Mr. Lyall

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You tell me
to be sensible
to be considerate
to be... human.
Well, I'm sorry
but I can't.

These were the first words that were penned for Greyer's personality.

Whimsi likes colors.

Taceo: Y'know, Greyer, you look like your name would be Hershel.

Greyer: It sounds so... English.

Taceo: It means "deer" in Yiddish, actually, and I think it's cute.

Greyer: Well, I think it's already taken on Thorium Brotherhood and Fenris and Boulderfist. So... Yeah, tough luck.

Taceo: "Hershel Lyall" has a nice ring to it.

Greyer: My name is Greyer.

Whimsi: Purple-er?

Greyer: GTFO, Whimsi.



...this is proves that my mind goes to strange places when I start making art and story speculations for Mr. Lyall. I really, really want to know the release date of Cataclysm so I can actually space out and schedule his posts and character sheet (gahhhhh!!). I've also been collecting stuff that Greyer would say in conversation and been playing with character interactions, so, stay tuned, I might have something literary to post soon.

Understand

Trying to understand Greyer
is like attempting to drown
everything you have ever thought of.

Suffrocation.
A string of endless night
and rain.

December 14th

Hidden away behind the tree near the northern bank of Dalaran, Taceo draped her cloak around her legs. The cool breeze bit at her cheeks and whisked her short hair about her forehead and eyes. She shivered and withdrew a hand out from underneath her cape to pull her worn backpack closer to the large, gnarled root she leaned against. There would be no tanking nor healing duties today. There were much more than dungeons, high quality gear, and other soldiers to worry about. The only thing she knew was that she could not lose anything and anyone she held dear - and that included her beloved guildmates - to a cataclysm.

Whimsi hummed softly as she dumped her backpack and her container of safety deposit box items on the floor of the northern Dalaran bank. She tossed her coin purse back into her backpack and eyed the rest of the knick-knacks that had collected at her feet. Zombie's curious, horned-skull lowered into the pile and she gently shoved him away from his reins and moss-filled feed bag. The skeletal horse nipped at her once and she forced him away with a sallow palm. Tumnus' head peeked out from underneath his owner's backpack flap. Whimsi smiled and scooped him into her lap. He rubbed his head against her ribcage as she snatched up the various of herbs that had tumbled out of a scroll case she had found while exploring earlier. Adeptly, she bundled them up with twine and stored them away properly into their appropriate jars, sorting which containers would be sent to Tabijin and which would be returned to the bank. After gathering the odds and ends and striking a deal with a nearby vendor, she made her way to a mailbox, tripping twice due to Tumnus weaving his way around her ankles. The canister of deadnettle would sell, as would the leftover mageroyal petals and goldclover leaves... A battered mace, a handful of enchanting dust, a sprig of lichbloom, a discolored potion (still tasted 'minty' though), a spiked staff, a necklace of unusually elegant craftmanship... and a hug. Once the items had been arranged neatly into the mailbox, she bent down and placed Tumnus carefully alongside the items and closed the door, positive that the feline would make the old troll smile. She opened the mailbox lid slightly, her luminescent eyes lighting up the dark, empty corners. She furrowed a brow; while she had been expecting mail hawks and owls to swoop down, she realized that her mail had been magically sent. (Damned mages....)

The elderly troll sifted through the piece of mail that had returned to him at Tanka'Le Village. Most of them addressed him with an elegantly written salutation of "Hail Chief Tabi'" or a "Sir Tabijin." Auction money, letter from Lady Taceo, auction money, returned bid, letter from Lady Taceo, package from Whimsi, package from Winterr, Whimsi's request for a cat toy, a bundle of returned auction lots, auction money, Tumnus... Nothing fascinating as usual. The broad-striped tabby cat purred at him and swatted at his hand as he scooped up the rest of the envelopes. He heaved a weary sigh and tucked the items into his backpack before lifting Tumnus out of the mailbox; he'd have to get Taceo to deliver him back to Whimsi yet again.

Veton laid back in her hammock, careful to slowly rest her hooves on the wooden bar closest to the inn entrance. Tanaris held nothing but desert, goblins, and their need for items from places and creatures she could barely face. She wondered what her family would be doing if no one had left the crash site and continued helping with the recovery of their ship. She wondered if she had even the slightest chance to run into Lena, Elodi and Zilaara again. Thoughts of Goruth and Ealenia and the possibility of becoming a battle medic alongside them even crossed her mind. Her tail tip curled as a warm gust of wind blew through the small Gadgetzan inn; she really hated it here.

Rain poured heavily from the sky, seeping its way onto and into anything it landed on. Greyer shook the water from his thick pelt, starting at his tattered ears and neck and working his way down to calves, restoring the fur at his ankles to its previous damp, feathery appearance. He wished he had stashed his armor away for the night; though it provided some protection from the storm, distressed patches and seams sewn together with only waxed cotton cord could not keep him dry. He swallowed and let out a yawn, baring his teeth and curling tongue; after howling for nearly an hour, boredom had finally caught up with him. His eyes focused on his newly-found companion, a tawny-pelted, middle-aged individual by the name of Spritzer. If they hadn't been chased off by their fellow denizens, they would've been in the inn enjoying a pint of ale and enjoying themselves instead of prowling about by the King's Gate, waiting for the rain to stop. Spritzer's sightless eyes shifted from Greyer to the sky above. Greyer snorted and stood up briefly before planting his hands on the muddied path, continuing to head back to his makeshift camp on all fours. The blind bartender's khaki-furred ears swiveled forward and upon hearing Greyer's footfalls above the whispering rain, he set his nose to the ground and followed suit, the claws of each of his paws digging into the soaked terrain.

If anything, everyone, despite the distance between them, eagerly awaited the return of Greatfather Winter to restore their spirits of hope and happiness....

Versus: Our Blog's Two Males

Tabijin:

• more like a father (understanding, worrisome)
  
• had a family and lost them (two dead, one lost)
  
• disowned a friend
  
• was shaped by family tradition (father was a Shaman)
  
• "Fallen patriarch"
  
• was an elitist to some degree; was a chief adviser to tribe

Greyer:

• more like a son (rebellious against authority, unruly)
  
• had a family and lost them (all deceased)
  
• betrayed by a friend
  
• dislikes family tradition (older brothers overshadowed him)
  
• "Rising rebel"
  
• was a humble being, befriended the tavern bartender

Hmmm... trying so hard to make Greyer unique compared to Tabi and the girls; perhaps, even, an "anti-Tabijin." Already ran his personality through the D&D character alignment test and came out surprisingly as Chaotic Neutral (no one has had that result before, so it was like "whoa"). So, yeah...

Also, if you're also creating a Worgen, check these out:

• WoW.com | Worgen
  
• WoW.com | Know Your Lore: Gilneas
  
• WoW.com | Know Your Lore: Worgen

[Note: these links do not directly contain quest spoilers.]

...heh, for all I know, Greyer's father/family could've made armor/supply packs for the war(s), the Lyall family could've assisted in building the Greymane Wall... Could Greyer become afflicted with the Curse because of an encounter with his father or brothers (whether a bite or simple contact)? Something to consider, I suppose. I really want some more specifics about the Curse's dynamics beside the fact of it "spreading through Gilneas unchecked for several years."

On a different note and on the other side of the Greymane Wall, Greyer can't seem to shake off the annoyance of an individual by the name of "Spritzer." Not sure who he is just yet, but Greyer's howling and snarling by the King's Gate has been heard almost nightly now.