Tall Tales was hosted at the Golden Keg in Stormwind’s Dwarven District on the eve of June 13th. It was a friendly gathering of dwarves, clan members meeting and old friends reuniting, freely supplied with drink and camaraderie. In between were other people of Azeroth, tucked to the side a little, but welcomed and encouraged to join in the event. I was once such, hoping to learn more about the dwarven culture and try to understand where their unfiltered charm comes from.
As I sat at my table, ready to observe, the dwarves knew exactly what was coming. One eagerly chanted for tales to start even before the organizer, one Thane Frolbar Boldbeard -commonly known as Frolbar-, raised his voice to start the event.
Frolbar, a man I learned first hand has a voice that can fill a room with volume, spoke briefly about what makes a good story:
“Now, folks ask me what makes a good story. Some say it needs to have characters. Some say it needs to have SUSPENSE. But I always find that the best stories have PRESENTATION!”
And with that, he jumped up on the table and stomped on it for effect and rhythm. I learned throughout the evening that they do, indeed, like their presentation, with theatrics and stomping on tables for that extra flare.
Frolbar started us off with a song about an adventure in Kul Tiras, and the song was a tongue-in-cheek jest about how his friend got them lost in the wilderness and should not be trusted with a map. Upon hearing the song, the friend shouted in protest, though I could’ve sworn that he looked a little chuffed to be sung about.
Hruoth Runebraid was up next with another song. He involved the audience, encouraging them to sing back to him a sentence. After an initial hiccup, people eagerly joined in and laughed at his witty lyrics and sang back on que. The song was about the most beautiful “lass” he had ever seen, and how try as he might, the “bonnie wildy girl” would not give him time of day. In fact, the poor man got beaten black and blue for trying.
There were no female dwarves performing that evening, but I could tell by the ones in the room, and from the one in the song, that they are as spirited as the men. One can’t help but get the impression that they don’t put up with much nonsense.
When the third song began, I realized that dwarves love to tell their tales under a tune. This one was sung by Sir Eadwald Kragfoot, known as Fairhair. His tale was an old dwarven folklore and spoke of three miners on their way to Ironforge, and a woe they encountered on their journey. There was even an unexpected twist at the end. Sir Eadwald spoke of a lesson in the tale, and most of the tales had a moral to it.
“The lesson here. All is not as it seems. Be wary, and don’t fall into assumptions. Especially concerning Dark Irons getting a bad rap at first, when they did not in the context of this story.”
Upon those words, I looked around the room and noticed that there were quite a number of Dark Irons gathered, and they were just as welcomed into the group as the other people in the tavern. It seems that whatever bad blood there had been between them and the other dwarves has been mended.
I was so captured by the tale that I asked to speak with Sir Eadwald, to get his insight on the dwarven culture and their art of storytelling.
Miatar: "I found your tale interesting. Is it one you wrote yourself?"
Sir Eadwald: "Aaah, no, it’s an old lay, translated of course. Some tales we make through our actions, some we write, some are handed down from our ancestors afore us. Such is the nature of the oral tradition."
Miatar: "I can imagine that you often share tales. Do you have many?"
Sir Eadwald: "Ah, well, there are many, many tales old and new to tell. There are many heroes, many villains, many tragedies and many comedies to share. We Dwarves live a long time, we find the time to remember them all, but not long enough that they stay remembered. This way, we pass knowledge and wisdom to the next generation."
Miatar: I've heard all kinds of tales tonight. What is your favourite kind of tale?"
Sir Eadwald: "Ooooh, well, I cannot say truly, each has its virtue. A comedy is a cordial, a cure for a sick soul. A tragedy is a lesson, from which you learn lest you fall to the same doom as they who went afore, and love stories, well, who don't like a sappy love story, eh?"
Miatar: I do love a good love story. What does an event like this mean to you? Why do you come?"
Sir Eadwald: "Aaah. It's a Dwarven method of achieving immortality. No Dwarf is dead so long as his name is spoken. I sing tales of Ironbraid the Miner and Boic Bravesoul that one day one may sing the tales of Eadwald Fairhair along with them."
Miatar: You talked about how the Dark Irons got a bad rap at first. I see quite a few here tonight. How do you think the sides have mended fences?"
