World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


"Looks like you brought your fair share of items. Anyway, what do you think of this place? A bit dusty and worn but a decent place provided the previous tenants didn't leave us anything. You handled yourself well on the ship. You didn't get sick, and the men didn't sweep you off your feet. "

Marion had to crane her head back to peer up at the towering troll. Hunched though he was, he still loomed above the shorter human woman.

"Upon this rock we shall build our church," she gestured to their surroundings, an implication of approval.

"However, you give me too much credit. I endured a long voyage to travel from Lordaeron to Kalimdor, so it was fortunate that I was already accustomed to both the awkward motion of the oceans, and the cheeky attitudes of sailors," she smiled.

" Well, I have a request for you. Since I probably can't do it all on my own. It's about Emelia. I've seen some of your spells and you might get antsy around a light wielder who might bring down the hammer. But I think we have a fresh-faced greenhorn groomed since their first lesson to command. I wouldn't be asking you this if I thought you couldn't do it. But if you have the time could you help show Emelia the ropes? You saw her start to stutter once we all approached her right? I've seen young trolls in position before, groomed by their elders to command, they're confident but once it's time to lead they can quickly become doubtful, overwhelmed, and withdrawn. I think she could learn a lot from you, and you could learn something from her too. I ... also don't want a repeat of what happened with Felix. So, can I count on you? "

It was quite a request. But Marion could understand Jakk'ari's apprehension at allowing a head-strong and eager but rather green newcomer to seize any position of authority without having first had their mettle tested by the best teacher of all: experience.

"Have you ever had dealings with the Paladins before? The 'Knights of the Silver Hand'? They were among the saviours of my people during the Second War. Their inspiring leadership, the combination of martial prowess and connection to the Light made many of them household heroes, capable of both smiting orc and healing the injured in equal measure. When the Scourge blighted our lands, the Paladins once again rose to the occasion. For one who has not experienced the Scourge bloating out within their homeland...watching what they do to whole regions...you have no idea..."

Marion seemed to zone out for a second, her eyes staring off into the distance as if reliving some mind-grasping reality that only she could see. It took several seconds before she composed herself, exhaling and squaring her shoulders to return the trolls attention.

"Were it not for them one could argue that the whole of the northern continent of the Eastern Kingdoms would have been enthralled to the will of the Lich King, and by extension, the world itself would have little hope of resistance."

Marion allowed a pregnant pause to linger so that Jakk'ari could process everything she had just said.

"There was another branch of Paladins that..." Marion trails off, biting her bottom lip as she looked aside, her mind once again traversing in unknown fields as she considered her next words. "No, never mind. They are irrelevant to us."

Composing herself, "Emelia carries that legacy with her. It will inspire her to great heights, but it will also lure her into arrogance. My dealings with the Paladins has been...less than charitable. But as much as I despised their mindless harassment, I can remove my own ego from the equation to view their existence within the Alliance as one of necessity, for whom my race owes its very survival."

Marrion pursed her lips, her green eyes bright beneath the cowl of her hood.

"Great heights. Great arrogance. I can try to guide her hand, but I can make no guarantee that she will listen."

oOo

Perhaps to no ones surprise, Marion claimed the upper most room available in the tower, the one that was, ironically, closest to the sky. The attic, if you will. The spiralling staircase that drew one up into the floor was sealed off with ritualistic magic at its upper most peak, ensuring only those who were invited or permitted were able to enter the highest summit of the Opal's residence.

The first week passed with little oddity, relatively speaking. Marion would emerge from her cave carrying soft bags under her eyes and a tiredness to her gait - a fatigue that seemed to catch even the body of a teenager, who should be brimming with energy. Those below the attic would hear little disturbance from the fel user, save the occasional laughter through the floorboards or the whirring of...mechanical devices?

It was the second week that affairs became peculiar. Marion herself was unseen during this period, her image gracing no ones sight save that of the seemingly endless stream of goblin couriers that hurried up and down the stair case. One almost felt sorry for the little deliverymen, as their frames were dwarfed and weighed down by the hefty boxes that they carried, each balsa-wood cube brandished with insignia's from the Steamwheedle Company, the Venture Co and even producers situated in the far-flung dwarven capital of Ironforge.

And then came the sounds. The...odd sounds that were muffled by the floorboards but nevertheless distinct in their origin from the attic of the tower.

A laughter here. A distant "Yes!" there. On one particularly stormy evening one might have sworn that a lightning bolt had arched itself through a hole in the ceiling only to be captured by some arcane capacitor to the great delight of its creator. But surely such flights of fantasy were locked within the realm of wild imagination...

By the third week, Marion finally re-appeared among her colleagues. She had retained a distinct, aristocratic grooming, but those bags under her eyes had darkened and the energy with which she moved seemed...unnatural, driven almost by chemical stimulant rather than the natural exuberance of youth and excitement. Nevetheless, sunken though her eyes were they were remarkably alert.

As usual, Marion barely moved beyond the staircase that would lead one up to her elevated enclave. She received meals from those who would bring it, graciously thanking them, but little else. Instead she spent her time speaking to goblins of unknown identity, their connection to the outside world carried only in the insignia's that were worn upon their uniforms.

For those of a curious and eavesdropping inclination, scant collections of the warlocks conversation could be collected....

"Yes...yes...a production capacity of a thousand a week for now, and quadruple that after I streamline manufacturing methods...no....yes....no...no...no...no! Nothing less than 60%...I don't care, wish him all the best trying to mine deep into Stranglethorn without my creation..."

Soon, crates started to be carried out of the attic, not into it. Packaged boxes once more dwarfed the goblins carrying them, but each one bore a new logo, one that had not yet been seen, its imagery accompanied by a simple font stencil above its declaration - "Mordis".

Spoiler

Show

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Jakk'ari's Dream, concluded.

Show

Fighting the Steamwheedle directly won't work. I have seen the port and the peoples within. They are too numerous and can be easily motivated to raise arms against us. We can protect our game and watering holes but
only for so long. Certainly not beyond the next time of scarcity in the desert.

I believe in these times wisdom can be gleaned from our ancient past to lead us forward. Something nobody surpasses us in.

The powerful, accomplished Chief Ukorz tilts his face forward, and watches you intently through the tops of his eyes while you speaks. There is something restless and mighty within the Chief's blood and spirit; that can’t be denied. But it was not entirely beyond reason. And you are a man of reason, as much as an agent of the elements.

I respect your tenacity and resilience Chief Ukorz. At our zenith, the empire of Zul, nothing could overcome the trolls. So strong was the union of tribes it beat the Qiraji empire chasing them to the most dismal parts of Azeroth when the other races were in their infancy. But what must not be forgotten is that it took a union of all tribes encompassing the entire world. We are too few and must share our tenacity to overcome this threat.

The High Chieftain’s eyes remain focused on the you. They do not grow hot with anger; and that might be as good as a spoken concession, in such a volatile and potent ruler. You’re speaking the truth - the Farraki are too few, and no amount of jingoism or fury would make up for that. The age of trollish power is gone; a weapon of a forgotten age, buried in the indifferent sands.

Chief Sasani, arms folded beneath her chest, listens to the you in turn; her gaze lighter, more open, and appreciably pragmatic.

Chief Sasani, I respect your calculus of power the cartel is too powerful for us to fight alone. But it be prudent to remember several of the times our ancestors fell from grace.
Such as when the Zul chose appeasement and fealty to other empires. The storm king led the avaricious emperor into a fight that led to his lineages doom. There also is the tale of the Demon Queen where Zul swore fealty to her leading to the splintering of the world. If we were to have allies they must not only share our interests but our noble values.

Her brow furrows a little. It’s clear her feeling of kinship with the Horde leads her to believe they have certain traits she would consider noble. Still - the margin for error in such decisions, considering how few and scattered their villages, was so slim that an abundance of caution was not unwise counsel. She looks, atleast, willing to entertain alternatives.

We must fight to secure our future but we also need allies. Ones who believe in the sacrosanct principles of Zul. Those who don't squander and deride tradition. The past is our guide but we must adapt. We will need to look beyond routine and comfort. To those such as the dragons, neighboring lands, and beneath the sands. For as it is said in matters of style flow like the sands but in manners of principle stand firm like the stone.

This recitation - part of an ancient poem penned by an unknown Farakki - is known by all such sand trolls. Its stanzas have a familiar and useful formula for teaching early wisdom to children. Tradition versus adaptation; order versus chaos. Sophisticated discussions always come down on deciding what is a matter of style and what is a matter of principle; but in this lodge of meeting, in the quiet that follows your words as the flames are released to crackle and pop again, it seems you have been permitted to draw that line with credibility.


High Chieftain Ukorz breaks the silence, first with the clicking of the bone in one muscular shoulder he rolls as he straightens up on his bench, then with his weighty voice. I like ya new Sandspeaker, Haja’rra. He got guts, but enough respect I ‘ardly feel incline’ to see dem.

As Ukorz appears to cede some ground to you, you can’t help but notice your opposite number by Ukorz’ side, Shia’ha Stonecaller, look discomforted. In that moment, you detect that for whatever Ukorz’s personal hubris, he is having that flaw magnified by bad advice - advice you have just undercut - and the advisor in question isn’t particularly pleased to be reduced. Nothing comes of it in the meeting - this is a meeting of Chiefs, after all - but you don’t forget the look on her face; the look of mild but real annoyance one gives a bug that has bitten with its tiny jaws, but inflicted an outsized ache with previously hidden venom.

