Author's note: Check my profile for information concerning chapter updates or up and coming stories.
DEAR DIARY
The icy winds of Dun Morogh cut across the frozen landscape like a blade splitting skin, quickly snuffing the life out of any unsuspecting or unprepared traveller. Though there was a place where death's cruel touch could not pierce, a place so ablaze with life that it lit up the tundra like a beacon, calling out to all those who had lost their way. Nestled in the heart of Kharanos was the Thunderbrew Distillery, a warm and welcoming environment where brave adventurers of the alliance mingled with the local dwarves. They shared stories, sung songs and compared battle wounds all the while filling their stomachs to the brim with boar and brew.
However, not every inch of the tavern was bursting with merriment. Down the dark, musty stairwell and through the left door lived a boy, not quite an elf, not quite a man but a blend of the two. The half-elf sat in deep thought, his black hair, dark as the void, drooped slightly over his brow, covering his sparkling green eyes. He flicked his hair back, tucking the fringe behind his ears which, unlike other elves, resembled more of a human look. He stared intently at the blank pages which filled him with a sudden emptiness. Finding his muse at last, the boy picked up a nearby quill and began to fill the pages with dark ink, painting the pages with words of great passion.
Dear Diary,
The blazing sun has yet again set upon me, signalling the end of another page in my story without bringing me the closure that I seek. Always the questions that haunt me go unanswered, left to wander until they are blown away by this light awful breeze that forever assails my mind.
Who were my parents? All I know of them is a name, a race, a class and how the met their end. Lilla, my dearest mother, was a mage of Stormwind who died during the great Northrend campaign and my father, Anandor, the great mage of Silvermoon. He died a hero's death, avenging his beloved while saving many of his companions in the process and though his story has always inspired me, I find myself wishing he hadn't played the hero that way I would not be left in this torment.
Though things are not all doom and gloom in my life here in Kharanos. Khardran, my friend and mentor, has cared for me well, trying his best to fill the void in my heart. The story goes that Khardran was a good friend of both my parents, he fought valiantly with them during that fateful skirmish and would of met his end too were it not for my father. Forever in debt to Anandor for his sacrifice, Khardran took it upon himself to raise the little child who was now left alone. I am forever in debt to Khardran who gave up everything for me, including his career as a soldier, in order to teach me the ways of the world… well, the dwarven world so I am now skilled in the arts of battle, smithing and of course brewing.
Since the day Khardran brought me in, I have lived here in the Distillery but I find myself yearning for adventure. The tales of my parents have encouraged me to achieve greatness of my own and to either find or mould my own destiny. Until the time comes that my question are answered I will remain here in Kharanos with a life half-lived, a glass half-empty.
Sincerely,
Mur'ne Dawnrunner
Mur'ne lent back in his chair once he finished and let out a long sigh. An eerie silence swept across the candle-lit room for what seemed like days. Mur'ne always enjoyed the silence, for it was hard to come by when you lived in an alehouse. Relishing in the stillness, Mur'ne closed his eyes, letting his imagination fill his every thought with lights, colours and images which represented the many amazing and different lives that he wished he led. Suddenly he began to hear a voice calling him Mur'ne… Mur'ne… Mur'ne…
"Mur'ne ya brain dead sod, getch yer lazy butt upstairs, yer shift started ten minutes ago." Khardran's brazen voice awoke Mur'ne from his day dream and he jumped with a start. Suddenly snapped back into reality, Mur'ne leapt from his seat and zipped through the stone door, almost knocking Khardran off balance in the process.
"Sure thing chief." He quipped and began to rush upstairs while elegantly dodging a furious backhand from Khardran.
"Another thing" Khardran yelled up to Mur'ne, "stop calling me chief." Mur'ne stopped atop the staircase and stared down at Khardran. Like all dwarves, Khardran was short and stocky; his earth brown hair was wild while his beard appeared extremely well groomed, held together by several golden bracers. Though there was one thing very 'unique' about this dwarf, upon his head he wore a tribal headdress, sacred to the tauren. Before assuming his shift Mur'ne yelled his retort, laughing as he did so.
"Maybe I would, if you didn't insist on wearing that ridiculous hat." At that moment Khardran began to sprint up the staircase, his eyes blazing in fury.
"This hat was a gift from me wife, ya cheeky bastard!" Mur'ne continued to snigger, gracefully jumping over the counter and landing effortlessly on the other side. Khardran reached the bar, breathing heavily as he pointed at Mur'ne.
"Huff… I'll… huff… I'll get you one o' these days boy. Until then get to work!" When he finished, Khardran walked away from Mur'ne and began to join in the festivities with some fellow dwarves. Mur'ne watched the crowd for a few seconds but then began to busy himself with serving customers though he could never really shake his feelings of great yearning, yearning for adventure.