Sign in to follow this  
Raegnar

Old Allies Rejoined. Old Enemies Revisited. ((Open))

Recommended Posts

Raegnar brought the tankard of warm, frothy, dwarven stout to his lips, pouring more than a mouthful down his gullet, and finishing off with a loud gulp. He enjoyed caving to his more primitive dwarven desires, and having himself a mug...or two...or three, of strong dwarven stout. He set it down on the pub counter, and he stroked his beard with his other hand. He was so proud that the missing patch of his snow white beard had grown back. He felt incomplete when his glorious beard was not as magnificent and full as it deserved to be. His eyes slowly scanned across the tavern room of "The Golden Keg". He loved the Keg; it was usually much more quiet and relaxing than the other taverns in Stormwind. And then there was the smell... Oh, how he loved the smell. The combination of soot and smoke, with smelted steel from outside and the brew of dwarven ale and stouts of the tavern made his nostrils flare with satisfaction. It reminded him of Ironforge. The smell was also normally enough to keep most of the humans, and other denizens from The Golden Keg. His eyes continued to pan around the room. The Keg had become a lot more crowded recently. "Probably the distraught an' homeless lookin' to drink aweh theih sorrows..." He said to himself in thought, referring to the damages and troubles that the Shattering had caused the people of Stormwind, Elwynn Forest, and other neighboring regions of Stormwind. He could also tell there were more significant and foreboding figures present today.

There had been a lot of things changing recently. Of course, everyone now knew of Deathwing's destruction. Raegnar had even seen him with his own blue eyes. But the stories and rumors he heard from the people of Stormwind. The carnage he brought upon the large city was almost indescribable; until he explored the town and saw for himself. He had also heard from sailors, and travelers from Theramore of how Kalimdor was hit just as bad by Deathwing, earthquakes, and eruptions . The whole of Azeroth changed by the destructive reign of terror Deathwing had wreaked upon all.

And then there was Gilneas. Raegnar remembered them from The Second War; his hands had even mended a few of their soldiers' wounds. He was never really fond of the Gilneans. He always thought of them as arrogant and obnoxious; an annoying bunch to try to talk to. He recognized and respected their war efforts, of course. That war would've ended negatively for Men & Dwarves if it weren't in part for the resources and strength that the Gilneans wielded in their hands. For that, he was grateful, and willing to set aside his displeasure with their pompous attitudes.

The Gilneans had changed though. Well, to an extent, Raegnar thought to himself, as he brought his tankard back to his lips, finishing off the rest of what remained. Another loud gulp acknowledging his victory over the thick stout. The Gilneans had been quiet for years until recently. They came back seeking assistance, and rejoined the alliance, albeit a shell of their former self. They had been cursed, or so they claimed. Transformed into hideous beasts. Raegnar had used to look down upon the Worgen as a cursed race, devoid of light. But his eyes had opened some to the Gilnean Worgens. He felt pity for them. Though he distrusted them as worgens, he wanted to help them. He wanted to help free them from the curse.

Raegnar glanced over to his warhammer that rested beside him, supported against the pub counter; he knew crime and thievery had picked up because of the recent hardships. He was still dressed in his armor, having had little time to change into something more comfortable. His golden armor was slightly stained with dirt, and blood from the recent battles he had taken part in. He only had a small deal of time to relax, as he would soon be departing to the other continent; for the first time, ever, in fact. Some locals, and the heroes' board, had rumored of troubles in Hyjal, and Raegnar was eager to go and investigate.

He looked over to the barmaid, Myrle Stoneround, and raised his empty mug. Myrle noticed, and smiled to him in a way that only the dwarven women could. "Ahem, fill meh up, Myrle, lass, aye?" He exclaimed, wanting one more round before he packed his things...

((Feel free to express your thoughts, and plans of the recent changes in the world; be it the Shattering, Deathwing, Gilneas, etc, etc, and interact with the friendlies of The Golden Keg!!))

