Post by Calran on Jul 17, 2006 19:27:11 GMT -5
The sun glinted off the powdery whiteness of the morning snowfall in the small, bustling town of Kharanos. Calran looked at the simple beauty of it all through a frosty window in the Thunderbrew Distillery, a ghostly reflection of his weatherworn face and sparkling green eyes looking back at him. He had nothing pressing to attend to this morning and had settled in, preparing to write his letter to the Defenders of Valor. He smoothed the fiery auburn hair of his braided beard and remembered the tales he had overheard on his many trips to Ironforge.
It had been said that the Defenders of Valor were a just and kindhearted group of individuals brought together and made strong by the trials of life in this savage, unyeilding world. After setting out on his own Calran found that he longed for fellowship and a sort of surrogate family that could only be provided by a guild.
The burly dwarf was knocked out of his reveire by the kind waitress who had brought him his breakfast. He thanked her and flashed a crooked grin before taking a sip of his mead and ripping off a piece of fresh sweetbread. He munched on the bread and began to dig through his unorganized pack for his quill, inkpot, and parchment. After rummaging through various ammunition, bandages, and roughly wrapped food Calran finally pulled out a slightly crumpled roll of parchment, a well-plugged inkpot, and a bent feather quill. He smoothed out the parchment as best he could and tugged at the cork of his inkpot. The seal was quite stubborn, Calran wrapped his work-callused hands around the small pot and wrenched at it. Suddenly, the cork came free with a pop. Calran's elbow glanced off his mug of mead and it wobbled dangerously, some of its steaming amber contents spilling onto the parchment. He let out a yelp and steadied the mug, trying to wipe away the spilled mead with the tail of his cloak.
"Well, that doesn't look too bad," muttered the dwarf to himself as he touched the tip of the quill to his tongue and dipped it in the inkwell. He took another gulp of mead and began to write on the crinkled and mead-stained parchment. After about half an hour of scribbling, misspellings, and muttered curses Calran had finished his letter and looked it over. It read:
To Who It Concerns,
Hullo, I've heard quite a bit about your guild, all o' its been good, an' was wonderin' if you'd consider acceptin' me as a new member. I'm not nearly as young as those bright-eyed youths leavin' their mommies an' daddies in search o' their place in the world, but I certainly have the will to match 'em all. I'm sure it's not as simple as writin' a simple letter and I 'ave quite a bit o' time if you'd like to schedule a meeting of some sort.
Now that thats all out o' the way I'll talk a bit about meself. My name's Calran n' I was born in a small farmstead just a bit away from Refuge Point in Arathi Highlands. My father was partners with a pair o' human farmers and together they started up quite a profitable business. He took care o' most of the buildings and served as the farm's main blacksmith while his partners took care of growing the crops and selling them at market. Soon, as more workers were hired and they brought along their families the farm expanded and turned into quite a lil' town. We lived a prosperous life and were quite content. My father taught me the basic ways o' the forge an' anvil, but I was always drawn to the animals and wilderness. I didn't mind the forge of course, but I was always awful clumsy; as you can see by the mead stains on this parchment, sorry 'bout that by the way. My parents didn't mind that I began working with the livestock instead o' poundin' away at the anvil, but I still think that I let my father down somehow.
As I grew toward adulthood I learned a fair bit about how to care for the creatures of this fair land we live on as well as the wilds themselves. There was an ancient Night Elf that cultivated our crops, I recall that I spent many an afternoon sittin' under the big sunfruit tree learnin' all manner o' lore an' secrets from the strange fellow. For years after that I continued workin' with the critters an' takin' care o' the crops with that old Night Elf. My family an' I remained close an' I began shootin' all manner of targets near the woods with me father. It felt great to be really accepted by him and we stayed out until well after dark praticing with a pair o' old rifles, drinkin' mead, an' talkin'.
By this time I was a full-fledged adult an' my father was getting old even for a dwarf. He began makin' plans for after he was gone an' chose me to take over his duties at the farm. I was awful surprised by his faith in me, but I gladly accepted. It was one o' the proudest moments in me life. That time never came. One rainy night not soon after we had sold our biggest harvest ever, a roving band of mindless scourge ransacked out homes and farmland. I had heard tales o' necropolises popping up in some lands, but I never figured they'd range so far. The ravenous undead razed our land and we fled through the night, not worrying about our homes or posessions. It was one o' the most terrifying things I'd ever seen. Many were brought down by horrorible things with all manner of claws an' fangs, but few of us managed to make it behind the thick walls of Refuge Point. The local guardsmen were caught without warning an' had no time to protect us. Eventually the fine warriors of the city repelled the raiders, but our homes were destroyed and our lands were tainted by their foul magics.
Among those lost were that strange, old Night Elf and my father. I try not to think about it too much, but I can remember one thing clearly. I felt so helpless, I could do nothing to fight against those foul creatures. So I set out to do something about it. I travelled to Dun Morogh. I became a huntsman, using my affinity with nature and skill with a rifle to my advantage. I am still quite unexperienced, but I will become strong. I will be strong so the next time some beastie out of the night comes to take what I treasure I'll be able to face the thrice-damnned thing with courage and tried my damnnedest, not worryin' about the outcome.
