It was a day like any other in Stormwind City, when a woman entered Duncan's Textiles. Her face, grim and pale, and set with brown eyes told anyone so savvy that she was an adventurer. Her thin frame and pale skin suggested sorcery or skullduggery as her "profession", although her white travelling clothes, wide-brimmed hat, and a book at her hip all but sold her as a magician of some sort.
"Well met," said a man in fine green clothing, with red hair and a neat beard. This was Duncan Cullen, propietor and owner of, well, Duncan's Textiles. "What can I help you with?"
"Is there a Clavicus Knavingham here? I was told by a..." The woman stopped, searching for a polite adjective with which to describe the dreadful sellswords who told her about the Alliance's need for cloth and where to drop it off. "...people that he collects donations of cloth? I've cloth for him."
Duncan furrowed his brow. "I don't see any cloth... Or have you scheduled something, Miss...?"
"Usvira," the woman interrupted. "My name is Usvira." The woman, Usvira, opened a pouch at her hip, reached in, and whispered a word of some magical significance or the other. Pulling her hand back out, several feet of wool cloth followed. Everyone in the shop murmured, impressed at her display. Yep, she was definitely a mage.
"Well, then!" Duncan's eyes lit up. "Mr. Knavingham is upstairs, and a little to your right." His demeanor softened. "Light bless you."
A pained look crossed Usvira's face, and she murmured, "If you say so." She scaled the stairs, and following the directions given to her, stopped when she saw a man with clean-cut red hair and a mustache. Behind him were people sorting cloths of various types -- tying them into bundles, measuring them out, and the like. "Hello, are you Mr. Knavingham? Or do you know where I could find him?"
"Yes, I am Mr. Knavingham! What can I do for you?" He was friendly, almost to a disturbing extent. He looked like his dreams involved animated swatches of cloth constricting him, while their fellows gagged and strangled his loved ones.
"Well, uhh, someone told me that you were accepting donations of cloth?" Again, Usvira pulled her length of wool out of her pouch. Clavicus Knavingham swallowed, but smiled anyways. "Your Duncan sent me up here to drop it off."
"We are accepting donations of cloth! Our stores are such on wool that we would only need a pittance from you; we should be able to acquire enough from others in the realm to support our drive."
"Well..." Usvira dug her hand deep into her pouch, seemed to catch onto something, and yanked with all of her might. A mountain of wool nearly as tall as she was emerged from the confines, and Clavicus could but gape at her display, mouthing "Wonderful!". "I found some poor merchants cut down, and not far from them, I found gangs of gnolls. I took care of them, and, well, while I'm as good with a needle and thread as I am with magic and a staff - ask the gnolls about the latter - I thought I'd offer." She gestured at the mammoth wooly offering. "A book I found in their encampment suggests that this was some sixty yard's worth. Measuring it with my own tools, I can verify, although your people are obviously more than welcome to check, if you so desire."
Clavicus took his eyes off the wool, and regarded Usvira warmly. "We thank you for your generous donation!" He hestiated for a moment, and then piped up, "Could you just, ahh, do me a favour and help me move the wool into this back room? There, we can measure it out and get it shipped off."
Grasping the wooly mammoth in a bear-hug, Usvira began to drag it with her into the back room. "Sure thing."