“I’m not convinced we can reason with dragons, or elves, any more than the demons, Jakk’ari. But I got no rush. Orgimmar will be there tomorrow, and the day after.

With Haja’rra’s admission, you have the tentative backing of all three chiefs. It’s no solution to the problem, but it’s all you could ever have hoped for: an opportunity to prove that there is a future for people that does not lie in a miraculous victory and the rebirth of a dead empire which, for all its glory, is so far inferior to the possibility you know lies in the hearts of your people.

The discussion rolls on to other things, then. Joint patrols on the roads to ward off the Dunemaul. The renewal of the exchange of meager goods between the coalitions of north, south, and eastern troll villages. Those conversations, you do not remember clearly. They hardly mattered; and your head was so full of the music of possibility, you couldn’t have contributed much to them if you wanted to.

You do, however, remember Lasha’nah embracing you after the lodge is over and packed away. She knows what this means. Your duty to your people is going to take you far from home; but no other Farraki can do what you are going to try to do.

“You doin’ a good thing, Jakk’ari. You doin’ a righteous thing. You come home when you can; we be here when you do.”

Lasha’nah can be a spitfire when she wants to, and you had mostly suspected her to take the opportunity here. It’s an opportunity to feign a threat about what she’ll do to you if you wander off north and find some Darkspear floozy, for example; or to warn you off filing down your tusks and trying to blend in with the Kaldorei, in Auberdine. But she’s quiet and serious now, and every word she has for you is full of direct encouragement and faith in your mission.

She speaks to you like a woman speaks to a husband she fears she will never see again. It breaks your heart. But the only way to overcome that fear is to go, do what you must do, and come back again; and after she has gone to sleep that night, you spend hours in a kneeling bow, fingers curled into the sand of Tanaris, asking the spirits to prepare your way to your destiny - and to prepare the way back, once the work is done, and your people are a truly safe.

It would be two years before you saw your wife’s face again.

Spoiler: OOC: Hey!

Show

I went to post, and I realized I never concluded Jakk'ari's dream! :O and when I went to rectify my error, I wrote until I realized it was 11:30. So the round up post is still coming; it'll just come tomorrow. Thanks for your patience, friends. :)

[MrAbdiel]

Three Weeks Pass...

Spoiler: Jakk'ari

Show

Jakk'ari invests his time diligently in the preparation and advancement of their group, and its purpose; preparing the garden by hand with seeds he has himself collected on his varied travels, contributing heavilly to interviews and discussions with the candidates the group interviews to join their staff, and securing social inroads within the town itself. As the group's only Kalimdor native, he has a degree of natural success that comes from preloaded familiarity. In embarking on this operation, he finds his most natural ally within the group, interestingly enough, to be Emilia.
For their own reasons, each of them is heavilly invested in the success of this chapter of the Opal Collocation and its mission; and the young human paladin, and older sand troll shaman rapidly become a cooperative engine for guild interests especially when they require a degree of personal sacrifice.
And both, amusingly enough, have personal skill in the culinary arts - though Emilia is likely to find the troll's palate to be eye-poppingly different from her own.

Spoiler: Side Scene - Soil and Toil

Show

You watch in quiet appreciation and amazement as the murloc, Schlep, works with almost frenetic enthusiasm in the garden. There is no economy to his movements. His limbs are clearly made by whatever natural force produced such strange creatures to operate mostly in water. But with a full body commitment to the task, an almost inexhaustible love for labor, and his janky marionette movements, you watch him rapidly rip out a row of weeds and hoe a furrow in the garden for you to scatter some goldenthorn seeds. He drops the hoe at the moment of his success and runs over to you; big, googly eyes and mouth full of saw teeth communicating a request that is almost canine in its intuitive simplicity. You oblige, and the unseen water spirit you coaxed up from the sea earlier the morning spritzes the murloc with a sudden, intense deluge; moistening his scales to their healthy green shine. Schlep is delighted, as he always is when you save him a trip back to the water and up the hill again. He releases a blurt of sound that is entirely composed of uvulated consonants, and bounces around in a goofy, celebratory jig on the spot; heel-and-toeing and flicking water over you, and everwhere else. Then he's off again, seizing a nearby rake and wildly scraping up the pulled weeds for disposal.

Everything is going quite well, to your assessment. The tower is well into development to a fully functional guild building; the new staff are falling into their roles; and all of your companions seem to have found their own rhythms. You'd hoped to have heard from Zachary by now; but you trust the ranger is carrying on his investigation. But the best news of the day comes on the wind; a southerly gust that comes to you and whispers in the voice of the breeze.

"Noble Farraki - the air honors you. I fly south today, swift and high over the clouds; and my kin, who rush and blow, tell me you have longed to send words to your kin in the land of sand and the whirling ones. My wake will take leaf, and dust as I go; but use your mortal-magic to flatten your words, and I will carry them where you bid also."

Your heart leaps. It's proven easy enough to find couriers willing to run messages to Gadgetzhan, but it's always been difficult to get anyone reliable to go out into the sands looking for a troll village. It's taken you a week and some to win over some of the Darkspear trolls in Ratchet to trusting you; but most people's experience with sand trolls are second hand accounts of cannibals jumping goblin convoys in the desert - a half-truth, at best. But today's the second anniversary of your departure from Sunscar village - it's achingly fitting that on this day, your first genuine chance to communicate with your family, and your chief, in months. What will they think, you wonder, when you tell them where you are, and the opportunities before you?

Spoiler: Emilia

Show

Emilia wastes no time putting her shoulder to the tasks involved in establishing the guild's footing in the civil web of the trading town, operating in intuitive tandem with Jakk'ari. She calls the first official meeting to order, and most of those that happen after; but manages to do so with a grace that makes her seem more self appointed secretary and keeper of minutes than unanointed autocrat. Her skilful pen hand dispatches a fleet of letters of introduction to just about every significant business and political operator in the town.
She drafts the recruitment posters that bring in the applicants for the interviews, and is rarely caught idle outside of her clearly delineated day off from active work. She scribes out a number of what inscibers call anaphorae; discrete repeated phrases and syllables that are set onto armor or garments in subtle places like the insides of pockets or the inside of a gorget, serving as the activation basis for modular inscriptions applied at another time based on need. She even succeeds in her gambit to mend the rift between herself an Aleeana - although as it turns out, Aleeana hadn't taken their mildly clashing introduction to heart, and enjoys a belly laugh of incredulity when the paladin comes to her that evening with an attitude of cautious reparation. But the elves, and everyone else, benefits from Emilia's willingness to cook up the 'small' plainstrider Aleeana hauls back on the first night. Emilia has never cooked one before - but with Jakk'ari whipping up some stuffing for the bird and assuring her it'll cook just like a giant turkey, the first night's meal together as a guild goes off without a hitch; bellies full of roast bird, sitting on the cliff's edge and watching the lights in the town below come on as the sun vanishes into the savannah horizon behind them.

Spoiler: Side Scene - Time Off

Show

Everything's going as well as it can in the guild. That, at least, you can take pride in. Because on your off days, you haven't done much you were proud of. Your first rest day in Ratchet, you started the night at the Broken Keel, but ended up drifting at some point from that reputable establishment to a pub occupied mostly by Alliance types called the Frisky Duke. It's a more familiar setting - decorated with paintings from the eastern kingdoms, and furniture in the human style; with a pretence of noble snobbery that is either parody or imitation of true class, with its stained old-wood chairs around the fireplace in addition to a conventional bar. A human girl, about your age, shared a drink with you there after you were several cups in already. You talked about... Something. You remember the folksy Westfall accent, and the black ponytail to keep her hair neatly back, a little lower than your own. But she said something, or you said something, and before you know it, the situation with someone who might have easily been your first friend in Kalimdor has become so violent that you're throwing hands and breaking tables. Witnesses to the conflict can't agree on who said which particular vulgarity, but any arrangement of the facts produces a bad picture for both parties. And you would have won, handilly; you had the physical power over her that became clear early as she reeled back from your connecting blows, and you shrugged off hers. But then, with the thoughtless and desperate instinct of a creature backed into a corner, she smashed a vase of paper apple blossoms and rammed the jagged sump under your guard and just inside the tip of your highest floating rib. Your opponent, slurring remorsefully, accompanied you along with a party of tipsy good samaritans to another building in the city, where a priestess you barely remember saved your life, and turned a mortal gut wound full of broken glass into a light, but noticable scar. As you made eggs for the guild that morning, bandaged and aching and hung over, you told yourself, for sure this time: never again.

So how the fel did this happen?

You're banned from Frisky Duke, but you wake up to the malicious sunbeams of the Kalimdor dawn blooming through the window of a room you apparently got at the Broken Keel.
In a couple of hours, you'll need to be back at the guild making breakfast. But you're not alone.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing up her leather breaches, is your partner for two very different evenings now. With the punishing clarity of sobriety, you can see she's far more fit than you gave her credit for previously - toned, but not pronounced muscles in her back shifting pleasingly as she pulls the rumpled white buccaneer's shirt around her shoulders, the fabric drifting down to cover over the tattoo on her lower back: a stylized black icon of a horse's head, like a chess piece.