Edited by Raegnar

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Barely moving Micael sat, too tired for any real movement other than drinking. He had chosen "The Golden Keg" as a place to stay for now, mostly because it was close to both the keep and the Deeprun Tram, but also for the fact it was quite and more tucked away. All this was nice, but it wasn't home. Home was under several feet of water. Why had he even chosen the Park to live? The location wasn't that tactically sound in hindsight. Raising a weary hand, he noticed how the dust still clung to the scabs, badges of a rescue worker. On the left of him were two Gilnean's. Refuges from the north. He had no qualms with them, for they did nothing to take away from what Deathwing brought. He shook the raised hand three times, signaling to the barmaid he needed another beer. Things were getting worse.

Micael's mind then drifted to the recent intelligence he had gotten. Goblins had joined the Horde, well, who didn't see that one coming? The fact was that it was just a matter of time before they did. And now soon, Booty Bay and all the other Steamwheedle Ports would fall under the Horde's control. He inhaled the smokey bars air slowly, savoring the sent of a home. He knew guard's would be pulling bodies out of Stormwind's waterways for months. It was inevitable. He also knew that the death toll would probably rise over 100,000 for the entire Alliance. All this he knew, but didn't want to think about. Micael turned his attention back to the refugees, wondering what it was like to go into another body. He didn't vocalize this, but quickly downed his beer and called out in a slow, calm voice: "Barmaid- another beer please."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

A constant scratching and rattling of metal disturbed some of the quiet in the tavern. The Dwarf causing the noise muttered under his breath, “Eh, this new arma is too itcheh.” He scratched at the armor he gained during the Wildhammer Clan’s most recent pledge to the Alliance. Tarstad hasn’t been able to grow use to it yet. Constant scratching and irritation has plagued him for days. Only knowing of life in the wilderness constantly makes him miss his old armor daily. And the trees. And the grass. The beer was a nice change. Brewed by the great Ironforge Dwarves and carried by tram making it fresh.

What was he doing in this city anyway? He supposed Elwynn Forest would be a suitable place to rest. Maybe it was his craving for beer that only the Dwarf brewers could fill lately. He scanned the tavern and its inhabitants. A few humans from Gilnaes stood in the corner, a man with bandages downing beers rather quickly for human in Tarstand’s opinion, and a few Dwarves here and there. It was all new to him. All of his life was spent in northern Eastern Kingdoms in the Hinterlands, Arathi, Alterac and occasionally a stint into the plaguelands.

“Oi! Bar Lass, anotha beer so I can get outta ‘ere!” Tarstad stomped to the bar for his new pint.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Micael glanced at the itchy dwarf stomping towards him. He let his eyes linger, taking into account for the first time how odd dwarves must look to those who had never seen them. He noted the armor wasn't like the armor most dwarves wore, devoid of the usual slight rust and overlooked blood drops, badges of honor and courage from battles that had often happened way before Micael was born. Past the dwarf were more Gilneans. He could tell they were Gilneans by their clothing. Maybe 20+ years of isolation had caused their strange dress...

His eyes turned back to the dwarf that had stomped over, staring semi-subconciously. He wondered, why the small creature had accepted new armor if it was itchy? It wasn't his concern though. Turning back to the flagon of mead set down before him he lifted the tankard to his lips and took a long sip, followed by a large gulp. He felt the foam sticking to the stubble on his face, leaving an odd feeling. I need a shave... but my razor was in my apartment...

