Dolidhe
11-24-2006, 07:42 AM
Dolidh Wildhammer is nothing but particular about cleanliness. Afterall, a clean siege engine is a deadly siege engine only to the enemy and not to yourself. From childhood, all the children of 'Tha Peak' (as her friends called it) knew about keeping their place as spotless as possible, foraging for coal and churning the kerosene to ensure the covered wood stocks would last out the winter. There's only so many trees you can cut down in the mountains before the mountains fall down around you the next spring.
She missed the Hinterlands. All these fangled gnome gadgets like the tram and the power wheels of Ironforge made too much noise and blinked with lights that seemed unimportant, useless. Not like the whinging of a newly maintainenced engine and the soft hush of its wheels on the lush land about Tha Peak. Or the unmistakenable cries of a lonely gryphon after her eggs have hatched and left the nest. Or the hush of the north wind when it called out that snow was due and winter would soon be upon the crooks and nannies.
She loved it so. While the snow of Kharanos reminded her of home, there was something bittersweet about it. Thunder Ale just wasn't as good as the brew ma made and the Siege Pilots weren't just as friendly as the ones back home. They hardly flirted. If you could call his knowing wink about getting some hide for his engine a flirt. If she hadn't needed the copper he was willing to fork over, she would have punched him right in the head and be damned with the consequence.
Nay, being far from home hurt her heart. What she missed most was Doirinn. Handsome, well handsome for a dwarf with his chiseled cheeks and deep crags of thought and those big huge eyes that always seemed so unimpressed. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since she'd gone to Anvilmar to train under the priests there. They were less likely to be as stringent about the Light over in Anvilmar. A little pagan dwarf could keep her real beliefs under wraps while harnessing the knowledge the Priests of the Light knew.
But whenever she'd hear a sermon that got her very angry and depressed, she'd go out with her bow and shoot down some wolves. Nothing made her feel better than stewed beef and sausages. She kept this pastime from the others as it was unseemly for a priest to go out and kill things with anything but their divine powers. Sometimes, just the thwack of an arrow hitting its target and the zing of the string felt better than the hiss of power tingly through her body.
It was nice to have power come from the weapon in your hands as opposed to yourself being the weapon.
She'd gone to Stormwind laden with two kegs of her mother's best rum. Loeki had asked and she was happy to do it as she bored of the tasks they made her do in Kharanos and the leers from the Siege Engine pilot were enough to make her cut off her hair and go barmey.
While there, she'd met a young lad named Xadius with a sad tale of woe. She'd given him rum and patted his hand, trying to cheer him up a bit. But what do you say to a man who's lost the love of his life? She'd never felt that kind of pain, ever. Not even when her grandparents had died, for they'd lived long full lives and were somewhere better. But what if you did not believe in a better place? How could you console someone who is inconsolable?
Before she'd come across her powers, that horrible day, she didn't have to worry about that kind of thing. She'd planned on raising hatchlings like her ma did, train gryphons, and learn the family recipes. She had liked her future, the way it had been. She'd never needed to console or comfort anyone except those who got too cocky with the gryphons. Their beaks could rip off the heads of any man and you had to respect them. She never needed to council anyone, that was for sissies. Now she was in the role of the counseler, of the listener and needed to learn compassion and how to say the right thing.
It was all so heavy. This weight about her shoulders in the form of a robe. So donning leather and rolling around in snow, stalking boars, that was a nice way to be rid of the frustration.
She'd said what she hoped was the right thing to Xadius. A life with such sorrow had to be lonesome and she felt so much for the scrawny lad. No matter what she said, though, his thoughts were clearly lost and she left him to it.
While she left Xadius to his melancholy, Dolidhe offered drink and conversation to a so-called magician, sitting in the corner of the inn. He seemed bent on hiding his head underneath the cloak, which made Dolidhe suspect that he was probably very ugly underneath. Poor duck. The name was Sanchianados. She would remember it well.
The last thing her brother would ever say was that Dolidhe had a mothering sense, but she chortled her way through a few tut tut lines at him, teasing him.
When the bastard threw his glass at her head.
Stunned, she instantly dove to the floor, her nose knocked on the floor with a loud crack and she felt it break, again. Blood poured from it and it hurt enough, but she'd felt that pain a few times and had just recently learned how to suffuse it into the healing powers the Gods had given her.
She called the man a bastard and he just laughed at her, mimicked her. She'd never been so poorly treated in her entire life.
