The Death of Coalbrow

[Gergel]

(Please note: I have no intention of actually killing Coalbrow off, now or in the future. This is just a totally fictional piece of... fiction.)

* * *

"I'll have a Sulfuron Slammer!" a customer told the barkeep of the Blue Recluse.

"A bottle of Pinot Noir for me," another requested.

"I'll take a mug of milk!" said a burly dwarf, peering over the counter. There was a moment of silence in the bar. Eyes turned towards the dwarf. The barkeep was speechless.

"I... We..." he stammered.

"Bu-wa-ha-ha-haaaa!" the dwarf guffawed. "Totally gotcha! Ya should see the look on yer face!" He slapped the bar with a hand. "A Stout for me! In fact, make it three!"

And the usual evening life went on in Stormwind.

Until a haggard group of adventurers slowly walked in. They looked as if they had been in a battle, on the losing side. Their armour and clothes were torn, cracked and hastily patched. One was hobbling with a crutch. Another had his arm in a sling. There were scratches on their faces and hands, that looked like they had been healing for a week or two.

"Woah," said the barkeep in a friendly manner. "What happened to you, boys? Been fighting Orcs?"

The apparent leader of the group sat down heavily at an empty table. "Worse."

"Yeah. Much... worse." His comrades also took their seats.

"Ya look like ya need a drink!" said the burly dwarf who had been asking for milk. "Hey, barkeep! A round for these boys. And one for me!"

The adventurers raised their mugs solemnly. The leader waved at the barkeep. "We... were wondering... Is this the bar that Garrshammer Coalbrow used to frequent?"

"One of the bars, anyway," cackled another customer. "He doesn't really leave any bar untouched when he's in town. But yeah, he and his friends seem to hang around here all the time."

The head adventurer nodded gloomily. "Yeah. So we heard. Well. You probably want to raise this toast with us, then."

"Hah! Raising a drink TO Coalbrow and not WITH him is a rare thing!" cackled the dwarf. "What, is it his birthday or somethin'?"

"Oh! I know!" said a middle-aged human sitting in the corner. "He finally found the Deep Gnomes he'd been looking for so long? Have to drink to that!"

The adventurers shook their heads. "No. Not really. It's... Well... More of a... To remember him. He is dead."

"Oh yes! He kept going on about Deep Gnomes. Said he'd try to find them by luring them with my soup!" He didn't really appear to be listening.

But the rest of the bar had gone silent. "Dead?" said the barkeep.

"We were there. It was a hero's death."

The barkeep repeated: "Dead?!" He looked like he had been hit with a hammer. The man's eyes moved from one adventurer to another as if hoping that it was all a big joke, trying to catch the party winking to one another and getting ready to yell a big "gotcha!".

There was no "gotcha!". The adventurers looked down into their mugs gloomily.

"No. This cannot be!" mumbled the barkeep. He covered his face with his huge palms. The man's body slumped, wracked sobs came from behind the cover of his hands. The customers looked at him with sympathy. He must have been Coalbrow's close personal friend.

"NOOOO!!! MY PROFITS!!!" the barkeep cried aloud and started to cry inconsolably.

The story unfurled, once people had calmed down and the adventuring party had had a few drinks.