The streets of Ironforge were often deserted in the 'wee hour o' the mornin'" as the Dwarves put it. So few people paid attention to the man carrying a small sack and broom, going around and reaching down to the ground to apparently clean up the city. Several dwarven guards nodded in appreciation as they passed.
Just your ordinary, fiery red haired, old looking human doing a good deed. The only odd part was that he often seemed to reach into the sack, before he bent down to the stonework. Perhaps it was a smattering of cleaning dust? Or something of the sort? Few truly cared to pay attention as they meandered home to sleep, he was just another face in the crowd. Odd, as he was human, but otherwise unremarkable in these times of Alliance unity after the successful siege of Orgimmar.
Little did they know that was about to change. Piece by piece, the curious old man made his way through the city, before completing his circuit in the Forlorn cavern. Straightening from his apparent crunch, a passing Dwarf gave him a double take, as he tossed his sack into the pond carelessly. Holding up the final part of the cluster now adhered to the stones of Ironforge.
Practice, something that always preceded the actual event. And this man had had years of practice with runecraft. It was something simple, with a touch of nostalgia for many, though he knew the panic would be kept to a minimum. Turning the paper over in his fingers, the strange man waited for the last dwarven citizen to round the corner to peel off his fiery red wig and toss it into the water as well. Black waves of hair framing his face to clash horribly with the illusion coloring his goatee and giving him the wrinkles of ages not passed.
With a flick of the wrist, the final explosive slip fluttered to the ground, adhering to the surface of the stone where a relaxing fisherman might stand. As he turned to stride out of the cavern, whistling an old tune he couldn't remember the origin of, Tyvian Reignheart thought about how nice it was to take off his robes and mask every once in a while. How exhausting maintaining a disguise was for every waking hour, and the constant drain of maintaining the illusions that changed his voice and appearance under his garb.
"Much better to feel the fresh air and not have that blasted bone to peer through" he said to no one in particular as he strolled casually towards the Deeprun tram to catch the first shuttle back to Stormwind in the morning. "Maybe it'll even help that Draenei girl as a distraction, have to be careful, the hounds can't find the hare until I want them to. And only the hare I desire."
The first pieces were falling into place.
Just your ordinary, fiery red haired, old looking human doing a good deed. The only odd part was that he often seemed to reach into the sack, before he bent down to the stonework. Perhaps it was a smattering of cleaning dust? Or something of the sort? Few truly cared to pay attention as they meandered home to sleep, he was just another face in the crowd. Odd, as he was human, but otherwise unremarkable in these times of Alliance unity after the successful siege of Orgimmar.
Little did they know that was about to change. Piece by piece, the curious old man made his way through the city, before completing his circuit in the Forlorn cavern. Straightening from his apparent crunch, a passing Dwarf gave him a double take, as he tossed his sack into the pond carelessly. Holding up the final part of the cluster now adhered to the stones of Ironforge.
Practice, something that always preceded the actual event. And this man had had years of practice with runecraft. It was something simple, with a touch of nostalgia for many, though he knew the panic would be kept to a minimum. Turning the paper over in his fingers, the strange man waited for the last dwarven citizen to round the corner to peel off his fiery red wig and toss it into the water as well. Black waves of hair framing his face to clash horribly with the illusion coloring his goatee and giving him the wrinkles of ages not passed.
With a flick of the wrist, the final explosive slip fluttered to the ground, adhering to the surface of the stone where a relaxing fisherman might stand. As he turned to stride out of the cavern, whistling an old tune he couldn't remember the origin of, Tyvian Reignheart thought about how nice it was to take off his robes and mask every once in a while. How exhausting maintaining a disguise was for every waking hour, and the constant drain of maintaining the illusions that changed his voice and appearance under his garb.
"Much better to feel the fresh air and not have that blasted bone to peer through" he said to no one in particular as he strolled casually towards the Deeprun tram to catch the first shuttle back to Stormwind in the morning. "Maybe it'll even help that Draenei girl as a distraction, have to be careful, the hounds can't find the hare until I want them to. And only the hare I desire."
The first pieces were falling into place.
Edited by Tyvian on 9/1/2014 9:37 PM PDT