She notices you're awake, glancing over her shoulder at you with what strikes you now as a very pretty, but painfully guilty smile, and begins tying her hair up again.

"So... I... don't think we should drink together anymore. We don't - ... I don't think we've established a very good spectrum of outcomes for that, you know?" She gives you her best ha-ha-sorry-about-the-stabbing grimace-smile before turning her face to the window. The sun in the morning seems to hate you, but it's more than happy to frame her in picturesque radiance. "I'm.. Amber, by the way. I don't know if I said that or not."

Spoiler: Mor'Lag

Show

Mor'Lag is content to leave the administrative activities to others, enjoying the simple joy of a room of her own - and one that, scaled generously for space, can actually accommodate her bulk with minimal fear of doorframes, or tripping over a crowding of uselessly small and fragile furniture. The goblin Kerwin, upon checking in a few days after their arrival in response to a nice letter sent to him by Emilia, is able to arrange suitable furniture for the ogre, too; and without requiring a custom effort. Within the town there is a small but healthy number of large folk - ogres and the strange hobgoblins who labor pliantly for their goblin kinsmen - and a specialist industry for their needs. Soon, the room's door is widened to permit easy access for its occupant, and one corner is given over to a heap of animal hides within a circular rim of stones, creating the firm but not bare bedding familiar and ideal for ogres. Mor and Lag give their laconic input to the recruitment of staff, throwing their weight largely behind Marion's picks; but importantly, finding the help they need in the gnome mage they hire. Aglet is adaptable and creative enough to quickly understand the blunt, intuitive elements of her arcane talent, and knows how to set the ogress on the path of catching up to lifetime of not expecting such a gift to manifest. Once the alchemy lab is up and running, she has a vector to give back to the group, as well; and the slowly growing stockpile of useful potions comes with almost half its tally attributed to the ogress's efforts.

Spoiler: Side Scene - Three Heads Are Better Than Two

Show

Aglet is precisely the kind of tutor you hoped for. Well - maybe not precisely. The embarrassing smallness of the gnome is hard to overlook. It’s bad enough that the world you’re navigating is built for creatures you tower over half again; but these goblins, and even smaller, the gnomes, are sometimes very difficult to take seriously. Yet one lesson of magic - perhaps the primary lesson - is that physical might does not contain the fore and aft boundaries of power. If it was, your ancestors could never have thrown down the gronn. And the orcs would never have thrown down your ancestors. And the humans, with their skinny, stumpy, and runty allies, would never have thrown down the orcs. Perhaps it is the nature of power to drift from the brawny to the brainy, and those who trust exclusively in muscle are doomed to serve smaller, frailer masters. But you will not be swept aside by such a flow, no matter how naturally it may manifest in history. Two powerful arms, two powerful minds - you will have all of it.

Today you are practicing your gifts outside in the cool of the afternoon as it fades into evening. Aglet has traded in his robe and pointy hat for a more casual tweed ensemble, unlit pipe pinched between two fingers, used mostly for gesturing.

“Alright, ladies. Let’s go again.” With an arcane pronouncement which you’re sure he could mutter, but is carefully over enunciated to demonstrate technique for you, he conjures a flourish of warm orange light that swims through the air to Felix, standing obligingly nearby for just this purpose. The ex-cadet closes his eyes as he is lit up with the light spell, blinking as his eyes adjust, and smiles faintly with enduring encouragement to you.

You have repeated this process many, many times now. It is beginning to tire you. Aglet will summon the light spell onto Felix, and you will dispel it. And you’ve mastered the dispel, somewhat - except Aglet won’t acknowledge that. His frustration is that you are manifesting the magic instinctively, without the traditional verbal components that both Gnomish and Elven arcane traditions require. Your casting comes easily enough if you just thrust with both hand as if propelling the arcane matter outward invisibly, and focus your mind on the destruction of the enchantment in question. Eschewing certain components of spells without sacrificing the competence of the casting is typically a suggestion of mastery; but Aglet insists that you ought to learn these components now, ingraining them into your arcane habit earlier, even though you don’t need them.

“Go ahead. Mor, can I get a verbal dispel from you, this time - Lag, not a peep. And I don’t want anyone’s hands moving.” He gestures with his pipe, as if this should be the easiest thing in the world for you. But the syllables - neither Gnomish nor Elven, but drawn from a wholly separate magical lexicon - are unfamiliar to you, and feel bad in your mouths, and you keep fumbling over morphemes that don’t exist in the languages you know and so barely register to your ears at all. Your success in purely verbal casting has been… patchy. The feeling is wildly disempowering; like being made to fight with your hands tied behind you. Felix, the patient recipient of all of today’s magic, gives you a thumbs up.

Spoiler: Isaera

Show

Isaera is the member of the group most radically divorced from her comfort zone; and she acutely feels the distance from Theramore and her loved ones. Aleeana is the Runescribe who is most naturally energized by new places and faces, and for the first week she is an ethereal presence, showing up long enough to scarf a bowl of Emilia's complimentary breakfast, hug her sister, then vanish into the grasses again. For that first week, it would be easy for Isaera to second guess her decision to embark on this mission at all. She orders a suite of furniture, and when Kerwin delivers it, sends it back. And why wouldn't she? She's planning on staying here long term.
Why would she do so with a bed that sags on the left side, or a mismatched set of drawers?
The inadequate suite is taken away, and a higher quality one returns, along with an orc craftsman who listens carefully, and adjusts some of the pieces on site until they are satisfactory. Once the room is appointed however, that's all there is - Isaera, alone in her room; with a town full of goblins outside her window, with no Tarien, and most of the time, no Aleeana. But by the second week, Aleeana's burst of initial, spastic wanderlust is mostly burned out, and she begins a fixture in Isaera's life again - and without the proximity to their mother triggering whatever need for conflict the raven haired sister seems to have, their relationship immediately strengthens. Isaera has the patience and clarity of vision that Aleeana sorely needs to prevent her from spinning off into a disaster of her own making; Aleeana is a familiar, confident and comfortable slice of Isaera's world that she requires to thrive in this strange new course of life. They explore the town together, speak to each other more freely and trustingly than ever before, and fall into a solid rhythm of checking in and splitting off as they each pursue their own skills to be honed.

Spoiler: Side Scene - Far From Home

Show

It might be the best you've felt since before the mission into the marsh. Most of it is the environment: the library in the tower is far from ideal, but it’s very much functional and academically welcoming, when it’s not over crowded. The smell of thumbed paper and burnished parchment is in the air, and even with the bittersweet memories of your much more impressive estate library in tow, the sense of purposed, orderly information at your fingertips in a clean environment is just nice. A single large table against one wall, large enough for two to sit abreast with a comfortable spread of written matter around them. There are six floor to ceiling shelves in the room that were quite sparsely occupied until your group brought the gnome mage Aglet onto staff - now the shelves are bowing under their turgid profusion of substance, with other books scattered around the tower in extra storage boxes hither and thither. Even this does not compromise the orderly state of the room, however. At the end of the first week, you successfully scribbled up a ritual to manifest and bind an arcane servant to your service. The simple creature’s rudimentary intellect has been constructed to thrive on approval, and to perform various tasks about the tower that relate to the library. The further one gets from that purpose, the more dicey the outcome; but there has been no trouble for you today. Early in the morning, you took the arcane token - a library card from an academy in fallen Silvermoon, once belonging in a tome called ‘The Age of Wonderful Things’, checked out only twice - and activated it with its command word. The barely visible, faintly luminous pink shade of a legless humanoid eagerly went about its given task, gliding quietly from room to room rounding up any scattered texts that contained meaningful discussion about teleportation, and returning them to orderly harmony on the shelves for your later perusal (incidentally displacing some other tomes to other rooms, to make the needed space). At the completion of the task, its final act was as always to hang its little library card by the eyelet on a hook in the library itself, where it waited for your retrieval at the appointed time for your study. Now, there are six books spread out before you on the table, four in Thalassian, one in common, one diagramatic, all on the subject of teleportation. A scroll containing Theramore’s ‘key rune’ is spread in the middle of the halo of books, just waiting for you to have the breakthrough of understanding you need to start assembling this knowledge into a spell that can send you back to Theramore when required, and not accidentally shoot you into Great Dark.

As you contemplate, your eyes are lidding with the onset of relaxation. Aleeana, standing behind your chair, is taking her turn brushing your hair with even hypnotic strokes - a task Aleeana hasn’t volunteered to do for you since. Well. Before the world ended.

“When you figure it out, you ought to let me know before you ever use it. I’ll want to send letters with you, for everyone. And maybe presents. And when you sail back, you can bring the responses.” The suggestion is phrased a little presumptuously, as is Aleeana’s style; but it makes sense. It’s annoying to have to sail back at all, but atleast half the trip can be done instantly. Theoretically. If you can make the bloody spell work.

“How much can you take with you, in a solo teleport?” The answer, you know, is as much as you can carry. But that candid response invites a future you’re already imagining where you are teleporting to Theramore with a zherva carcass on your shoulders, to be stuffed and mounted where the family can see. Perhaps it’s a blessing the spell’s working has eluded you, thus far.

