Name: Ultang Forkenale
Guild: The Boomstick Gang
Profession: Dragonscale Leatherworking
Recent Events Edit
Early in the Summer, Ultang retired as Boss of The Boomstick Gang and devoted his time to his craft and fishing. In time, he planned and left on a trip to Kul Tiras, ostensibly to revisit his youth. He took with him his 'left' hand Ace, Ethel, and the two disappeared. There has been no word from either since they left.
Ultang Forkenale was brought into Azeroth by his parents Gronwell and Lyntrala Forkenale. They lived in a quaint military refuge community east of Kharanos. Gronwell served as an Ironforge Mountaineer, mainly working the road between Amerstill Ranch and the North Outpost to Loch Modan. Occasionally he'd be called to the forge, but Gronwell never aspired to be in politics and a simple life as a military guard was a far better option than working in the mines like many of his brothers.
Lyntrala was the head nurse and cook in the small community they resided. "Ye're go' th' touch o' Trusilva' m'lady!" Ultang recalled hearing from the injured many times as a child. With his father off on watch most of the week, Ultang spent much of his youth learning from and running errands for his mother. He and his friend Drac Roughcut would often travel to Kharanos for cooking and medical supplies.
While Drac had a nose for spices and herbs, Ultangs' passion was for the sounds he'd hear each day coming from the south of town.
"Comon lad, yer goin te' eat it jes' tha same! Lets go te' Rumbleshots an' fire some lead!" Ultang would say to his best friend.
As a young fellow, Ultang took better care of his first Boomstick than most of the Mountaineer soldiers at the refuge. Weekends when his father was home, they'd make the trip down to Hegnar Rumbleshots for some target shooting. "Learnin' tae live off th' land is mer valuable t' yeh than anethin'!" Gronwell would say, attempting to keep him from a life of mining.
He and Drac worked for the Thunderbrew Distillery for many years. Drac refined his gardening and cooking skills, while Ultang delivered meats to the inn.
It was during his years working for the Thunderbrews that Ultang started to craft hides. From local bear, boar, and leopard skins he'd craft them into fine winter cloaks. They weren't the best for battle, but were popular with town folk and travellers alike. "Th' days when th' winds are blowin, yeh'll be glad t' beh wearin a Forkenale!"
At the start of the First War and from that point onward life wasn't the same for the Forkenales. Ultang, now a young adult, moved into Ironforge and was commisioned to craft armor for the war effort. His parents and the most of the refuge camps of Dun Morogh were sent as reinforcements to the North and South Gate Outposts. Drac moved to Thelsamar where a large encampment of mountaineers were now stationed. For the first time in his life, the young dwarf was on his own without a family.
The forge was bustling with so much activity that it looked nothing like the place he visited on occasion. Spirits in the city had never been higher and that helped to make his time there assigned to crafting boots and gloves enjoyable. When the first war ended, Khaz Modan remained unharmed, but Stormwind had fallen to the horde. The refuge camp he and his family grew up in was shut down permanently by the powers that be.
During the war effort, Ultangs ability to craft hides had been noticed abroad. A renowned Darnassian leatherworker Telonis sent Ultang a letter asking the dwarf to be his apprentice. Ultang had heard many stories of the night elves, but pub talk heard @ Bruuks was less then flattering. At first he was sure it was something not worth persuing, "Bah, work fer a long ear? Never!" he thought. Work had slowed since the war ended and he know the opinions at the forge were certainly biased. He decided to head to the Outpost and discuss the idea with his parents.
Ultang left the forge the next morning for Amberstill Ranch. He'd earned enough during the war to not have to solely rely on his feet to do the travel. As he arrived at the ranch, neither Veron or Turuk recognized Ultang. "Cen I 'elp yeh fella?" Veron smiled leaning against a bale of hay. "Yeh in th' market fer a 'ammah lad?" Turuk shouted down from the porch. "Aye, ah'm lookin tae ride one o' these o'er tae th' Outpost." Ultang gestured over the fence. He looked up at the ranch waving, "Nae lad, ah'm no' much fer 'ammahs." Rudras' ears perked up and started walking briskly towards the young dwarf. "Forkenale? Ultang Forkenale, tha' yeh all grown up?" she shouted, moving closer. Ultang blushed a bit and smiled, "Aye, maam, tis' meh." Veron chuckled, "Gah, Ultang, all grown up nae! Per'aps yeh'd like tae run th' rams round th' pasture fer old time." They all chuckled. "'ows yer ma an' pa laddie?" Turuk said limping down to the stables. Ultang smiled brightly, "Aye, ah'm off tae see 'em nae. Th' camps been moved tae th' north post." Ultang continued chatting on with the Amerstills, negotiated payment with a few of his fine cloaks, gloves, and boots. "Whats yer goin' tae name 'im?" Veron smirked "Boomshot?" Ultang chuckled, "Nae this 'eres Duncan." Ultang patted his fine brown ram. "Duncans a right fine name." Rudra smiled "Say 'lo tae yer folks!" Ultang waved and Duncan grunted as they rode off. His stay at the outpost was a short one. Gronwell and Lyntrala convinced Ultang that he should go refine his crafting and see the world. He was going to Kalimdor, his first trip abroad.
