This is a short story I wrote under the impression of my brief meeting with Ironmonkey - a rogue of guild from Khadgar EU (World of Warcraft). Feel free to give me your feedback. =)
He had one of two legendary Warglaives of Azzinoth and he was desperately eager to get the other one. During the breaks between fights with the Horde and demons of the Outland, he was cutting gems in one of trade districts in Stormwind. There were a lot of legends about him, and at least half of them were real events in his biography in this full of dissension, but at the same time a mysterious world. Every Alliance guild strived to get him into its ranks. He persistently stayed neutral, helping one or another of them in raids or battles.
His name was Ironmonkey.
In times of his youth he did various things just for fun. As the time passed, many of them became feats, on people’s lips. One day he stepped out from the shadows near Ogrimmar, one of the Horde capitals. It was the moment when about two dozens of orcs and taurens celebrated there some event. Not giving them a single second to realize what was going on he sapped one of them, threw a fistful of blind dust in the eyes of another, and drove one of his azure daggers into the back of the third. Astonished with such impertinence, half-drunk orcs and taurens stunned for a moment in numbness. A few moments later, growling and cursing, with scum on their mouths they rushed to get Ironmonkey. But he had already been riding away on the bottom of a nearby ravine sitting on the spine of his allegiant dark-black nightsaber.
He was 37.
One day he had to live for a few years among furbolgs. The tribe which gave him a shelter was constantly fighting with other tribes of Hundred Spears Forest. In one of the battles, Ironmonkey revealed such agility, wit and firmness of his character that when he came back home with the trophies, the forest village shaman conducted a ritual and called him a new name – a more suitable one for his essence.
I had an opportunity to meet with him a few days ago, on one of the mountainous trails of the Outland. My eye caught the ominous sheen on his legendary weapon. It craved for meeting with its confere. Its master was tightening it in his firm hand watching the sunset play on its blade. He had to go through the gates before the sun would go down. The time was running out.
Ironmonkey headed to the Black Temple.
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