Spoiler: Marion

Show

Marion barely has time to spare to appoint her room in more than a rudimentary capacity. It quickly becomes a workshop be necessity. Possessed by a spirit of industry since before she left Theramore, once the scion of Alterac has stable ground and some personal space to work in.
The steady stream of goods incoming and product outgoing occupies her full attention, punctuated occasionally by impatient periods of guild meetings and interviews. It's hard to have patience for such things when there's important work to be done - but Marion was raised into a noble family who did not neglect to teach her the secrets of dividing one's attention judiciously between the internal world and external necessities. With Mor'Lag continuing to demonstrate a willingness to help; and it's the ogress more often than not who makes sure the delivered goods are hoisted up to Marion's window by the external pulley system the noble has rigged up for just such a purpose. This powerful distraction does not cause her to neglect darker duties, however; in a locked and warded chest in the corner of her workshop-room, the rough grey sphere of the infernal core rests with a kind of radiating, resistential malice; sharing its seclusion with a smaller container and the strange talisman given by the orc in Brackenwall. The latter can wait; the former is slow to reveal its secrets.

Spoiler: Sacrifices

Show

“Marion, Marion, listen to me for Light’s sake. You need help or you’re gonna burn yourself to a crisp. And what’s worse, you’re leavin’ money on the table!”

Nodrick Glitterthumb didn’t make the cut for employed staff, but didn’t take it personally - atleast, not so personally he didn’t jump at the opportunity to coordinate the labor and sales element of your burgeoning operation. Whatever Your personal reservations about the goblin, he’s proven to be a competent business associate in a town where you are quite sure there are many false-fronts of the same. He has managed to coax you, sleep deprived and impatient to get back to work to fulfill another batch of orders, out to Ratchet for lunch at a joint called Hidalgo’s; where the human cook Hidalgo purports to be specialized in serving up human cuisine from the far, lost kingdom of Stromgarde. It’s mostly finger sandwiches and soups, but the locals are enchanted with the exoticism; and they’re pretty good sandwiches, all things considered. And Hidalgo himself, a not-unattractive swarthy gent still on the younger side of middle aged, has twice now elected not to charge you for your meal except for the vaporous suggestion of your affection. Around you, at a comfortable distance, the menagerie of these various peoples dine, and gabble. Nodrick, over a half finished bowl of Stromato MineStrome, continues to plead with you.

“You’ve got orders comin’ out the wazoo. And there’s more in the wind, I promise you. But you can’t keep doing this as a one woman show! The throttle you’re putting on your earning potential is criminal! I know you want to protect your trade secrets, but you gotta let me help you here. There’s ways we can make sure no one can copy your work.”

You’re tasting the first specks of wealth you’ve had in a very long time, and all of it the labor of your own dainty digits. But Nodrick is right. You’ve refined your manufacturing process about as much as you can, and have been considering getting a factory going in the town itself - but the problem inherent is that as soon as someone is making money, there will be vultures circling. And it’ll be a breezy afternoon in the Firelands before you let some greenskinned thief work in your factory for a week, then bug out to Gadgetzhan and shake investment for a competing manufacturer out of a money-bags like Baron Noggenfogger. The impasse is suffocating: without expansion, you can’t generate more than a pleasant but limited trickle of gold. With expansion, you run a very real risk of exposing yourself to industrial espionage. But you haven’t fought tooth and nail against the whims of destiny, which has tried its damned hardest to bury you like the rest of Alterac’s glory, just to work your hands to the bone every day and otherwise feel comfortably well off. This is just the first step out of the mire. But how to climb higher, without sliding back down into the muck of poverty?

“I mean, I can send fellas up as often as you want to move the crates you’re hand-filling. But you gotta take a risk, here. Am I right, or am I right?”

[MrAbdiel]

The Guild Meeting

You together on the generous curve of a large semi-circular table in the living space of the first floor of the tower. It does double duty as a meal table; but for now it's a meeting table, scattered with missives, maps and nebulously useful papers. Your staff have dutifully tuned out for the meeting, the first of its kind with all hands on deck, with each of them having worked a little over seven days now, and settling in well enough. Dinner has been had, and evening is upon you. After this meeting, Seraphis and Aglet will return to their accommodation in the town below; Felix will begin his evening watch over the tower's exterior; Aleeana will theoretically retire to the room she shares with Isaera; and Schlep will zip with comical rapidity down the trapdoor to the tunnel below, zoom through the darkness with unhindered piscean quickness, and splash out into the water to... Wherever it is he goes, at night.

Seraphis runs the meeting, as is fitting. In an airy but sophisticated mageweave dayrobe, she projects the confidence and competence that you hired her for; as well as only being a little bit distractingly tall. With amazonian grace, she had set up an a-frame board covered in cork, to which is pinned whatever documents are relevant to the moment's topic. She marks an attendance, makes sure there is water with lemon available, as well as a plate of pastries packed with some reddish, sweet bean paste. After some matters of housekeeping, the staff cycle through their summaries of activity.

"Training is going well with all parties, I think. You're all very talented so far as I can tell!" The older gnome says brightly, before gesturing loosely with his unlit pipe in the up-and-left direction of the library. "If you need me to start researching anything in particular, let me know. I feel like I've got a fair handle on the place now; and since half those books were once mine, I'm well situated to compile a report on... most any topic you need."

"I, uh... figured since no one robs a place during the day, I ought to be up at night, so that's what I've been doing. No robberies so far - so.. It's working. Or you're wasting your money." Felix's eyes are tired - the young man still adjusting to his new sleeping schedule - but he's been a cadet long enough that he's no stranger to guard duty. "And Aleeana's going to teach me to shoot as good as her, so then I'll have that going on, too."

"Actually, I said I can teach you to shoot better - not as good as I can. But ..." The raven haired elfess brushes away the minor correction with a wave of her hand. "Better than you can right now. I'll try to catch you in the afternoons, after you've woken up, and I'm back from scouting."

"Scouting..." Seraphis, peering over the rims of her glasses, coaxes for an extrapolation from the high-elf; but none is immediately forthcoming for the Kaldorei's bulleted minutes of the meeting.

"Around. I figure I'll head out to the Crossroads this week and try to make friends with some of the hunters there; get clued into the Horde's network of outriders as much as I can. Unless you need me to go somewhere in particular."

Schlep, standing to one side, animates suddenly; pulling out his notebook and pencil, and scribbles wildly before tearing out the page and offering it to Seraphis. The night elf purses her lips, and takes the missive pinched between thumb and forefinger, as if she were holding a dead rat by the tail, but raises it up to read its content. "Plant for you yes. Grass for you yes-wait. Fish, yes-no, down-down yes-no." She squints at the paper, looks incredulously to the murloc and back at the paper, raises one long eyebrow and asks, pointing back to the trapdoor that leads to the tunnel to the cove: "Down-down?"

The murloc prances in a circle enthusiastically, overjoyed to be simply understood. Seraphis just levels out her eyebrows at the end of that ordeal, and pins Schlep's note to the board. "Well. I think that's a binary option. Do you... want him to start fishing for you, or, I suppose, working on making that tunnel and cove more reliable and useful?"

With the reports out of the way, Seraphis moves on to the primary matter of the meeting - action opportunities for the the Opal Collocation's Ratchet Chapter.

"Three opportunities that feature as significant enough for the Collocation's purposes. The first concerns raiding of the Crossroads by centaur encroachment. According to the request sent by the Horde representative at the Crossroads, the Kolkar centaur are escalating in their aggression. I'm aware that, in the last several years, the Kolkar tribe has emerged more vigorously from Desolace, and established satellite camps eastward. Those in Mulgore and Durotar have invariably clashed with the Horde there; and it seems the process is repeating here, though further from either Thunder Bluff or Orgrimmar's power projection. The Horde leadership is convinced the leader of this splinter tribe, Verog the Dervish, is insensible to negotiation and must be assassinated to permit more a more reasonable leader to fill the vacancy and, hopefully, lead their people back to Desolace; or atleast settle the raiding. Whether by assassination or other means, resolving that problem is likely to reflect well on your cause."

"Secondly, a goblin calling himself 'Sputtervalve', liason to the Ratchet Tinker's Union, has had some run ins with Venture Co. Operations, and recovered a manual for something called a 'Samophlange'. He would like one seized from a Venture Co. work camp, up near the path into Ashenvale. Samophlange. Samophlange?" She squints at the word on the page, forms it again twice with her lips as if trying to conjour its more comprehensible cognate, but gives up with a shrug. "Less reward in cache with the major factions, of course, but more with Ratchet folk; and Venture Co., while prone to worming their way back into the graces of the rich and powerful, are presently odious enough that they can be struck without any loss of face."

"Finally, a matter of some discretion, comes from the druids of the Cenarion Circle. It seems they have had an ongoing interest and operation in a cave network near to the Crossroads, and have lost contact with them, and subsequently the pair of druid initiates they sent to investigate. The Circle is still seen as Kaldorei dominated by the Horde, and moving a heavier force into a cave network near one of their settlements might be problematic - thus the request to yourselves, as a neutral party. The point of contact is Mathrengyl Bearwalker, druid in good standing, in Darnassus. Reachable by mail."

She pins the three missives, each in a different hand, to the board, and stands back, hands folded behind her, permitting the members of the guild to speak, and waiting for her next opportunity to clarify or assist in some way.

It seems you have three paths before you - though you needn't take any of them, or limit yourself to one of them.

