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[Drogar] Letting go

Drogar's picture

"This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well." - Francis Bacon

The slightly less bitter winds of the Dun Morogh summer blew through Drogar's beard as he eyed the marks in the bark of the evergreen. The stag had been here within the last hour, and seemed to still be heading north. Balinore huffed, eager to keep going.

A deep, reverberating voice rumbled behind Drogar. "I find it interesting that you rely on your visual cues when you have a bear that can smell the beast."

Drogar turned and looked at his father. He looked exactly the same as the first time Drogar had met him following the Battle of Light's Hope. His skin a pallid white, his eyes a glowing blue, his beard a tight braid, and fully enclosed in treated saronite armor.

"It's always best t' be certain. Besides, if I'm not part of th' trackin', ol' fuzzbutt 'ere thinks he deserves more o' th' meat!" Drogar chuckled, patting his bear companion on the back, eliciting a murf.

"As you say, boy." the elder Truthhammer looked off into the distance.

"See somethin' interestin' out there, Da?"

"No. Just... remembering. I need to focus on it sometimes. I remember... you were ten years old. Your uncle and I took you out here for your first hunt. You tried to sneak up on a hare, and got a kick to the face for your trouble." the death knight chuckled, a rumbling sound.

"Aye... I remember. And no one else needs t'. I've become a much better hunter since then. Which is how I know that we need t' keep headin' northeast; it looks t' be headin' to th' pond."

"As you say, boy."

The two dwarves and the bear continued on in silence for a bit, before Drogar decided to break the silence.

"This is nice, Da. You and me... reminds me of better times."

"Yes. You were a child and I was alive."

"Yer nae exactly dead, Da."

"Closer than I am to living."

"Fair enough. Still, you're you. And I'm glad for it. Though, it's been years since yeh came back, and this is th' first time yeh wanted t' join meh on a hunt..."

"And you want to know why."

"Well, aye. Yeh can 'ardly blame meh."

"No, I cannot. I wanted to talk to you. About family."

"What, scared of bein' a grandfather twice o'er?" Drogar chuckled, knowing full well that grandchildren were one of the only things that could almost get a smile out of his undead father.

"No. I have a question for you. How important is family?"

"What, seriously? Family is everything! Family, Clan, Nation, that's how it is!" The younger Truthhammer gave his father an incredulous look. It was the first thing any young dwarf learned about how to -be- a dwarf.

"Indeed. That's how we dwarves are. A proper dwarf puts his family ahead of his own worries and demands." intoned the elder dwarf as if her were a teacher.

"Aye, and it works." Drogar nodded, the truth self-evident.

The Death Knight inclined his head. "So, a thought experiment."

Drogar paused. "Och? What is this all about Da?"

"Bear with me lad. Family is th' most important thing. More important than gold. More important than success."

"Aye..."

The elder Truthhammer stopped, looking directly at his son. "What if you had family that was Dark Iron?"

".. what?!" Drogar sputtered, as though unable to fathom the very idea.

"Focus, lad. This is a thought experiment. You have family who is Dark Iron. What does that mean?"

"Th' very idea! Dark Irons are treacherous snakes! He couldn't be trusted."

"I thought family was most important, boy. Were you wrong? Were you lying to me?"

"What, no, but-"

"But what? Family, Clan, Nation. That's what you said, boy."

"How could a thrice damned dark iron be family?"

The old dwarf crossed his arms, the saronite screeching softly as it rubbed against itself. "The usual way, I suspect. That would-be Empress on the Council proves it possible."

Drogar stopped, planting his rifle into the snow, and regarded his father. "So a half-blood Dark Iron. What is this really all about? This tiptoeing around isnae like yeh, Da."

"Your wife learned something recently. Something she's afraid to tell you. Her mother had another child, with a Dark Iron. That child has come in search of a home."

"What? Of all th' bloody ridiculous-"

Drogan grabbed his son by the shoulder. "It's the truth, boy. Your wife has a dark iron sister. And you're hearing it from me because your hatred frightens her." The piercing, icy blue eyes of the death knight bored into his son, unblinking and unlying.

Drogar sputtered. "Frightens her? She's my wife, my everything, I could ne'er hurt her!"

Drogan's face softened ever so slightly. "And yet you do, every time you rant and rave against the Dark Iron dwarves." The death knight released his son's shoulders, turning away and taking in the view. Dun Morogh was beautiful as ever, and with the snow on the ground the only sound to be heard was the breathing of his son and the bear. "The Dark Irons who blew up Thandol span are dead, boy. The Dark Irons who killed our family are dead." It felt as though someone was hammering a gravestone whenever the Death Knight said the word dead. "And the ones who gave the order died by your very hand. And still you rail against them, as though you won't be satisfied until they're no more than a memory!"

The death knight turned, his usual stoicism replaced by an expression of sorrow, one the old dwarf had never let a living soul see, until now. Fueled by all the pain and fear he had faced in both life and death. "I know better than most what vengeance can do to a man's heart. It's time to turn away from this path, boy. If not for yourself, then for your family. You have built our clan up again, but the Truthhammers are not strong enough to survive if you can't let your hatred go."

Drogar frowned. "So I'm to, what, accept this lass into my family with open arms and blind eyes? To treat her as my own blood without so much as a who th' hell are you?"

Drogan's face returned to the stoic mask. "No. But you are to judge her based on who she is, not on what her father's blood was. No child should pay for the sins of their father, much less the sins of their father's race."

Drogar was quiet for some time, letting the cool winds blow through his bushy beard as Balinore huffed impatiently, belly growling.

"Fine. But if this is some sort of Dark Iron plot, I willnae let -any- of yeh live it down." the younger Truthhammer turned as he spoke, only to see his father looking off into the distance. Shadows grew around the old death knight, and were unleashed into the brush, pulling a stag in close. Drogar's gun was half raised when the death knight brought his hammer down on the creature, killing it instantly. "Och, Da, usin' magic ruins th' bloody sport!"

"Says the boy carrying a scoped rifle. You know the rules. I killed it, you clean it." The old Death Knight turned and started trudging back to the road that would take them back to Ironforge, not letting his only son see the smirk on his icy face.

Comments

Rhianon's picture

((Poor Drogar. Now he has to

((Poor Drogar. Now he has to face that he might have some fault (stubborn prejudices) and that all Dark Irons might not be evil murderers. Some of them might be family. And some of them just might be pleasant, naive little things who don't know any better like Olwynne. ))

Lirriel's picture

((On the one hand, proud of

((On the one hand, proud of Drogar, that takes some swallowing to do what he managed to do last night.

On the other, Nore was facepalming SO HARD at poor Olwynne and her ignorance thanks to the Blackrock culture she grew up in, poor kid. Nore will be happy to point out a few good history books and religious texts to catch her up! And you know, make sure she understands that warlockery is bad.))

Rhianon's picture

((I think -everyone- was

((I think -everyone- was facepalming at Olwynne by the end there. I don't really think Dark Irons are particularly big on educating their youngsters in a broad range of subjects. Warlock magics? Sure. History about Lordaeron and paladins and other important things? No way.))