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Kardwel's Story
#1
Walking out of the Inn at Ratchet, Kardwel spotted Melikar croouched on a near-by tree stump.

Melikar glanced up as the blond, Blood Elf approached him.

"So, how'd it go?" Melikar questioned. "Dee tribe be likin' ja?"

Kardwel shrugged a bit.

"I told them I wasn't quite ready to join. What with the way they all ran off yelling about monkey meat..."

Melikar laughed.

"Yeah, it be takin' some gettin' used ta."

Kardwel merely scoffed.

"I thought your 'Warlord' would be a little more...oh, I dunno, business minded." he spat, his eyes glowing fierce. "After all, he runs quite a notorious group of people. They have a lot to represent. Not just themselves and the Ironsong name, but for the entire Horde."

Melikar shrugged.

"It not always be work. Ja gotta play sometimes too, o' else it get pretty borin' aroun' he'ah."

Kardwel crossed his arms.

"Let's just say I wasn't impressed."

Melikar looked away and took a step towards the inn.

"T'ink what ja want, but Ah like dem."

Kardwel remained where he was, watching Melikar's hunched body make its way to the open-air door of the inn. He honestly didn't care what they said or thought about him in there. He was delivering a warning to them, and if they were too stupid to listen, so be it. They'd find out who Melikar was in the end. Kardwel thought back to when he first met the Troll in Silvermoon city. Melikar had already begun his Warrior training, but he was by no means as good then as he is now. Kardwel had been thinking about his own purpose in life and debated whether to go for being a Warlock or a Paladin.

He had to admit, both classes had sounded pretty tempting. In the end, he'd chosen the path of the Paladin. One of those reasons was because of his attitude. A Paladin that was as big an ass as he was. How contradictory! Turning on his heel, he strode out of Ratchet, intending on heading back to to the Ghostlands to finish his work there. He couldn't believe he'd run out all this way just to have them mock him like he was an imbecile! One of the things the Warlord had told him was that he had made assumptions about the Troll race. Being savages...cannibals and the like. He kicked a foot to the ground watching the dust swirl around his leg. It was true and they all knew it. His mind drifted off the Trolls though, and focused on Melikar.

How could they not see it? A Troll who didn't even know about his own race. Didn't carry his sweat with him, didn't believe in superstitions, didn't seem to carry the same kind of pride in his race other Trolls did. No...Melikar decided to believe in other things. He should've told the tribe more. But they'd just continue to call him "disrespectful" and "dishonorable". They'd just stand there and say he should be the dirt on the floor, just because he thought this great and mighty "Warlord" wasn't so great after all.

"Wait till they find out Melikar." He muttered to himself, as the golden colored buildings faded behind him in the setting sun.

"Eventually, you'll have to make a stand. And when you do, they'll see you for what you really are."
[Image: AWOeJWn.png]
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