Spoiler: Perception or Insight DC 15

Show

During the presentation, you catch Felix looking introspective and troubled - not in response to anything said, you think. Maybe someone should check in with him, at some point tonight.

Spoiler: OOC Stuff!

Show

Alright, so there's three active quest options. You can attempt any of them you find interesting and worth doing. They all offer financial rewards that will vanish into the ethereal bookkeeping for the guild, and also faction credibility - with Orgrimmar, the Tinker's Union, and the Cenarion Circle, respectively. You may feel free to ignore any of these, or action them any way you like. With Aleeana on board as a scout, you can certainly ask her to investigate one while you act on another, for example!

[WindStruck]

Isaera ponders the missives and offers, "All interesting opportunities, I am sure. But I wonder just what the 'horde leadership' has done in relation to the Centaur chieftain. Did they merely send grunts with a message of empty threats, or...?"

She shakes her head. Still unfamiliar with orcs and not thinking the best of them, despite beginning to actually pick up their language, she didn't know if genuine diplomatic measures and compromise had been attempted, or if they simply tried to thinly veiled an attempt at beating the problem into submission.

"And, of course, the request from the Tinkerer's Union is.. intriguing. I am curious about what this 'Samophlange' is. I don't suppose it would be possible to see the manual for ourselves?"

Spoiler: aaand

Show

info on Venture Co. history: (1d20+8)[27]

"The missive from the Cenarion Circle.. also a mystery. I feel it would be foolish to send a scout in by her lonesome," Isaera says, eying her sister. Not only was she kind of new to this, but logically it did make sense. Two druids disappearing when they investigated, plus a whole operation prior. There was some concern in Isaera's eyes, and she didn't want her sister to fall victim to what was probably a situation she would be vulnerable in.

[Plaids]

Spoiler: Insight roll on Felix

Show

(1d20+7)[10]

Spoiler: Montage activity roll

Show

(1d20)[4]

A varied selection of options lay before the party. Though for Jakk'ari at least the preferences were notable.

It would be loathsome to become involved in the machinations of the goblin cartels. Though it was the Steamwheedles that threatened to expand into Tanaris the others would likely follow suit if given the opportunity. Too many products and finances from the cartels were exchanged between the union and the cartels. The cartels and their partners couldn't be trusted.

The horde meanwhile was strong, immensely so. A group diverse races who had tilled the harsh lands of Kalimdor and were united behind the venerable Thrall. While the capability of the legendary shaman and his cohort was a comforting thought there were reasons to abstain from the horde. The horde were volatile and would no doubt clash with the alliance once more in the future. The horde had originally been an invading force fueled by demon blood in exchange for their freedom and honor. The Farraki diplomatic mission was partly predicated on finding allies who strengthen the standing of the Farraki while sharing common values and not towing the Farraki tribes into further conflict. The horde would have to be passed over.

The Cenarion Circle on the other hand were different. A powerful league of druids who sought to maintain the health and balance of the natural world was appealing. The group was also widely accepted, as much one could be on Azeroth. The Circle also honored traditions and the right of all beings to life. And should conflict arise the group would be formidable and suited for almost any environment. The Circle seemed to be the best option.

Jakk'ari waits for his turn to speak and provides his comment.
I have heard stories of Thrall leading the horde to victory against the centaurs. Why would we be needed to quell this threat? Surely the centaurs can be quickly deflected without interference. I believe the circumstances are more dire elsewhere.
Jakk'ari is confident Mor'Lag's disdain of the horde will work in his favor this time.

Jakk'ari eyes Marion, wondering how the young technophile would respond to the request from the Tinkerers' Union.
What does the Union plan on using this Samophlange for? It sounds interesting I don't know what the Union would want from it, and I would be loath to let it fall into the wrong hands.

There didn't seem to be any strong feelings towards the Circle from other party members. Hopefully Isaera might feel some kinship for night elves.
If the troubles of the Circle are of concern the natural world, I believe I can be of service. I believe answering this request best aligns with our mission. The circle is a group that operates outside the authorization of the horde and the alliance and have members from both Alliance and Horde aligned races. I think we should help the Circle.

OOC: More material about montage activities will be written later. So far Jakk'ari is voting for the Cenarion Circle. If we have only 1 vote and no abstentions, then no tie should occur.

[Feathersnow]

Mor and Lag consider,

"We have no love of the Horde"
"And it seems unlikely they would want outside help unless there was something we are missing "

After a pause they continue,

"If the druids cannot solve their own problems, it must be bad"
"But, of these groups, they are the most trustworthy"

And, with an ogrish gesture that is hard to place,

"The Goblins, however, are the most forthright.- they want us to burglarize their rivals"
"I am not sure all of you would be comfortable with that"

[Plaids]

Wistful but hopeful. This must be the feeling occupying the mind.
The elements are ubiquitous throughout the world, but their mobility was less than one might anticipate. Water could remain frozen and passive, the wind could flow rhythmically in circuits till a disruption forced them to change course. Earth could obviously be impassive and even voracious fire could remain passive for months underground within the roots of a tree. The conditions were just right to deliver a message. This is not an opportunity to squander.

Jakk'ari begins quickly grinding and singeing dried husks whose seeds were deposited in the garden around him. The wind spirit was eager but would likely grow weary traveling to Tanaris. Hopefully the herbal shorthand would preserve his message.
Blessed wind spirit, thank you for offering me your aid. To HajaÂ’rra my chief of Sunscar tell her I am working amongst the Opal Collocation. They are a strong force with membership across Azeroth and seek to secure peace across it. Bring her the essence of the Tsamma to show prosperity, fortitude, and promise in harsh lands.

To LashaÂ’nah my wife. Tell her I am closer than ever in my goals. I no longer walk this road alone and I miss her deeply. The party I travel with remind me of our children sometimes; I sometimes wonder if you would be more suited to guiding them Lasha'nah. To Lasha'nah bring her the essence of Lavender. Knowing you are safe gives me hope and faith in the victory of life over death.

Finally, to my children. Tell them that I love them and that I seek to return to them someday. A Farraki's place is among their family. To them bring them the essence of sunflower. To remind them that they bring a smile to me even in the darkest times.

As the vapors and grounds swirl amidst the air elemental Jakk'ari watches the small spirit depart. Tears pools at the corners of his eyes as the spirit disappears over the horizon.

Spoiler: Tsamma melon

Show

Spoiler: Lavender

Show

Spoiler: Desert Sunflower

Show

[JoyWonderLove]

Spoiler: Thirst Time For Everything

Show

Emilia groaned as hands clumsily shielded her face from the judgemental dawn, but the tattoo and folksy accent sparked flickers of an urgent kiss here, a whispered oath there, and a deep demanding want. It was confusing guessing whether her company, redressing herself in ruffled sorts already, had wanted to flee before she awakened. The ex squire stiffly sat up, making no move to clutch grey sheets to exposed breasts. Any pretence at modesty had fled Kalimdor two self-destructive benders and one stabbing ago, to say nothing of the evening. It was shameful enough to be banned from a bar many nobles chose not to enter at all. She flinched a little on hearing they shouldn’t drink together. But Amber's still here – gave her name, the epiphany went. She was even cupped in a sunny halo. A coincidence to the foolish, and omen to any paladin worth her patience in prayer.

It was a mistake not to at least try. “Moderation has its place. But mementos are a good thing...when from the right person. Right? Something to keep and cherish.” Left hand floated briefly to the scar, thumb brushing at her four pack before placing hands in her lap. She made herself gaze across the rumbled bedsheets and discarded clothes, for all the cloying unfamiliarity of the situation, with a curious acceptance before resting her gaze on Amber happily.

“Not everything always has to be...perfect...to be...right.”

Pausing to let Amber consider the words, Emilia finally rose out of bed, making no attempt to use the sheets for a makeshift gown, and managed a nervous saunter around its frame to where her company sat on its edge. “Emilia. And I would love to be reminded about more things you may or may not have said,” grasping Amber’s closest hand, she brought a knuckle to graze her lips before lowering it a little. “Unless…you little like coffee? I always have active mornings, myself – so I understand if you would feel better, elsewhere.” Even outside the norm, she knew better than not to let Amber have an exit.

Spoiler: Not sure anything really needs a Routine/take 10?

Show

On one hand I want to Well-Informed (-5 penalty for excess drinking last night?) my way to knowing if the tattoo identifies her or whichever group she might be with. Or an Insight check to see how she’s feeling. But you mentioned this is freeformish unless we do something crazy, so?

Dunno.

=Guild Meeting=

"Training is going well with all parties, I think. You're all very talented so far as I can tell!" The older gnome says brightly, before gesturing loosely with his unlit pipe in the up-and-left direction of the library. "If you need me to start researching anything in particular, let me know. I feel like I've got a fair handle on the place now; and since half those books were once mine, I'm well situated to compile a report on... most any topic you need."

Emilia frowned throughout what the old gnome had to say, still questioning the sense in choosing yet another frail academician over the healer, or even stable mistress. Let alone another in the know of demonology. But it was the one area common sense had faltered in their staffing decisions. She nodded when the old gnome asked after assembling reports for matters of interest.

“The Burningblade cult. Anything and everything relating to tactics, weaknesses, and organisational structure. We should have preparations in place to break them the instant they rear their crooked heads. But knowing the enemy is the first step.”