So with a still bleeding nose, needing a bonesetter to correct, she lifted her kegs out of the tavern never to return. If folk like that were about, she was certainly not going to offer them the best rum on the face of Azeroth.
((Clarification edit. No it wasn't Xadius that threw the glass at me. So don't beat Xadius up Loeki!))
She missed the Hinterlands. All these fangled gnome gadgets like the tram and the power wheels of Ironforge made too much noise and blinked with lights that seemed unimportant, useless. Not like the whinging of a newly maintainenced engine and the soft hush of its wheels on the lush land about Tha Peak. Or the unmistakenable cries of a lonely gryphon after her eggs have hatched and left the nest. Or the hush of the north wind when it called out that snow was due and winter would soon be upon the crooks and nannies.
She loved it so. While the snow of Kharanos reminded her of home, there was something bittersweet about it. Thunder Ale just wasn't as good as the brew ma made and the Siege Pilots weren't just as friendly as the ones back home. They hardly flirted. If you could call his knowing wink about getting some hide for his engine a flirt. If she hadn't needed the copper he was willing to fork over, she would have punched him right in the head and be damned with the consequence.
Nay, being far from home hurt her heart. What she missed most was Doirinn. Handsome, well handsome for a dwarf with his chiseled cheeks and deep crags of thought and those big huge eyes that always seemed so unimpressed. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since she'd gone to Anvilmar to train under the priests there. They were less likely to be as stringent about the Light over in Anvilmar. A little pagan dwarf could keep her real beliefs under wraps while harnessing the knowledge the Priests of the Light knew.
But whenever she'd hear a sermon that got her very angry and depressed, she'd go out with her bow and shoot down some wolves. Nothing made her feel better than stewed beef and sausages. She kept this pastime from the others as it was unseemly for a priest to go out and kill things with anything but their divine powers. Sometimes, just the thwack of an arrow hitting its target and the zing of the string felt better than the hiss of power tingly through her body.
It was nice to have power come from the weapon in your hands as opposed to yourself being the weapon.
She'd gone to Stormwind laden with two kegs of her mother's best rum. Loeki had asked and she was happy to do it as she bored of the tasks they made her do in Kharanos and the leers from the Siege Engine pilot were enough to make her cut off her hair and go barmey.
While there, she'd met a young lad named Xadius with a sad tale of woe. She'd given him rum and patted his hand, trying to cheer him up a bit. But what do you say to a man who's lost the love of his life? She'd never felt that kind of pain, ever. Not even when her grandparents had died, for they'd lived long full lives and were somewhere better. But what if you did not believe in a better place? How could you console someone who is inconsolable?
Before she'd come across her powers, that horrible day, she didn't have to worry about that kind of thing. She'd planned on raising hatchlings like her ma did, train gryphons, and learn the family recipes. She had liked her future, the way it had been. She'd never needed to console or comfort anyone except those who got too cocky with the gryphons. Their beaks could rip off the heads of any man and you had to respect them. She never needed to council anyone, that was for sissies. Now she was in the role of the counseler, of the listener and needed to learn compassion and how to say the right thing.
It was all so heavy. This weight about her shoulders in the form of a robe. So donning leather and rolling around in snow, stalking boars, that was a nice way to be rid of the frustration.
She'd said what she hoped was the right thing to Xadius. A life with such sorrow had to be lonesome and she felt so much for the scrawny lad. No matter what she said, though, his thoughts were clearly lost and she left him to it.
While she left Xadius to his melancholy, Dolidhe offered drink and conversation to a so-called magician, sitting in the corner of the inn. He seemed bent on hiding his head underneath the cloak, which made Dolidhe suspect that he was probably very ugly underneath. Poor duck. The name was Sanchianados. She would remember it well.
The last thing her brother would ever say was that Dolidhe had a mothering sense, but she chortled her way through a few tut tut lines at him, teasing him.
When the bastard threw his glass at her head.
Stunned, she instantly dove to the floor, her nose knocked on the floor with a loud crack and she felt it break, again. Blood poured from it and it hurt enough, but she'd felt that pain a few times and had just recently learned how to suffuse it into the healing powers the Gods had given her.
She called the man a bastard and he just laughed at her, mimicked her. She'd never been so poorly treated in her entire life.
So with a still bleeding nose, needing a bonesetter to correct, she lifted her kegs out of the tavern never to return. If folk like that were about, she was certainly not going to offer them the best rum on the face of Azeroth.
((Clarification edit. No it wasn't Xadius that threw the glass at me. So don't beat Xadius up Loeki!))