Tending to the gryphons, Derigan was whistling a happy tune. It had been weeks since they moved into the new base in Northrend and he was excited to finally have a stable home for his chicks. The well feathered creatures were squawking and merry. Soon though another shaman, skilled in the arts of shamanism, came sauntering in to ensure that the animals had enough water and feed.
Derigan looks upon his fellow dwarf with a stone face and an aching of longing. If his dead heart could beat, it would be racing faster then a school girls' on her first date! Darlim gives a subtle nod to the dwarven death knight before quietly speaking to the oldest gryphon.
"So. Wot brings yeh aroun' these parts, lad?" Derigan manages to muster, wishing he had an ale by this point.
"Comin' to check the chicks yeh dolt!" Darlim says the obvious, rolling his eyes at the man.
Cursing to himself, Derigan quickly says, "Well o' course yeh are, boy! Wot else would yeh be doin' in the stables!"
"Don' make me set ye beard on fire!" Darlim threatens before walking off.
Derigan sighs and hits himself on the head, muttering to himself words of profanity and self loathing.
Once out of sight, Darlim sighs quietly. That dwarf was both a headache and heartache all in one. Despite his grotesque appearance, he had the heart of any true dwarven gryphon rider. Darlim was both envious, and impressed. How could someone who was dead be much better and skilled then that of the living? He heard the younger females of the guild whispering and talking, calling the two dwarves the 'Romulo and Julianne' though it was more of Glenn and Varian. Cursed women! Always talking nonsense yet the more they spoke, the more it rang true.
Darlim was irritated by this point as he wandered towards the near by river to commune with the elements. Even now he could hear a human and gnome of the guild laughing and talking of everything. This was worse then grade school!
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