"I, uh... figured since no one robs a place during the day, I ought to be up at night, so that's what I've been doing. No robberies so far - so.. It's working. Or you're wasting your money." Felix's eyes are tired - the young man still adjusting to his new sleeping schedule - but he's been a cadet long enough that he's no stranger to guard duty. "And Aleeana's going to teach me to shoot as good as her, so then I'll have that going on, too."

"Actually, I said I can teach you to shoot better - not as good as I can. But ..." The raven haired elfess brushes away the minor correction with a wave of her hand. "Better than you can right now. I'll try to catch you in the afternoons, after you've woken up, and I'm back from scouting."

Emilia nibbled non-committally on the pastry in hand while the meeting continued. It was only when Felix spoke that she closely eyed the tiredness in the stood down cadet, and kept her attention on him even while the sarcastic would-be ranger elaborated about the archery lessons. He had snippets of appearing more troubled and introspective than a Scarlet Crusade recruit deciding to war against the endless dead outside, or the demons already among the extremists.

“Would you require a moving target, Felix? My ability to avoid the literal slings and arrows of the world needs work, and we might both benefit here.” She glanced between raven haired elf and marine, evidently attempting to join the training exercises.

"Well. I think that's a binary option. Do you... want him to start fishing for you, or, I suppose, working on making that tunnel and cove more reliable and useful?"

Emilia sipped at her flask to hide an uncharacteristically amused smile, leaving the glass of water still innocently chaste before her. A sidelong glance aimed at the warlock several seats off tried to spy what the one that had voted so pointedly against the industrious, impish, little fish man made of his prancing. To think that one wanted room service over renovations. The unceasing drone and drill of work from Mordis’ room over the first three weeks had been so consistent it was hard not to wonder if she hadn’t leased out guild space to the Tinker’s Union, but the reveal of the cramped quarters only raised further questions the paladin had little chosen yet to ask.

“Down-down would be ideal, Schlep. Thank you.”

The rest of the meeting was pleasantly dominated by the Amazonian woman explaining the opportunities ahead of them, and the choices seemed split between the needs of an Alliance night elf group, contending with Horde-hostile centaurs, and the requirements of Ratchet goblins. They all serve the guild, in some path. But if our chapter gains greater favour with the larger factions before any other, even Stormwind would have to acknowledge our good work. Even my parents. She still regretted sending the letter a week ago, but it would have looked desperate and erratic to chase it with another asking it be overlooked. The Opal Collocation had to thrive for more reasons than she would ever wish to share with the miscellaneous collection invariably deemed guildmates.

“Miss Moonshadow, our resident arcanist raises a point. The centaur may well be granting like for like, and druids rarely care for precious metals, so far as I have ever heard. Do we know why the Kolkar have escalated their aggression recently? Or what intrigues about the caves that they would need investigating at all?”

Emilia hesitated in reaching for her flask, and self-consciously sipped at the glass before her for show. “For my own part, I absolutely agree with Jakk’ari and Mor’Lag. The Cenarion Circle should be our priority. Even without their patronage, the mission aligns closely with what the Opal Collocation expects, and our first mission could easily come across as a statement.” Emilia folded her arms. “Theft and murder cannot be the call, and should be much maligned fourth and fifth options besides.”

The Argent Dawn recruit frowned. “So said, as the Rachet branch of the guild, our superiors might well expect us to prioritise local needs over others. But I can cauterize that wound with a letter, should the majority agree. Accepting work as thieves for hire would only muddy the message we intend to send, and little win us friends in the warrior culture across Kalimdor. That can only compromise a major part of the guild end goal, all told.” She looked to the right and left of the table, having seated herself close to the middle of the crescent.

“How do you all feel about our investigating the missing druids first, while Aleeana scouts the centaur warlord? She already intended to make contact with the Crossroads, and with greater understanding, we might be able to bring Horde and tribe to the table.”

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion had been typically quiet during the events thus far, her feminine form clothed in apparently new and tasteful finery that was not too ostentatious, but stylish in its well-crafted simplicity and current color scheme of black and orange. Indeed, Marion had cleaned up nicely. Having emerged from her workshop-sleeping quarters with heavy bags under her eye and a lurching gait that spoke of copious amounts of coffee-infused energy, Marion had recently taken some time to rest and rebloom! Her yellowed hair was well-groomed, her eyes were alert and sliding back and forth over each of her companions while her lips carried that characteristic little smile where one didn't know if she found something cute or "cute".

"What does the Union plan on using this Samophlange for? It sounds interesting I don't know what the Union would want from it, and I would be loath to let it fall into the wrong hands."

The trolls voice came down to Marion from Jakk'ari superior height. Even when the two of them were seated, the warlock had to turn her head and crane it backwards to look up at the shaman just to reply eye-to-eye.

"The creativity of the goblins is...well established," she smiled.

"I would have to see the manual to have any idea what their new little machine is designed for, built for and what it actually does," she continued, emphasising that those three things weren't necessarily connected.

"The three options seem straightforward enough to me, however," the warlock offers a small shrug.

"With whom do we wish to gain favour with first: the locals here in Ratchet, our neighbors in the barrens, or the Cenarion Circle on the other side of the continent?"

Marion allowed a pregnant pause to linger in the air before she continued.

"The Cenarion Circle would already be well-disposed to us, given our proximity to Theramore, Lady Proudmoore and, via the Alliance, Darnassus. But say we ventured into some dank cave in search of their missing druids, who doubtless knew the terrain better than we do, what reward would there be for us and how much would the Alliance's relationship with the Night Elves really be improved over its current status?"

Once more a pause for effect.

"Likewise, Ratchet has already welcomed us and happily takes our coin. Distrust of outsiders is not a natural characteristic of the goblins who founded it, nor are outsiders an uncommon sight here already. We are under no immediate threat of expulsion."

Taking a sip of whatever beverage had been prepared for her and rested within reach, Marion continued.

"One may consider my suggestion to be uncharacteristic, given the opinions I have vocalised in the past. But I see the toleration and incurred minor debt of the local...Big Dog, so to speak, to be the most valuable reward available on the table. And it fulfils the chartered purpose of this guild, diplomatically, exploratively and "persuasively"."

[Plaids]

"One may consider my suggestion to be uncharacteristic, given the opinions I have vocalised in the past. But I see the toleration and incurred minor debt of the local...Big Dog, so to speak, to be the most valuable reward available on the table. And it fulfils the chartered purpose of this guild, diplomatically, exploratively and "persuasively"."

Marion did make a few good points. The local predominantly goblin town had shown hospitality without trying to swindle the motley crew of outsiders that was the party. Avoiding eviction would further their mission.
But the Cenarion Circle was still the best option. Trade partners and financiers came and went but trust, respect, and honor were hard to recover. The Union supplied the Cartels and couldn't be trusted.

Pushing rising and sliding aside his plate and glass Jakk'ari addresses Marion to hopefully nudge her to the correct solution.

Our hosts have been quite gracious, that is true. But I believe our mission of securing peace is best pursued outside of the Tinkerers' Union. I've seen it and I know the Union supply weapons to the Goblin Cartels. I'm afraid this Samophlange find its way to Venture Co. regardless of our interference. Besides the Union manufactures potent weapons. I... we can't risk escalating future conflicts they might supply the belligerents with.

Jakk'ari sits down having concluded his speech. His fingers lace together, and he trains his eyes and ears on the remainder of the party. Hoping they will agree with his arguments.

OOC: Correct me if I'm wrong but does the Tinkerers' Union supply the Goblin cartels with their products? I do know they make weapons.

Spoiler: OOC: Minor word choice explanation

Show

By "right choice" this is from Jakk'ari's perspective not mine. I think all of these missions sound good but some minor inter-party disagreements make sense and would spice up the scene.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


"Apologies," Marion said quietly, "I meant that we help the Horde with their centaur problem as we stand to gain the most for our expenditure of effort."

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Isaera: Info on Venture Co.

Show

The Goblin "Nation", in as much as it can be considered such, is a Trade Coalition made up of most all extant cartels, organisations, unions, and trade fleets. The strange creatures have a society that revolves around innovation and prosperity, and The Venture Company (also trading under Venture Trading Company) is considered an unpleasant extreme of what many would call an unpleasant core philosophy. Venture Co's principle source of income is supplying raw resources harvested from unclaimed or poorly protected reaches of Kalimdor, and now also in the Southern continent of the Eastern Kingdoms since operations in Stranglethorn Vale began. Most notably, they began an exponential growth of operations when elements of the New Horde, under the leadership of the Warsong champion Grom Hellscream, began hiring the harvesting operations of the Venture Co's goblin shredders, and paying for them in the wealth plundered from the Kaldorei of Ashenvale. A reinvestment of this burst of income has established clearcutting and stripmining operations up and down the length of Kalimdor.

Venture Co's president is Mogul Razdunk; a ruthless goblinpreneur
who was unable to ascend to the position of Trade Prince, which would make him entitled to his own cartel. The Venture Company represents a kind of old-money-new-money clash within the Trade Coalition; the most recent chapter of which was the seizure of Ratchet from a Venture Co friendly Land Council by Gazlowe, and the Goin' Legit campaign to disassociate the town from what many consider to be disastrously short-sighted business practises.