Sir Eadwald: "Old wounds, those. Dwarves do not forget old tales, and seldom forget a wrong, and the wrongs done by each clan can fill entire tomes. However, the Dark Irons have proven themselves stout allies in the fight against our common enemies. It's... also the legacy of a human king, whom we Dwarves remember fondly. Varian Wrynn, may he rest in the Light. It were his proposal the Council of Three Hammers were formed, and it was he who reconciled the clans, to reunite the Dwarves. Now I have to deal with this fat dobber."Article continues after the ad.
He said and pointed at an Iron Dwarf with a fiery beard who had a tale of his own that evening - a harrowing one of revenge. When asked if revenge was common among the dwarves, Sir Eadwald had this to say:
“Vengence is a tune all people can play too...but often it’s a tragedy that tells that tale. Retribution, aye, that is a better tune, with better morals. It’s the oldest of all tales, that of blood feuds and murder. It... never ends well, unless a third party swoops in. In Dwarven we call it Frean gosh ruk Mund-helm - a supernatural influence that settles things.”
I, as a Draenei, could relate to such influence. But the evening continued and we moved from tales through songs to spoken stories.
Following was a respectable elderly dwarf, by the name of Stromdil Flaskmane. He started by asking people to remove their hats before he invited people to join in for a toast to a fallen friend and hero, Thoredin Giantsband, and told his tale in a poem.
“He fell by the battle from dastardly spells,
The measure of power one couldn’t withheld.
A testament to honor, virtuous death,
He was a young lad with a spark in his breath.
An axe in each hand, and braids wrapped with feather,
The fellow wee kinsman was up to the measure.
Moment he’d fell, his faith followed suit,
The saving of many, the Hinterland’s brute.
A lad to which withheld the spirit of old,
Remember his name and his story told.
Dragons, to hordes of scourge and beasts,
All left bewildered to the dwarf and his feats.
To Thoredin Giantsbane.”
This beautifully written poem confirmed what Sir Eadwald had said; the dwarves write and tell stories to remember each other after death. I could feel the care and respect in the poem, and in Stromdil’s voice as he performed.
Frolbar encouraged more to share stories. A human by the name of Karyinn Southwall braved the stage with a story of a crocolisk wrestling in the Wetlands. The gathered were more than eager to get a story of battle, and it set the tone for most of the stories to come: adventure, treasure, clashing axes and swords in bloodthirst.
Clovus Pyremaw told the tale of how Hoginn One-eye lost his eye. It spoke of dwarves sitting by the fire after a battle, and how drinks can loosen the tongue. Treasure was mentioned the men got greedy, plotting to take out the hero. The story, violent as it was, was vivid and I was easily transported into the scene.
Huroth Runebraid claimed the table again with a fun story he’d learned from a Pandaren, called “The scholar and the farmer, “ about a clever farmer who won money off an arrogant scholar. The Pandaren are known for their storytelling, and I couldn’t help but see a parallel with the dwarves on that front.
Then stepped up the man who’d been sung about at the beginning of the night, Morgrim Coalhammer, who according to Huroth is the “best blacksmith this side of the great sea.” It was clear that this Dark Iron had earned a lot of respect among his friends and he had an enthralling, expressive tale to tell of a plundering by his Dark Iron fellows, and how Morgrim killed his first man who was seeking revenge for the caravan killings. It was a sobering tale, and with Morgrim brilliant theatrics, I was again transported to a different location, beyond mountains and fires, to that caravan of human traders.
The hour was late, but we were treated with a final story by Frolbar himself. He had another true-event tale about a finely crafted tapestry that had been split into five pieces, which, we have to admit, is a barbarous treatment of good tapestry. Frolbar took us on a journey to Brennadam and onto the hills of the Stormsong Valley in search of a piece of this tapestry. As it goes, it did not come easily, and Frolbar vividly told the dramatic tale of battles with orcs, trolls and lumbering giants called ettins to get the piece.
As with all the stories I heard that evening, there was pride, fire, and passion in every word. The dwarves may tell tales to remember each other, but it was clear to me that they take their art seriously and put a great deal of thought into the moral of these stories.
By the time the evening ended, I realized that the dwarven charm is complex and cannot be coined in a single evening. I did learn that they are a riveting company full of inspiration, wit and talent. They are lively and welcoming, and I hope to attend the next Tall Tales to hear about more adventures.