World of Warcraft®

Sharidahn lounged in the tavern in Theramore. having been recently lending his hammers to assist the Elves in Feralas (hey, it gave him things to fight and that was good enough for him). This was the closest good tavern that had a chance of serving good dwarven ale.

He'd retreated to this particular tavern enough times that most people tended to leave him to his own devices, so it came as a mild surprise when the (rather shady looking) courier arrived, looking for one Sharidahn Hammarmash.

Standing, Sharidahn peered at the man through narrowed eyes. Who was this dope who was dedicated enough to seek him out at Ale-o'clock to deliver a message?

Taking the letter, Sharidahn gave it the once-over before going to the trouble of opening it - he rarely opened letters right away for one reason or another, though upon seeing the front of the envelope, and the stylized "H" emblazoned on the seal, the dwarf paled beneath his massive beard.

"Ohhhhh, bloody hell."

Sharidahn dismissed the courier, and opened the letter, reading it over. He already knew who it was from... turned out, he wasn't quite as dead as Sharidahn had thought him to be for the past... oh, three decades? Then again, he thought as he read it over, maybe he was.

"...He wants me to WHAT? From WHO?!?"

Sharidahn boggled at the contents of the letter. "...well, better than helpin' elves hug trees all day... suppose I'd best catch the next boat out o' here... Stormwind, 'ere comes a Hammarmash!"

(( Rawr! ))

Sharidahn made his way quietly toward the back of the Cathedral district. He had received a new message from Donovan (much easier now, since Donovan had told him how he was to send or receive messages quickly in the original letter). He had been told that the time was perfect to carry out the task he'd been requested to perform. It didn't sit well with Sharidahn - he wasn't a sneaky type. Quite the opposite really, but he'd never really been in a position to say no to Donovan.

Bloody schemer. Every time it seems like he's finally free of his pocket, something new would plop him right back into it. Favors, rescues, you name it. Donovan seemed to very much enjoy having Sharidahn at his beck and call, and took great effort to keep him that way. But then, Sharidahn rarely minded. It was only this sort of thing that put him ill-at-ease, as usually when Donovan needed Sharidahn's help, it involved cracking a skull or two... not a lock or two.

Sharidahn looked up at the dwelling. This was the place. Sharidahn went for the handle. It was mid-day, so no one would be home right now.

Locked. Sharidahn fiddled with the door handle for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Ach, screw it." Hefting one of his two hammers, he brought it down cleanly onto the door handle, taking it clean off. There was a dull thud of the handle on the inside falling to the floor, and the door swung open. The dwarf paid no heed to the noise. The guards didn't even patrol in this part of town.

He made his way inside, and upstairs, looking for the room Donovan had identified as where Jonathan would have kept his supplies and equipment.

"Ahh, 'ere we go." Sharidahn muttered to himself. Here all were Jonathan's supplies for alchemy and his various other tools. The room was filled with ingredients, herbs, poisons, potions, elixirs, tools, and a few disturbingly cruel-looking weapons... at least, Sharidahn assumed they were weapons. They could certainly function as such. "Now... the stuff he wanted was red..." Of course, Sharidahn had been given more detail than that, but the in-depth information eluded him by now.

And of course, there were a plethora of different "red" vials. Rather than guess and risk getting it wrong, or potentially fatally hazardous, try and check which was which, Sharidahn merely gathered up all the different myriad "red" vials and assembled them with as steady a hand as he could muster into the container Donovan had been nice enough to provide. Miraculously, none of the vials were damaged.

The last order of business here was to leave behind that odd note of Donovan's. Grabbing it out of a pocket, Sharidahn looked around (a futile gesture, really; if Donovan HAD been watching, Sharidahn wouldn't have been able to tell and he knew it), and unfurled the letter, sneaking a peek at the contents.

His eyes widened at the contents of the letter. "...The bloody hell're you playin' at, Donny? ...Bah, can't get the good stuff there, anyway. What do I care?" Planting the letter as instructed, Sharidahn grabbed the vials and went on his way. He pondered looking into having the door fixed, but dismissed the thought and went on his way. The faster he could get this stuff to Donovan, the sooner his friends could get him the fun jobs.