Since they focus on the prosperity and not the innovation half of goblin psychology, they are likely to have little in common with the Tinker's Union, whose members' goals are atomized, and rarely megalomaniacal.

Spoiler: Jakk'ari: Info on Felix

Show

The lad seems distracted, which seems premature considering this is the first meeting of this kind your guild has had, and should be quite exciting to everyone involved.
Why, however, you can't say.

Spoiler: Emilia: Info on Felix

Show

You get the impression that Felix gets along with everyone in the group. The other four members here - along with a fifth you haven't met, Zachary - grabbed him tight and raised him from perdition. And he's quickly accepting of the other staffers, too. He seems a little shy of Seraphis' direct attention. But who wouldn't be?

"Moving target? Ah. Maybe. I'd be happy if I could consistently hit a stationary one, though I'd give it a shot." Felix concedes; eyes deflected, a little distracted.

Aleeana stares at him for a second to see if he's going to notice his own pun, but chooses not to excavate it when he makes no move. Her fel-green eyes flick back to the paladin. "I'm not sure shooting arrows at someone you don't intend to kill is a good training scheme. Unless you can do that... Thing." She makes a spherical gesticulation with her hand, probably referring to the infamous paladin capacity to become temporarilly impervious to harm.

Aglet jots down a reminder to himself to focus in study on the Burning Blade; Schlep offers a nod that is almost a bow for the neckless fellow, and capers immediately off down the corridor, out of the meeting, and into the hatch toward the down-down.

Seraphis fiddles with her spectacles while the group considers its options, waiting with a habit of patience learned over centuries, offering a faint smile when a lull strikes the conversation.

"I hear... casual interest in the Tinker's Union bid, though low urgency, and a request for more information - particularly a chance to see the manual in question." She transcribes this distillation as she makes it, on a page pinned to the cork board. "I will speak to Sputtervalve to see if we can arrange a viewing. I expect the Lady Mordis, and Master Gylphtoggle will be able to decode any goblin esotericism between them."

"Considering Crossroads' conflict with the Kolkar, it sounds like we have a broad uncertainty about the nature of the conflict and reticence to get involved in a lethal capacity without understanding it more clearly. I can't speak to why there would be an escalation in Kolkar aggression; but my suspicion would be it represents outward pressure from the dustbowl of Desolace, where the major tribes joust and drive one another. But the Barrens uses to be a conflict zone between the Razorfen quillboar, and the Kolkar. The Tauren might well have been wiped out by the unreasonably aggression of both, had not the Horde arrived to roll them up into its coalition when they did, and become the dominant presense on the region. But perhaps I have a bias against the centaur. They represent... a cultural dark spot, for my people. Perhaps more information on this specific clash is the right way."

"I'll find out." Aleeana volunteers, offering a loose shrug and adapting her existing plans in the manner Emilia had suggested. "Since I'm going that way anyway."

"As for the Cenarion Circle operation, I'm afraid I can offer little insight. I don't think the caves are mineral rich - they're connected to subterranean springs heated by thermal vents. The call them The Wailing Caverns; but only because of the sound of the releasing steam shooting through some of the fluted stone; not for any known... wailing occupant. But if the Circle has interest it them, it's likely because they possess some thing useful to the druids; whether it's a resource, or the caves themselves."

"So of the three tasks, only the Cenarion one has an implied urgency - lost druids being the factor. It's also the one that your support staff are most weakly positioned to illuminate for you. So if your party intended to seek out the Caverns yourselves directly, I'm sure Aleeana and I could have decomposed some of the mystery around the other two objectives to make them easier to roundly accept, or reject. Is that... roughly amenable?"

Seraphis suggests, pen hovering over a blank region of a pinned paper marked "conclusion". Her round-up is offered in a perfectly professional tone of suggestion without the presumption of authority. Marion and Mor'Lag certainly seem less enchanted with the Cenarion offer; but since Jakk'ari and Emilia are interested, and Isaera is atleast reticent to entrust that investigation to a singular scout, it seems to the night elf to be the best suggestable coarse that does not discard either of the others out of hand.

Spoiler: Jakk'ari's Side Scene - Soil and Toil

Show

The spirit roils and spins, unformed in reality but pulsing and alive in the realm to which it belongs. As you invoke each of your desired messages, the wind around you picks up in a flutter, as if the spirit is leaning closer to the real to understand your intention, and your nostrils are flooded with the scents of tsamma melon, lavender, and desert sunflower in sequence with the offering of their ground herbal expressions. It feels like a sort of confirmation process, as a mortal courier might turn around his note pad to show what he has written to ensure it matches the desired message.

"This, I do for you, shaman. I will find your chief, and your wife, and your children, and carry to them the things you have said."

There's a flutter of sound, a recycled blur of your own voice - "-the Tsamma to show prosperity, fortitude -/- party I travel with remind me of our children sometimes -/- remind them that they bring a smile to me even in the darkest times", demonstrating the successful capture of the spoken messages, collapsed mystically into the scents of the herbal fragments; and then with a rush of air, the spirit spirals upwards, dragging the scents, and dust from the cliff garden with it, and is gone. Perhaps, if the spirits are kind, the wind will turn back after it reaches Tanaris, and bring you something in return.

Spoiler: Emilia's Side Scene - Time Off

Show

Amber doesn't jerk her hand away, when you capture it for her gentle affections; bright eyes glancing up - and inevitably, up and down - at you as you make your delicate appeal. The palm turns briefly to cup the frame of Emilia's jaw, but then slips free from its capture with a smoothness plainly meant not to be felt as too severe a rejection.

"I bet you say that to everyone who stabs you."

It's funny, but it's funny offered as a consolation in the looming shadow of retreat; and so maybe not that funny. She stands - shorter than you by about five inches, as you knew during the fight but lost track of in the horizontal hours - and peels away from you,
turning to quickly pace the small room looking around for anything she left behind.

"But... seriously. I don't normally do this kind of thing. So I think I'm just gonna..." Another undeniably cute, but apologetic smile.
"But I had fun. More this time, than last time I mean. So..."

With her boots clutched to her side in one hand, socks dangling out of their cuffs, and her purse gripped in three fingers of the other, she begins negotiating a fully revolution of the door handle with thumb and forefinger alone.

"...So maybe coffee, next time. I have to go, but, it's a small town, right? We'll bump into each other again." Before she can cringe into a black hole at that particular choice of final words, the door clicks open, and she pads out on the balls of her feet, bumping the door with her hip, mouthing 'thanks' as it closes, and cuts her from view.

In the lonely moments after, as you're gathering your own things, you find something that doesn't belong to you - a strange, green glass lens on an adjustable leather strap, perhaps designed to be worn over an eye. Your mysterious paramour has left something behind after all - and whatever it is, it might be worth enough for her to return to your orbit sooner than later.

Spoiler: Check Results

Show

You're unaware of any group that uses the black horse head as a marking icon. You'd guess some kind of cavalier or outrider, but fit as Amber was, she doesn't strike you as a woman who does combat on horseback. Something about it is nagging you, however; like it reminds you of something you can't quite bring to the viewing space in your forebrain.

Your best instinct tells you that she's not recoiling from you in disgust - which is good, because she's seen you at your most intoxicated and offensive - but just embarassment for having woken up in a situation like this. Not everyone is a functioning alcoholic, after all; and for some, waking up with blurry visions of a previous night's shenanigans is unsettling. But like she said - it's a small town. It's not like she'd just skip town without saying goodbye, right?

Right?

[JoyWonderLove]

Spoiler: voting, changing vote or not

Show

This is an attempt to try and find a compromise between Plaids/BPhone. If one of them dislikes it, I’m pretty happy with the Cenarion Circle honestly. I put this forward as it +++seems+++ like a middle ground solution between Jakk’ari’s interest in looking out for the natural world and Mordis’ wanting to sweet talk orcs. Surprised WindStruck hasn’t said much one way or the other.

Another half smile was the closest Emilia came to voicing her agreement with the troll – the Union and Company cared for profits over peace. They were no ally to the Opal Collocation. But she squinted incredulously when the refined majordomo styled the warlock a lady, finding it pressing to believe Seraphis was mistaken, and worse the night elf told the way of it. Noble etiquette indeed, she thought of the backtracking shut in. Amidst the quiet muttered word of others to neighbours, the paladin simply continued with small bites of the sweet pastry, mindful not to get any unexpected spurt of it on the chainmail she had polished again until it shone for the meeting, although she hadn’t offered herself enough time for more than a ponytail to suffice.

“Here I was concerned the Tinkers had fashioned you into their mouthpiece,” Emilia quipped, admitting to much the same misunderstanding as the Chief Diplomat as she leaned forward in her seat. “But our calling is to be the iron lynchpin that holds together a thousand different, divergent silk strands. Ignoring the Circle is artless, but overlooking your good suggestion is foolish. So what of weaving them together?” She glanced between warlock and shaman. “We can somewhat secure the natural world, to your point Jakk’ari, at precisely the time we attend the Dervish. The Union and Cooperative are arms trading, war profiteering jackals. But the latter also mauls the land. Their contraption is even on the edge of Ashenvale. Little wonder if the device will be used to hasten forest destruction, or merely protect those that do. So if...Lady Mordis...is inclined, she could go with Miss Starshadow.”

