Showing posts with label it must be a dwarf thing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label it must be a dwarf thing. Show all posts

24.11.11

A Thanksgiving Evening at Fannon's

The sun was still peeking over the mountains of Dun Morogh as the day waned, the dying light glistening off the freshly fallen snow surrounding the little home cut into the rock. A warm glow was coming from its frost covered windows, wafts of smoke floated out of the little chimney. The scent of the nearby pine trees mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cooking. Inside, a crackling fire was burning merrily in the hearth, warming the small room, in the center of which stood a table filled with bowls and trays and platters filled with steaming food of all sorts. In the center of the table was a conspicuously empty space.

Around the table were seated an eclectic mix of people. At the head of the table sat a tall, dark-skinned man, powerfully built and dressed in a simple tunic of silver and gold. He was sitting on a cushion on the floor so as to be at the right height for the table. Next to him was seated a ferociously red-haired Dwarf wearing a festive red dress, trimmed with an intricate gold pattern that set off her pale, freckled complexion. She was chuckling at the gnome seated across from her.

The gnome, whose head and shoulders barely rose above the table height, peeked around the large, foaming mug of ale that she had placed in front of him that completely blocked his view and grinned, "Now that is a proper sized drink, Thallie."

"Aye," she smiled, "Tis nearly as large as yer head. But wha ye’d expect from a dwarven draught?"

Thosif gave a hearty laugh and shifted on his cushions to get more comfortable. "I’ve always wondered where you managed to store all the ale that you drink, Krupel," he said as he took a drink from his own glass. "Truly, it is a marvel that such a tiny little creature can put back such a quantity!"

"It's an ancient gnomish secret; very hush-hush," Krupel laughed in his squeaky, yet oddly gruff voice as he wiped the foam from his white moustache.

"Indeed," said Thosif seriously. "And where is that husband of yours, Thallie? He's been sequestered away in that kitchen for hours, it seems. One must wonder if he plans to feed his guests in a timely manner or merely let us waste away!"

Krupel placed his mug on the table with a loud and empty thud. "I don't blame you for being impatient, Thosif," he said cheerfully. "I image that you're sick of eating those severed fish heads and greasy whale milk that you Paladins do. Ick!" The Paladin scowled at the gnome as he continued, "Getting some hearty Dwarven food into your belly will be good for you. But I've gotta agree; Fannon sure is taking his time!"

A string of dwarvish swear-words, uttered by a deep, gruff voice with a thick Dun Morogh accent came from the kitchen doorway, "Magni's beard! A little patience, a'ready! Th' food'll be done when it's done!" 

From the opposite corner of the room a piercing cry interrupted the laughter of the guests. Sitting in a comfortable armchair was a young, fetching woman holding a tiny baby who had just begun to cry. She had a startled look on her face, as if she was unsure what to do.  She stood up, bouncing the baby to try and calm her down, whispering, "It's alright, little dwarfling. Shhhh."

After a moment, the crying subsided. "She likes yeh, Ophelie," Thallie said, "Ye're a natur'l."

"Thanks," Ophelie said, smiling. "She's adorable! And thanks so much for inviting me over to share in the holiday feast." 

"Nae mention it," Thallie winked. "Consider yersel' part o' the family."

Between sips Krupel chuckled, "That means you have to do the dishes, Ophelie. It's not as great a deal as it seems like at first."

"You don't seem to complain too much as long as there's plenty of food and drink, Krupel," said Thosif.

Thallie gave Krupel a playful slap, "Quiet, you. Ophelie, find yersel' a place t' sit 'round the table, the rest o' th' guests should be here any minute. An' Fannon should be done w' th' food soon. I hope, a' least." She gave a skeptical glance towards the kitchen, where a great deal of worrysome noise and the occasional curse could be heard. "I should go check on 'im, make sure he's -"

Just then a knock on the door resounded through the house. Thallie moved to open it, and from outside heard, "Vidyala, my love, I do not think I can fit though this door."

