The Tale of Tharok, the Drunken Dragonborn Monk

I’ll never forget the day Tharok, the drunken Dragonborn monk, stumbled into our village. It was a quiet morning, the kind where nothing seems to happen, and you can hear the wind whisper through the trees. I was cleaning the shop, organizing my collection of miniatures, when I heard it—a loud crash followed by a growl that made me shiver.

I ran to the door, half expecting to see a dragon or some creature of myth, but instead, it was Tharok. A Dragonborn, yes. But unlike any I had ever seen. His scales, a dull green with patches of gold, shimmered under the morning sun. He wore a monk’s robe, but it was torn, stained, and hung loosely on his muscular frame. One of his hands clutched a bottle, clearly emptied of its contents.

Tharok was clearly intoxicated. His steps wobbled as he tried to walk straight. But it wasn’t just the alcohol that confused me—it was his aura. The air around him felt charged, a strange mix of chaos and calm, as if he had mastered both inner peace and wild abandon. It was clear from the moment he arrived that something special, yet strange, was happening here.

The first thing Tharok did was fall into a barrel of apples. The entire barrel tipped over as he stumbled, sending apples flying everywhere. For a moment, I thought he might crush the whole thing with his weight. But no—he let out a loud, bellowing laugh that echoed through the village. His tail, long and thick, lashed behind him in a blur. Then, as though he had been struck by a sudden thought, he started eating the apples, one after another.

I watched in awe. What kind of monk was this? And why was a Dragonborn in such a state? Dragonborns are known for their pride and discipline. They do not fall into barrels. Yet, here he was. A drunken Dragonborn monk.

Tharok looked around, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to focus on something far off. “Is this the village of resin? The Resin Armies?” he asked, his voice slurring.

“Yes,” I replied, still unsure of what I was witnessing. I had heard rumors of strange wanderers, but this was something else entirely. “We specialize in 3D printed miniatures, mighty warriors crafted with resin.”

His head tilted. Resin? He furrowed his brow in thought, as though that word carried weight. “Resin,” he muttered. Then, with sudden clarity, he reached out and grabbed a handful of apples. “Resin, yes. Perfect for an army.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Here was this Dragonborn monk, drunk out of his mind, speaking as though he were some great strategist planning for war. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I have the finest selection of miniatures here. If you’re looking to build an army, these are the best you’ll find.”

He snorted and waved his hand, his bottle swaying dangerously. “An army? What good is an army when you cannot defeat your own inner demons?” He swayed and nearly tipped over, catching himself just in time.

“I… I see,” I said slowly. This was getting stranger by the second. “Are you, uh, looking for something specific?”

Tharok paused. His tail twitched. “Yes,” he said after a long silence. “I need a miniature to represent me. A resin miniature. To remind me of what I could be if I could just stop drinking for five minutes.”

Resin? A miniature of him? Now that’s a request I’ve never gotten. But I couldn’t deny that the idea was fascinating. There was a part of me that wondered just how his miniature would look in resin. A drunken Dragonborn monk? Surely that would be a unique addition to anyone’s collection.

“I can make that for you,” I said, my voice a little unsure but excited. “I could even print it in a few different poses. Perhaps one with the bottle, one where you’re meditating, and one where you’re, uh, falling over?”

Tharok’s eyes lit up. “Perfect!” he boomed. “I want to be seen as both wise and foolish, both drunk and enlightened. The balance, you know?” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the torn monk before me.

Tharok seemed to sober up, at least slightly, as we talked about the miniature. He sat down on a bench, his muscles rippling under his robe, and I got a better look at him. Despite his imperfect appearance, there was something magnificent about him. His arms were thick with muscle, and his hands were calloused—probably from years of training, even if the alcohol had dulled that focus for now. His face was scarred, but those scars only added to the aura of mystery that surrounded him.

I quickly sketched out the design for his resin miniature. A Dragonborn monk, sitting cross-legged, a bottle in one hand, his other hand raised in the classic monk position. His tail curled around him as if he was trying to contain the chaos inside. It was both an artistic challenge and an opportunity to create something unique.

Tharok eyed the sketch. “Yes, this is it. I can feel the balance.”

Balance. That word stuck with me. Tharok, for all his drunkenness, seemed to be a man in search of balance. His life, once filled with discipline, had been knocked off course by a decades-long binge. Yet, in his drunkenness, there was still the wisdom of a monk trying to make sense of the chaos within. Maybe that’s what made him so fascinating. He was both a warrior and a fool, both enlightened and lost.

I made the miniature, and when I finished, I was amazed at how well it turned out. The resin captured every detail—the way his robe hung unevenly, the way his tail curled around his legs, and even the bottle, which seemed too small in his giant hands. I showed it to him the next day.

Tharok studied the resin miniature carefully. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice almost somber. “This… this will remind me. Of what I was. And what I still can be. I must find balance. No more drinking.”

I chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

He gave me a sideways grin. “Perhaps. But for now, I will carry this miniature with me, a reminder of both my failure and my potential. Thank you.”

And just like that, Tharok stood up, grabbing his bottle, and started walking away. But not before one last, hearty laugh.

“Resin Armies, you say?” he shouted as he turned back. “A fine place for a drunken monk to find his way!”

That was the last time I saw Tharok. I don’t know if he found his balance, but I like to think that miniature, that drunken Dragonborn monk, found a place in the hearts of all who saw it.

For anyone looking to create their own legendary miniatures, whether of drunken monks or mighty warriors, head over to Resin Armies. They specialize in crafting miniatures that capture the very essence of a character, no matter how odd or legendary.

Resin Armies, your 3D printed miniatures store.