(Hello everybody. This started as an idea I had for one of the old-style community RP threads, but based on the “To Khaz Algar” and “Breach” quests in the opening questline of TWW. This thread belongs to everybody; I’m just the first post. Tell your own story, continue where someone left off, take it in whatever direction you want to. I just hope to see more people roleplaying on here.)
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Amidst the symphony of metalwork, Darbakh, brushed past the trainers and apprentices in ‘Tanks for Everything,’ Dalaran’s most well-known smithy. His soot-streaked visage spoke of a long journey to reach the floating city, but his ember-like eyes gleamed with a discerning sharpness. Clutched securely in his calloused hands was a sturdy, iron-bound container emanating a faint, otherworldly heat.
Imindril Spearsong, one of the blacksmithing trainers, looked up from her workstation and fixated on the iron container. Wiping her hands on a soot-smudged cloth, she offered a graceful nod.
“I hope you brought us something good,” she said.
The dwarf grunted in acknowledgment, his reply succinct. “Yep.” With practiced ease, he set the container down between them, the metallic clang resonating through the space.
Imindril’s fingers brushed over the container’s surface, assessing its weight and warmth before meeting his gaze once more. “The quality seems excellent, as expected. Our work will shine because of this.”
Darbakh’s lips twitched into what might have been the ghost of a smile. “Always does,” he rumbled before holding his hand out expectantly.
Imindril reached beneath the counter and produced a small, well-worn sack, the unmistakable clink of coins resonating as she handed it to Darbakh. The dwarf took it with a grunt, his thick fingers quickly loosening the drawstring to reveal the glittering contents. He carefully tipped the coins onto the counter, his eyes narrowing with a practiced intensity as he began to count, each coin slipping through his fingers with a metallic chime. He worked with methodical precision, pausing occasionally to bite down on a coin, testing its authenticity with the same unwavering scrutiny he applied to the flux he supplied.
As Darbakh counted, Imindril wandered toward the smithy’s entrance, her curiosity piqued by a distant commotion. The door creaked open, and she stepped outside, her eyes widening as she looked skyward. Her breath caught in her throat, and she rushed back inside, her voice trembling with urgency. “Darbakh, the city—it’s under attack!” Her words hung in the air, the gravity of the situation starkly contrasted by the measured clinks of coins sliding across the counter.
The dwarf barely glanced up, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Heard that one before,” he muttered, more to the coins than to her. His focus remained on the sack as he carefully recounted the total, his movements steady and unhurried, as though the world outside had little bearing on the task at hand.
Imindril’s frustration grew, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke again, her hands clutching the doorframe. “I’m serious, Darbakh! There are giant spiders falling from the sky!”
Darbakh finally looked up, his expression unchanged, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest. “Let the guards earn their pay,” he rumbled, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand.
Imindril’s worry deepened with each passing moment, her usually calm composure cracking under the weight of the escalating chaos outside. She turned back to Darbakh, her voice rising with a mix of fear and frustration. “Everything is on fire!” she shouted, her words cutting through the rhythmic clink of coins.
The dwarf finally paused, his hand hovering over the last coin as he turned slowly toward the door. The sight that greeted him was far worse than he had expected. Outside, Dalaran was in turmoil—residents were fleeing in every direction, their screams piercing the air as they scrambled to escape the onslaught. Towering nerubians, their chitinous bodies glistening with malevolence, chased after them, their spindly legs moving with terrifying speed as they cut through the fleeing crowd.
Darbakh sighed heavily, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. He mumbled under his breath, almost to himself: “Helped fight the Legion last time Dalaran was invaded. Thought I’d seen it all.”
Imindril’s eyes flashed with a mix of fear and anger, her voice trembling as she tried to pierce through his stoic demeanor. “That was ten years ago, Darbakh! This isn’t the Legion—it’s happening now, right in front of you!” She took a step closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Your coins won’t matter if the city’s destroyed. You need to do something!”
The desperation in her voice lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the cold reality that lay beyond the smithy’s walls. Darbakh finally tore his gaze from the chaos and looked at Imindril, his usual indifference giving way to a grudging acknowledgment of the danger. His gaze darted between the pandemonium outside and the gleaming pile of gold in his hand, a flicker of indecision crossing his usually stoic features. The clamor of the city’s destruction mingled with the faint jingling of the coins, a cruel reminder of the choices laid before everyone present.
Seeing his hesitation, Imindril’s frustration boiled over. With a determined glare, she shoved at Darbakh’s broad back, trying to push him toward the door. He barely budged. Gritting her teeth, she leaned her entire weight against him, her feet sliding across the floor as she struggled in vain to move the unyielding dwarf. “You’re the adventurer, Darbakh!” she gasped, her voice strained from the effort. “Get out there and help!”
Darbakh glanced back at her, unperturbed by her desperate attempts to dislodge him. “I’m retired,” he said flatly, as if that settled the matter. His eyes narrowed slightly as he added, “And my wife expects me to bring some Dalaran sharp when I go home.”
Imindril finally gave up, panting slightly as she stopped pushing. Wiping a strand of hair from her face, she walked around him, stepping toward the door. She pointed outside, where the chaos was intensifying with each passing moment. The fire from the nearby buildings cast a hellish glow over the fleeing citizens, and the screeching of the nerubians filled the air with an eerie cacophony.
“All that cheese will melt if the city’s destroyed!” Imindril exclaimed, her tone mixing exasperation with urgency. “So you’d better get out there and help before there’s nothing left to bring home!”
Darbakh stared at her, the absurdity of her argument hitting him like a cold splash of water. For a moment, he simply stood there, sack of coins still in hand, the gravity of the situation finally settling in. The decision was no longer just about money—it was about preserving the very things he held dear, even if they were as simple as a wheel of cheese.
Darbakh let out a long, weary sigh, the sound almost lost amid the chaos outside. “Fine,” he muttered, finally conceding. He shoved the sack of coins back into Imindril’s hands, his gaze meeting hers with a gruff nod. “Hold on to this for me,” he said, his tone implying he’d be back for it—if there was anything left to return to.
With heavy steps, he walked toward the door and out into the chaos of Dalaran. The full brunt of the invasion unfolded before him as he stepped into the streets. Above, the sky was torn asunder by gaping void portals, their malevolent energy crackling as more nerubians poured out like a relentless tide. Towering spider warriors, their legs as thick as tree trunks, rampaged through the city, leaving destruction in their wake. Worse still, monstrous flying spiders, their wings beating with an unnatural rhythm, swooped down to snatch up fleeing civilians, their screeches mingling with the terrified screams of those still running for their lives.
Darbakh took it all in with a calm, measured stare, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the devastation. After a long moment, he frowned, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. “I’m so tired of this stuff,” he grumbled, though the words carried a resigned acceptance of what had to be done.