Opening the stout, wooden door revealed a large, blue-skinned Draenei crouching low so that his head would clear the top of the it. "Greetings, my dear Thallie. We are so glad to join you on this auspicious occasion," Vosskah said as he twisted and contorted his huge frame through the diminutive, dwarf-sized opening. His wife, Vidyala, followed him through with considerably more grace. She was nearly as tall, with pale, almost translucent skin, her long brown hair styled smartly around her horns. "That's how it's done, Voss. You just need a little more dexterity," she laughed.

"We warriors are built for power, not dancing, my darling," Vosskah said gently, smiling. "Hear hear! Built for power!" slurred Krupel in the background, who raised his tankard in salute before guzzling it back.

"Welcome an' welcome again t' our home, both o' ye!" Thallie beamed, "Fannon an' mesel' are s'glad t' have ye!" The distinct sound of something breaking came from the kitchen. "Errr, dinner'll be in a trice; Fannon's just finishin' up sae details," she continued, a slight flutter of concern in her voice.

The newcomers found a seat at the table and got comfortable. After a moment, Ophelie began animatedly telling a story of her many travels to exotic lands, while Thallie busied herself getting drinks for the new arrivals as well as Krupel - who was now starting on his third gigantic stein of beer and showed no signs of slowing down.

Suddenly, the door flew open and a man burst in. Clad from head to toe in simple black leather, he quickly shut the door and sprinted for the fireplace and began to warm himself up, shivering. "Winter in the mountains!" he said mockingly. "I'm not sure why on Azeroth we couldn't have met at my place where it's warm!"

The company laughed. Thallie hugged the latest guest, "Good tae see you too, ElBne," she laughed. "Th' weather would nae be s'bad if only you'd dress for it!"

ElBne smiled at Thallie, "Do you know how hard it is to move around stealthily when you're wearing six layers of bear skins?" he asked. "My professionalism wouldn't allow that!"

"I would think the clinking of the wine bottles in your cloak would tend to give you away more than the bulkiness of a winter jacket," joked Vidyala.

ElBne grinned and pulled out two bottles of wine from his cloak pockets, "I come prepared for anything!"

"Welcome, laddie," Thallie said warmly, "Now we're just waitin' for our last guest. ElBne, did ye chance tae spot Corath out there a' all?"

"As it happens, I did. I think it's alright to start without him, though," ElBne said. "When I saw him last he had accidentally attracted the attention of a few of the guards of Ironforge and they were chasing him through the hills towards Gnomeregan. I think it will be a while before he loses them and makes it back here."

Thallie sighed, "It's a pity tha th' guards dunnae know him as we do. I know he's a Tauren an' technically the enemy, but he's such a sweet little cow. I hope he escapes."

"I'm not certain there would be room in here for both of us," said Vosskah. He was sitting on a cushion on the floor next to the table, his head bent at an odd angle to keep it from hitting the wooden beam of the roof.

A long series of alarming sounds suddenly burst forth from the kitchen, accompanied by a loud hooting and more than a little smoke. The dwarfling, whom Ophelie had rocked to sleep and put in a fur-lined basket near the fire, began crying again. Thallie picked her daughter up, sat down on the hearth and began softly singing an old Wildhammer lullaby to calm her down.

Thosif stood up at the table suddenly, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the ceiling, and pulled everyone's attention away from the drama that was happening in the kitchen. "Please friends, find a place to sit around this magnificent table," he said formally. "Whilst our host is, uh, otherwise occupied with the preparations for our repast,  I would take this opportunity to offer a toast.

"I would like to thank you all for coming tonight, on this most excellent holiday," he began solemnly. "Each one of us have, at one point, stood up against the worst evils that Azeroth has to offer and has come out victorious. But not one of us could have achieved these victories without the help and support of the people around us. Friendship is what allows us to endure the unimaginable hardships and succeed when we feel that the Light has abandoned us, for we know that our comrades will stay true and show us the path through the darkness."

He raised his glass, "To you, my friends. To Vidyala and Vosskah, who came from so very far away to see us tonight. To ElBne and, yes, even our "enemy" Corath. And especially to you, Ophelie. All of you, your friendship means so much to me that it is truly impossible to properly describe. I salute you."