I hope this finds you in good health an' good spirits.
It had been said that the Defenders of Valor were a just and kindhearted group of individuals brought together and made strong by the trials of life in this savage, unyeilding world. After setting out on his own Calran found that he longed for fellowship and a sort of surrogate family that could only be provided by a guild.
The burly dwarf was knocked out of his reveire by the kind waitress who had brought him his breakfast. He thanked her and flashed a crooked grin before taking a sip of his mead and ripping off a piece of fresh sweetbread. He munched on the bread and began to dig through his unorganized pack for his quill, inkpot, and parchment. After rummaging through various ammunition, bandages, and roughly wrapped food Calran finally pulled out a slightly crumpled roll of parchment, a well-plugged inkpot, and a bent feather quill. He smoothed out the parchment as best he could and tugged at the cork of his inkpot. The seal was quite stubborn, Calran wrapped his work-callused hands around the small pot and wrenched at it. Suddenly, the cork came free with a pop. Calran's elbow glanced off his mug of mead and it wobbled dangerously, some of its steaming amber contents spilling onto the parchment. He let out a yelp and steadied the mug, trying to wipe away the spilled mead with the tail of his cloak.
"Well, that doesn't look too bad," muttered the dwarf to himself as he touched the tip of the quill to his tongue and dipped it in the inkwell. He took another gulp of mead and began to write on the crinkled and mead-stained parchment. After about half an hour of scribbling, misspellings, and muttered curses Calran had finished his letter and looked it over. It read:
To Who It Concerns,
Hullo, I've heard quite a bit about your guild, all o' its been good, an' was wonderin' if you'd consider acceptin' me as a new member. I'm not nearly as young as those bright-eyed youths leavin' their mommies an' daddies in search o' their place in the world, but I certainly have the will to match 'em all. I'm sure it's not as simple as writin' a simple letter and I 'ave quite a bit o' time if you'd like to schedule a meeting of some sort.
Now that thats all out o' the way I'll talk a bit about meself. My name's Calran n' I was born in a small farmstead just a bit away from Refuge Point in Arathi Highlands. My father was partners with a pair o' human farmers and together they started up quite a profitable business. He took care o' most of the buildings and served as the farm's main blacksmith while his partners took care of growing the crops and selling them at market. Soon, as more workers were hired and they brought along their families the farm expanded and turned into quite a lil' town. We lived a prosperous life and were quite content. My father taught me the basic ways o' the forge an' anvil, but I was always drawn to the animals and wilderness. I didn't mind the forge of course, but I was always awful clumsy; as you can see by the mead stains on this parchment, sorry 'bout that by the way. My parents didn't mind that I began working with the livestock instead o' poundin' away at the anvil, but I still think that I let my father down somehow.
As I grew toward adulthood I learned a fair bit about how to care for the creatures of this fair land we live on as well as the wilds themselves. There was an ancient Night Elf that cultivated our crops, I recall that I spent many an afternoon sittin' under the big sunfruit tree learnin' all manner o' lore an' secrets from the strange fellow. For years after that I continued workin' with the critters an' takin' care o' the crops with that old Night Elf. My family an' I remained close an' I began shootin' all manner of targets near the woods with me father. It felt great to be really accepted by him and we stayed out until well after dark praticing with a pair o' old rifles, drinkin' mead, an' talkin'.
By this time I was a full-fledged adult an' my father was getting old even for a dwarf. He began makin' plans for after he was gone an' chose me to take over his duties at the farm. I was awful surprised by his faith in me, but I gladly accepted. It was one o' the proudest moments in me life. That time never came. One rainy night not soon after we had sold our biggest harvest ever, a roving band of mindless scourge ransacked out homes and farmland. I had heard tales o' necropolises popping up in some lands, but I never figured they'd range so far. The ravenous undead razed our land and we fled through the night, not worrying about our homes or posessions. It was one o' the most terrifying things I'd ever seen. Many were brought down by horrorible things with all manner of claws an' fangs, but few of us managed to make it behind the thick walls of Refuge Point. The local guardsmen were caught without warning an' had no time to protect us. Eventually the fine warriors of the city repelled the raiders, but our homes were destroyed and our lands were tainted by their foul magics.
Among those lost were that strange, old Night Elf and my father. I try not to think about it too much, but I can remember one thing clearly. I felt so helpless, I could do nothing to fight against those foul creatures. So I set out to do something about it. I travelled to Dun Morogh. I became a huntsman, using my affinity with nature and skill with a rifle to my advantage. I am still quite unexperienced, but I will become strong. I will be strong so the next time some beastie out of the night comes to take what I treasure I'll be able to face the thrice-damnned thing with courage and tried my damnnedest, not worryin' about the outcome.
I hope this finds you in good health an' good spirits.
Calran Anvilsplitter