Maybe it was the fact that alcohol had considerably made him less gloomy about his situation, or maybe it was the fact he was trying to make up for staring at the dwarves in the bar. Or maybe it was just the fact that he felt bad that this dwarf was itchy. but he pulled out his coin purse and looked at the barmaid. "Ma'am, I only have gold and I don't feel like carrying the change around, I'll pay for this ones beer too." He said, pointing at the itchy dwarf. He then finished his mead in two large gulps. "On second thought, make that two."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Tarstad's grin was wider than his face. "Free beer? I ain't gonna say no." A slight odor crept along with him that turned the heads of the few he walked by. A couple of the Gilnaens, with their wolf alter-ego strong sense of smell, left the Keg in a quick and pompous way. The dwarf mounted the bar stool oblivious to what was happening. He then waited patiently for the pint to be placed in front of him by the barmaid, trying not to be rude in hopes of more free beer.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The sound of clinking mail caught Raegnar's attention. Instinctively, he turned slightly on his stool, noticing a dwarf itching irritably at the chain mail against his belly. Raegnar quickly let out a muffled chuckle, recognizing the dwarf as one of the wildhammer. It was his tall, slim appearance, and obvious disdain for polished mail armor that gave that fact away. He turned back around and sat in mild amusement, raising his full tankard to his thick lips.

Raegnar was thinking peacefully as he enjoyed his rare tankard of dwarven ale, when his thoughts were interrupted by a soft calm voice from a few bar stools over...

"Ma'am, I only have gold and I don't feel like carrying the change around, I'll pay for this ones beer too." Followed by a brief pause. ""On second thought, make that two."

Raegnar turned his head some to the man who had spoken. He had noticed this man earlier when he had walked in. It was hard not to notice him. The man was tattered and his apparel dusty. Raegnar had even taken notice to a few noticeable scars and bandages. Raegnar wondered to himself how the man got them. They were certainly fresh looking, scars not too old whatsoever.

Raegnar's nostrils then suddenly began to twitch and flare. The smell quickly began to conflict and overpower the relaxing smell of the soot from outside and the brewing ale from in the tavern. Raegnar's stomach knotted, and his sinuses began to pulse. Raegnar's face squinted as he looked around for the cause. He saw the Wildhammer Dwarf approaching with a wide goofy smile spread way too far across his face and found the reason for the invasive stench.

"By the Light, lad! What be with that foul stench? I'm 'fraid ta even ask where ye bin!" Raegnar exclaimed, as he brought his tankard and held it beneath his nose, trying to shield his nose from the dirty dwarven smell. It was too late, that smell had been ingrained deep within his naval cavity...

Edited by Raegnar

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Micael's nose instantly wrinkled at the smell. As a farm boy he had smelled all kinds of disgusting smells that came from animals, but this was just a weird one. He followed in the dwarf's example by attempting to smell the brew in the tankard, needless to say, it didn't work.

"By the Light, lad! What be with that foul stench? I'm 'fraid ta even ask where ye bin!"

Micael nodded in agreement so hard and fast it looked like he was on a spring. He had always had keen senses. "It smells like you got into a fight with a pile of Kodo dung and lost." Micael said, trying his hardest not to laugh at the image of a dwarf knee deep in Kodo crap. He gripped hard to his beer, his one life line to the world that wasn't consumed with the stench of... whatever it was. Overwhelmed by thirst, Micael downed the beer and had a new one in front of him in a heartbeat.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

"By the Light, lad! What be with that foul stench? I'm 'fraid ta even ask where ye bin!"

"It smells like you got into a fight with a pile of Kodo dung and lost."

The smell was many things. Only an experienced outdoors man could figure out every smell. It ranged from smoking tobacco to self-brewed ale to a hint of rose pedals and other positive smells. But these were not the part most smelt. The smell of body odor, methane and downright stank overpowered any hint of socially acceptable smells and unfortunately turned heads every time.

Tarstad’s couldn’t hold in the hearty laugh at the funny faces the beer sniffing crew made. “What grreat faces ye‘re makin.” He then changed to a bewildered look after realizing the cause of them. He took a few strong intakes of air through his nose trying to investigate the smell. “What? I don’t smell nothin’.”

With a shrug of his shoulders at the crowd, he pulled out a smoking pipe and lit the leaf inside. Taking a few puffs, he picked up the ale in front of him to relax.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

Sign in to follow this