The room was silent as each person raised their glass and took a sip. The dwarfling gurgled in her basket.

"Brilliant!" Fannon exclaimed, appearing at the kitchen entrance holding a large, red cooking pot. "Finished a' last!" He was a mess. His elegant white robes - made of a shimmering material and trimmed with black and gold - were covered with stains and several rips. The hem of both sleeves bore the unmistakable scorch marks of being recently set on fire. His white beard - pulled into a thick braid in the front and tied with an ornate silver band - was frizzy and disheveled, with a still-wriggling fish tail protruding out of it. "Tuck in!"

With a flourish, Fannon placed the feast in the middle of the table. The room was suddenly quiet for a long, awkward moment. The guests glanced at each other nervously.

Krupel broke the silence, "Umm, isn't that lobster supposed to be dead?"



This post is part of the Blog Azeroth Thanksgiving Event hosted by Amerence, in which we are to give thanks to those bloggers who have inspired us in some way this year. I chose to thank those people whom have come out of the digital ether to become real life friends. I salute you all:

Vidyala from Manalicious
Vosskah from Sword & Board
Corath from Corath's Blog
ElBne (No blog, but we're working on him. Follow him on twitter in the meantime)
And the lovely Ophelie from Bossy Pally and the Giant Spoon


Have a Happy Thanksgiving, despite the fact that it's a month and a half late.


19.6.11

Day Two: From the Military District


Dearest Thallie,

I left Kharanos yesterday an' I just past through the gates into the grand auld city of Ironforge. Th' blast a' heat an' smell o' brunstane from the forges an' furnaces in the centre o' th' city hit me as soon as I walked in and brought a cheer t'me heart. Dwarves arn'a meant tae live above ground.

I'm sittin' in Tinkertown waitin' fe th' Tram - infernal Gnomish contraption tha' it is - ta take me tae Stormwind. Me ol' friend Theodrus tol' me that there's a portal there that'll tak me straight tae th' top o' Mount Hyjal, an' anythin' that'll save mesel' two weeks on a boat is a fine thing, tae my thinkin'. Ye know just how much I like the water! Gie me dry land any time!


I stopped by tae pay me respects to Sara when I passed through the Military District on me way to the Tram (which is runnin' late, by the by). She still seems weighed down w' pine an' greivin' about Sully's death, but a right sight better than when I delivered his letter tae the poor lass. She whipped me up one o' her delectable meat pies and I showed her the drawing of our dear dwarfling that I made a'fore I left. I tol' her that ye'd ha' come tae visit yersel', but that ye're stuck at home takin' care o' the little one.

She mentioned summat interestin' tha I thought ye might want to know: The way Sara tells it is tha' by the time the first new snows fall on Loch Modan, Ol' gaffer Ironboots is set to be movin' tae be with his sons out Thelsamar way. I know that you're of Wildhammer stock 'n all, an' love livin' on the mountain, close to nature and the elements, but I've always dreamed o' movin' to the bright lights o' Ironforge. To have me own place near the great forge (nae tae mention how close we'd be ta Bruuk's place an' his world famous Cherry Grog!) an' tae be able to visit the depths of ol' Ironforge whenever it struck me fancy; well, lass, it would be a great thing.

The Tram's arrived. Magni's beard, I wish there was a way t'strap meself to th' seat.

Fannon,
Ironforge.



This post is part of Through Your Interface. A screenshot oriented blogging challenge put forth by Saz of World of SazAs I never like to do things the easy way or the same way as everyone else, I am putting a unique spin on my screenshots: They will take the form of sketches and be accompanied by letters - written in character - from my Dwarf priest Fannon to his wife Thallie, and will tell the story of his personal journey through the dangers of Azeroth.

In our second installment, Fannon writes about the place where he dreams of living.
  
  

14.6.11

Day One: Thunderbrew Distillery



My Dearest Thallie,

I write this letter having just left yeh and our dwarfling behind to yet again head off to war.

I'm sittin' in front o' the roarin' fire at the Thunderbrew Distillery an' I canna help but think back to when we first met here. Aye, lass, ye were such a pretty thing - an' too full a' spirit fer me ta take me eye off of!