Telonis had a majestic shop in the center of the trade district. As an apprentice, Ultang first spent his time doing the rough craftwork for the shop. Telonis was known for the exquisite details and the masterful stitching he'd craft into his pieces. He lived in the attic of the shop and rarely left. While his mentor was kind to him, most of the elves in the city were extremely rude to the young dwarf. Elven hunters and druids who frequented the shop wouldn't even acknowledge the fine work they'd received from Telonis' vertically challenged apprentice. For months Ultang would work well into the night, perfecting the techniques his night elf boss was so efficient at. Ultang was thankful to be learning from a true master, but it wasn't long before he felt homesick. Letters to the outpost took weeks sometimes months to exchange. His father assured him that staying to continue his studies was in his sons best interest.
It took two years time but the young dwarf had learned much, enough to fool any that his work was the work of his mentor. Telonis, the gentleman he was offered Ultang to stay on as his partner, but the dwarf had seen enough of Teldrassil and Darnassus. The Second War had begun and homebound he was...
A week passed when he arrived in Menethil. "ach, cen yeh 'ere meh? This is Ultang.." he shouted into his buzzbox. The old mountaineer refuge channel bursted out with many familiar Hails and hellos, bringing tears down the overjoyed dwarfs face. That night he arrived in Thelsamar to the yearly "Loch Frenzy" festival. Although there were a few humans and elves around, it was the greatest sight for a set of dwarfsick eyes you can imagine. Even with war abound the festival brought dwarves from all over. Even a group of Wildhammers had made the trip. It was a homecoming he'd never forget and an admiration for Loch Modan he still has today.
Ultang spent that summer gathering meat, fishing the Loch with Drac and weekends at the outpost crafting. It was like old times again, but with the constant news of the war raging, his stay in Thelsamar wouldn't last long.
Gronwell leaned over whispering in his grovelled voice, "Son.... Words comin' frem yer uncles mine in th' gorge." Gronwell frowned and continued, "Th' orcs are plowin' through th' mountains o' Redridge an' inte th' Steppes nae."
He paused as Ultang spoke up. "They'll no' be able t' git through Stonewraught Pass da'" Ultang said with a hopeful sound. Gronwell smiled, "Aye son, bu' thaers nae time t' build a gate t' stop em frem comin through th' Badlands."
Ultang frowned, "Yeh always told meh I woos th' finest shot yeh e'er seen da'. Ah'm trained nough t' shoot orc!" Gronwell smiled at his boy, "We'll be fine 'ere, donnae yeh worrae... Five thousand o' our finest are on thaer way frem th' forge."
His father smiled and pulled a rolled piece of parchment and handed it to Ultang. "Aye?" Ultang looked up seeing the Ironforge seal attached. "Whats this?" He unrolled the scroll, it read.
Mtr. Gronwell Forkenale,
I've been informed o' yer son Ultangs talents in th' art o' leathercraftin. I write in 'opes tha' he is well an' tha' yeh may be able tae contact 'im.
Durin' th' first war, intelligence was able tae recover a full set o' a captain o' th' hordes armor. Th' set made o' dragonscale woos like nothin' we'd see 'afor. Th' armor was sent tae beh researched by a lad named Peter Galen. Mr. Galen 'as been given an grand budget t' design an' craft armor made o' scale fer th' alliance on th' isle o' Kul' Tiras. We're in need o' able hands. Many o' th' finest crafters are on their way to Menethil.
Locate yer boy an' make 'im aware o' this matter o' urgency. Tis' a fine opportunity tae serve th' alliance an' learn frem th' best. Th' ship leaves frridae aft'anoon.
Ultang looked down heaving a sigh. "Yaer leavin' in th' mornin' son. I donnae want yeh 'ere, th' guard'll handle em orcs.. ." His dad placed his hand on his sons shoulder. "Yer no' trained fer battle an' yer go' a future wit' yer hides t' think o'" Ultang looked up from the parchment, "Ach, dragonscales?! Kul Tiras???"
"Its th' best yeh cen do fer us an' th' rest o' th' alliance son. Yer expected tae arrive in Menethil in th' morn. Be proud o' yer talent, learn whot yeh cen frem th' fella an' git back 'ere t' see yer ole da' soon." Gronwell gave his son a fierce hug.
It was an unusually cool September morning in the Loch. Drac grilled up some breakfast while Ultang finished packing Duncans saddlebags in preparation for his ride to Menethil. Angus was clawing through the last of his morning albacore. They both ate in silence until Drac spoke up, "Donnae worrae bou' us lad. Go an' show those 'umans craftin as it should be done!" Ultang smirked. "Jes' like I did wit' them long ears, aye?" They both chuckled and said their goodbyes.
Ultang climbed up on his ram and gazed out over the Lochs shore one last time. He prayed this place would look no different next time he returned. As he rode to Menethil he thought of the prior nights talk with his father and what was to come.
On the evening of his 60th birthday Ultang and the group of crafters pulled into port in the captial city of Kul Tiras. Boralus, a majestic port city had become a very welcome place to all races since the start of the new alliance. Its nautical port was immense with tall ships stretching as far as the eye could see. Ultang would spend his next forteen years on that isle. What occured during that time is unknown mostly. Only the news of his parents passing brought him home.
After the funeral, Ultang disappeared into the mountains of Dun Morogh, occasionally stopping in Kharanos for supplies. A few months went by, and while in the Thunderbrew one stormy afternoon he met a fellow named Mugrir Runehammer of the Boomstick Gang. The rest as they say is history.