ever since I… we abandoned our allies I have grown hesitant. My spells no longer retain such potency, I am no good Kardel,” Razzil’s pause gave way to a distressed chuckle, “We would not survive. Not just the two of us.”

Silence wafted through the balcony’s door, a chilled breeze its chauffeur. Razzil’s eyes lowered, his lips pursed to a corner, obviously distraught with his recent catharsis. Kardel set his sights upon the Gnome, his brows arched, a grimace pulling itself beneath his beard.

“We haven’t the need to do this alone, Razzil. We’ve got comrades, you see?” Kardel chuckled and began tapping on the table. Soft footsteps began to climb the stairway, their presses piqued the curiosity of Razzil, his wispy eyebrows aloft and whirling. 

From beneath the banner ascended ivory tendrils, they preceded their home: a lithe Kal’dorei whom carried their roots. A living bulwark followed the elf, his features shrouded by an iron dome, however his frame gave hint to his ancestry: a human. A final figure entered the room, her armor gleaming, as if to give no chance to conceal her cause, a paladin of the Holy Light. 

“You might remember a few of these blokes, eh?” Kardel remarked. “Perhaps their names ought to ring a few bells: Illfenas Moonfall, druidic scion of the Kal’dorei, Tolric Eidhart, veteran of the Third War, he fought under Thatcher and Caerwich’s banner, don’t you recall?” Kardel paused for a moment, readjusting the goggles that sat atop his frizzled mane, “Ah… and this lass! A real pain in the ass, the dame, but a heart of gold and staunch in ideals. Don’t interrupt her tea time however, she just might smite you for it. Allow me to introduce Demos Barilla."

Razzil peered around the room, slow, uncertain nods of acknowledgements offered towards those he remembered and a worried glanced offered towards Demos. He pulled himself upon his chair, unsure of what to do with his hands, he shouted, “I-I… what is this, Kardel? What are you playing at? Why call upon these old souls?! They have seen enough!”

“Oi, boyo, we’re going to find us Hector Thatcher.”