I've always found it hard to tell ye the things that're on me mind. At th' end o' the day I just want to sit next to the fire, my feet up and surrounded by a cloud o' pipe smoke an' remain lost in me own thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if tha's bein' unfair to ye.

I dunna know when I'm goin' te be back ta see yeh or our daughter again, but I'll try to scribble a few words to yeh as oft'n as I can spare, an' I'll send ye a drawin' with each letter to show ye where I am an' that I'm thinkin' of ye.

I'm certain that I'll find myself in many-a different inn or tavern throughout m' travels, but the snap o' burnin' logs an' the smell a' roastin' meat will always bring me mind back to thoughts a' hearth an' home. From wha' I can gather from the tales being told 'round the fire, the slopes o' Hyjal are beautiful an' deadly, but the snow covered mountains o' Dun Morogh are where me heart lies, an' already I long for the day when we can once more sit together at the Thunderbrew an' share the simple pleasures of a foamy mug o' malt.

Fannon,
Dun Morogh.



This post marks the beginning of Through Your Interface. A screenshot oriented blogging challenge put forth by Saz of World of Saz. As I never like to do things the easy way or the same way as everyone else, I am putting a unique spin on my screenshots: They will take the form of sketches and be accompanied by letters - written in character - from my Dwarf priest Fannon to his wife Thallie, and will tell the story of his personal journey through the dangers of Azeroth.


In our first installment, Fannon writes from his favourite place to spend time, which is - not surprisingly - associated with alcohol.


  
  

26.4.11

Day Seventeen: Favourite Place in the World (of Warcraft)

This post is part of a series "20 Days of... WoW Blogging Challenge", a blogging challenge suggested by Saga at Spellbound. She proposes twenty questions to be answered in twenty days. Originally I had hoped to do one post per day, now I just hope I get them all done in the same month.


DAY SEVENTEEN: FAVOURITE PLACE IN THE WORLD (OF WARCRAFT)
"I think having land and not ruining it is the most beautiful art that anybody could ever want to own." - Andy Warhol
When I first stepped foot into Azeroth as a new Dwarf, I found myself in wide-eyed awe at the world that I found myself in, and wandered the snowy wastes of Dun Morogh for hours soaking in all the details. I was amazed at how large the world felt, and how it had a definite sense of place, as if it actually existed in reality. Since then I have become quite attached to the little virtual world we inhabit, even as it grows smaller from familiarity.

Before the great Shattering it would have been very easy for me to tell you where my favourite places in the game world were. They were the places that felt unaffected by all the chaos in the world; little pockets of normalcy in a world gone completely bonkers. They were the places where you could see a little snippet of normal life in Azeroth - where the biggest problems that the people have are other people's prize-winning pigs, finishing the construction of a bridge, or the gigantic yeti living in the hills above your house and eating your livestock. You know, everyday-type stuff.

Dun Morogh, Loch Modan, Southshore in Hillsbrad and Redridge Mountains were some of my favourite spots because of this.

Loch Modan in particular felt like a vacation spot: beautiful scenery, a big lake with lovely water-skiing potential, and not much to worry about other than the odd trogg or ogre who kept to themselves for the most part. I always thought of it as the place that my character would retire to when he was done adventuring. The most alarming thing (aside from the smell of the ogres) about Loch Modan were the five or six Dark Iron dwarves trying to blow up the dam. But I always got the feeling that they weren't all that serious about it, and that they were just doing a half-assed job to keep their supervisor off their backs while they chilled by the lake and smoked the Dark Iron equivalent of a doobie.

For Sale: Vacation home with scenic view of mud, murlocs and giant, rotting fish carcasses.
Dirt cheap or best offer.
And then Deathwing came and blew it up for them. Goodbye serene, beautiful lake, hello slimy mud pit.

Aside from the occasional attack by ninjasunstoppable undead killing machines, or an army of frothing-at-the-mouth Horde players bent on massacring every Alliance lowbie in the area, Southshore always felt very peaceful; a piece of untainted Lordaeron that escaped the ravages of the plague and remained a reminder of that once great kingdom. It was so peaceful that in order for the quest givers there to have anything for the players to do, they had to send them to an entirely different zone.

Mourn for Southshore. Plague slime stains are impossible to get out of your tattered, zombie rags.
That is, until the Forsaken needed a new toxic waste dump. I mourn for the people of Southshore. People like Bartolo Ginsetti and his weird fascination with ravaging the local Yeti population to make sure that everybody was dressed as badly as he was.

On the other hand, as favourite places go, I also enjoy the forlorn, tragic lands of Lordaeron that were devastated by the Scourge. The Plaguelands had an emotional hold on my heart-strings since the day that I first read about them; the stories that were told there were extremely touching. Mournful tales of loss, heroism, betrayal and death were everywhere. Places like Andorhal - destroyed by it's own food supply, Caer Darrow betrayed, corrupted and ultimately destroyed by the very people charged with protecting it, and Darrowshire and the battle that condemned its defenders and its daughters to a mournful unlife. Sad, wonderful tales that tell of the suffering of the people of that dead land.

What the hell? Where are my zombies? I come to the Plaguelands for
hordes of ravenous zombies, not corn!
Of course, with the death of Arthas and the fall of the Scourge, the cleansing of these zones is well underway. There is still a lot of wonderful stories here, but the Plaguelands have lost the tragic air that made them so compelling. There is something deeply unsatisfying in cleansing a farmer's field of angry mutant pumpkins when compared to a horde of mindless, pitchfork-wielding zombies.

Duskwood is another great, atmospheric zone that ranks high in my list of favourite places. I have always loved the undead as a villain, and Duskwood was packed to the gills with them. Before Blizzard reworked the zone you would spend hours upon hours in the Raven Hill Cemetery surrounded by ghouls and skeletons of all sorts. Duskwood had terrors aplenty for the level-appropriate soul: Stitches periodically wandered the road, ruthlessly slaughtering anyone not paying attention; Mor'Ladim wandered the cemetery and would dispense his elite, undead fury on anyone who got within his incredibly large aggro radius; and the rare spawn Commander Felstrom who annoyingly resurrected himself just when you thought that he was dead.

But at least there's always Raven Hill Cemetery. Fewer ghouls than before,
but always good value for your undead hunting pleasure.
With the rejiggering of the questing experience, however, the zone has lost a lot of its dark charm. While the Embalmer storyline still exists, it ends in an phased battle against Stitches in the burning town of Darkshire, removing the ever-present danger of randomly meeting an elite abomination ten levels above you. The sheer number of undead haunting the graveyard, and the time spent questing there has been drastically cut. It's still one of my favourite places, and the stories being told are still great and the flow of questing is smooth and flawless, but the atmosphere that they create is not as captivating as it once was.

In the end, with everything taken into consideration, the place that holds the most emotional attachment to me is Dun Morogh. The snow-covered peaks of the Dwarven starting area are gorgeous, quaint, homey and have a majesty to them is only rivaled by the much more greatly detailed Howling Fjord. I'm sure that my fondness for this zone has to do with it being the first zone I set eyes on, and walking its roads evokes the memories of those first innocent days of playing the game.

The great Dwarven city of Ironforge.
I always imagined that my dwarf priest Fannon lives there in a little home tucked away high on the shoulders of the mountain that Ironforge is carved into. In the only piece of Warcraft fiction I've ever done, I wrote a little bit about that in a post from last month.

It's odd which zones will capture your imagination. In thinking about this article I'm trying to come up with the specific things about Dun Morogh and Ironforge that appeal to me so much to make them my favourite zone in the game, and I can't really think of anything. I can't point to specific quests that are charming, although I always found Brewnal Village fascinating: a whole town that is so drunk on Barleybrew that they can't even be bothered to construct any buildings, but are content to live in tents as long as there is beer to be had.

The feel of this zone is, to me at least, undefinable. It's home, and that's what matters.


Yesterday, DAY SIXTEEN: WHAT I MISS POST-CATACLYSM
Tomorrow, DAY EIGHTEEN: MY FAVOURITE OUTFIT?