Placing the pastry down, she set both elbows on the meeting table, interlacing her fingers like a flat bridge. “They would understand and recall what the machine plans being presented actually mean. From there, we let ink fly. Tell the Cenarion Circle we currently stem the tide of blood the Dervish is unleashing. In consolation for the delay, and out of respect for our dear patrons, we give them a detailed warning for exactly whatever it is Venture plots to unleash on Ashenvale. Our girl scout would still attend the centaurs, to honour safety concerns. The Circle is appeased temporarily, the Tinkers met, and we attend to peacekeeping with the Dervish regardless. Fair?”

[Plaids]

Taut pale knuckles release Jakk'ari's armrest followed by a deep breath. Words were said and conclusions were drawn by a troll intuitively from the consultation of just one perspective.
Relaxing his posture Jakk'ari responds.

You are right Emelia. We don't know the purpose of the dervish device. It could be used for either the destruction or renewal of the natural world. We do have to thread the many errant strands in our world and not just the ones we prefer. I do agree that we should learn as much as we can before we act. But I am concerned most by the circle. Their mission holds the greatest mystery while the horde and union know the threat they face.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


Marion listened to the offering first from their Majordomo and next from Emelia and then from Jakk'ari.

The overall thread seemed to be bending towards assisting the Night Elves in this 'wailing caverns', place. As charming and inviting as that sounds, Marion still didn't think it was the right choice. Or at least, the choice that served their interest and rewarded their efforts as well as assisting the Horde with the centaurs would.

Perhaps she was naïve and simply unaware, but Marion could picture that acquiring a favour from the Horde in exchange for their assistance would serve them well in their own backyard, not to mention receiving the chance to loot some of the Kolkar holdings should they drive the wretched beasts from the fields. One could only speculate that such animals, known as they were for their raiding and marauding adventures, had fostered quite the stash of ill-gotten gains that an enterprising and swiftly-acting group could help themselves to in the wake of the centaurs retreat or, preferably, extermination.

But that was how Marion's mind worked, to think of these three groups competing for their attention as three different gauges. Two of them, the local Cartel and the Night Elves, were already sitting at adequate levels of measurement. However the third, the Horde, who were the resident powerhouse of the Barrens, had dropped into dangerously low territory that could endanger their future operations. So the most rewarding course of action was to shore-up relations with the latter. And if things went poorly, the guild had several hundred thick, green bodies to place between themselves and a roving herd of angry centaur to soak up the fallout. Lowest risk, highest reward.

It made sense to her.

However, it clearly was not the foundation which supported the thinking of Emelia, Jakk'ari or any of the others. Their course of thought was produced by an ulterior nature that had different priorities, priorities that seemed more inclined towards "good deeds" and other such ideals that did not manifest as gold in their pocket or networking favours. Clearly, no where was Marion more desperately needed than within a newly formed guild of illogical people.

Oooo, a delicious pastry!

Marion's eyes honed in one one particular savoury delight: a fantastic looking sausage roll.

Reaching forward with one dainty hand, the teenager plucked the delicacy up from its tray and took a gentle bite from it, her eyes widening slightly in approval once she did so.

Turning her head up and towards Mor'lagh, the warlock gestured with with her spare hand towards the plate.

"These are really nice, Mor'algh! You simply must try some!" she whispered.

Finishing the bit of food off in a mannered, cultured way, rather than stuffing it into her face, Marion drew up a napkin to dab at her lips before injecting herself back into conversation.

"I fear that dividing our focus and attention while in a new and potentially hostile land, may produce outcomes that are less than favourable. I think we should apply our full focus to one of these endeavours to prevent any half-measures. After all, when you punch someone, I am told, you use your fist, not an open hand," the warlock smiles. "If we believe the peril of the Cenarion Hold requires our more immediate and expeditious attention, then I will assist with this most courageous option as best as I am able."


The Marion Sideshow

Spoiler

Show

During the few weeks, Marion works diligently to design, refine and produce her wares. It is a period of relatively little contact, though the warlock shows particular gratitude towards the large ogress who had lent a helping hand, typically by giving her food, friendly words of praise and sparing some time to teach her anything along the arcane lines that the ogress might be interested in. Marion also took note to set aside some of the funds procured from her venture to pay towards Mor'lagh at a later date. Honest wages for honest work.

Later on at Hidalgo's, Marion was pondering how to remedy the situation.

She had returned Higalo's generosity with a stroke of flair, smiles and friendly witticisms, but she had insisted on paying something for the food she received. She knew all too well that there was no such thing as a free lunch, and though Higalo himself may have been a swarthy, handsome older male, Marion knew she wanted someone closer to her age for the next phase of her family restoration. A younger fellow however, one still 'finding himself' and forging his own identity. Marion could work with that to create an excellent husband and consort for her future plans. An older man would simply be too set in his ways.

Nodrick did have a point however, as Marion sat at that table with a bowl of beef stroganoff before her. She would need more than simple youthful energy to move forward and expand, and at this rate her designs for a full-on factory were contingent upon some sort of work force under her employ...many hands and people labouring beneath the Mordis banner. Yes...

Marion's eyes flickered briefly as an idea struck her. Sitting up in her seat, bringing one hand up in exclamation.

"Of course!" she announced, her voice an excited whisper.

"I will build a factory in Theramore! There are plenty of human refugee's still arriving after the disaster in the Eastern Kingdoms. Numerous men willing to work hard to earn coin for their families. And I have a contact in Jaina to help expediate the process, for which I'm sure she will be grateful for the expanded trade income and employment!"

A grin crossed Marions features.

And I won't have to lay awake at night wondering what greenskinned little bat-eared bastard is ripping me off this time! she thought quietly to herself.

And it will get me closer to that pompous bitch so I can buy that swampland for development! was her second, happy thought.

In one stroke Marion thought of how to expand, gather people under her employ and work towards Phase 2 of her restorative plan.

Wunderbar!

[Feathersnow]

"You are wise, Marion."
"And these trifles are delicious"

"Of course we will defer to our betters,"
"But, if we may, the Druids do seem the most in need of immediate aid"

"To us, at least"

[WindStruck]

Isaera sat there, listening to the others speak, or perhaps argue. Well, there were certainly some disagreements, though no voices were heated and raised. Perhaps a good start.

"I do believe miss Starshadow has the crux of it all. We need more information both regarding this 'samophlange' and the Kolkar. Though I believe that regardless, infiltrating the Venture Company's grounds and effectively burglarizing them," she nods to Mor, "is an activity that is beneath us and the purpose of the Opal Collection and this guild. No matter how odious their reputation may be. In this instance, we would merely be acting as scoundrels stealing from other scoundrels. That hardly seems like something to risk our reputation with, unless further evidence is uncovered..."

She briefly looks at Marion and continues, "Now the Horde as a whole is far more influential and indeed would likely garner us much influence or wealth in the long run. Their problems are large problems, albeit in this case, perhaps not urgent. I am confident that their warriors and defenses will easily hold out. I still believe we need an inquiry into the exact nature of the clashes with the Kolkar, and history of any diplomatic engagements, if any. Ultimately, I believe we are first and foremost a peacekeeping organization, as was advertised, not some.. guild of assassins. So if we do end up having to confront their new chieftain and remove him, that should be an action of last resort."

"Because we need more information for these other two requests, and the nature of the Cenarion Circle's missive is more urgent, I believe we should concentrate on that, first and foremost. When people go missing, it is almost certainly a race against time. The longer we wait, the higher the chance of a less than desirable or gruesome outcome."

After some silence and looking at everyone, she finishes, "So then, are we agreed? We shall help the Cenarion Circle first, while intelligence is gathered regarding the other two missives?"

[WindStruck]

Spoiler: Isaera: Far from Home

Show

Isaera opened her mouth to begin saying something, but immediately shut it again. She could just tell where her sister was going with this.. not only would she become a glorified pack mule, but really. She honestly could not carry much on her frail, skinny elf body.

"It depends," she finally answered. As the hair brushing stopped, she knew her sister was annoyed with her vague answer. Isaera turned around and said, "Really, that's the simple answer. How much power, or mana, is put into the spell helps, but teleportation can get quite dangerous when either the spell - or the caster - are strained." She made sure to put emphasis on that last bit about straining herself.

"I'd say, um, thirty, thirty-five pounds is probably safe," she said, making up some number, and also assuming Aleeana would try to jockey that number up to forty or fifty. But she quickly adds, "And not a ridiculous amount of volume either."

She nods and says, "I do think taking letters and little presents back is reasonable. But if you want to send anything big, you had just better send it by boat like normal."

Speaking of boats and presents, Isaera still had that coat that was tossed over to her. She had been keeping it in a safe place, just waiting to return it to that captain who... well. Honestly, who knew where he sailed off to? But it would probably be a while before she ever saw his return.

[Plaids]

Spoiler: Jakk'ari's consolations

Show

A few days after an arduous selection of the guild's newest hires.

A cool breeze cut through the muggy coastal air. A blooming pink sunset framed horizon offering gentle rays to the varied patrons Sea'Atlee bar and grill. The patrons occupying the outdoor balcony awaiting their server were a consisted of a humble tauren, pugnacious human, resplendent undead, opportunistic goblin, and vigilant dwarf.
The candidates had performed well enough. Certainly, being employable they had slipped through the cracks. Though the current guild budget wouldn't allow additional hires it was it would be in a troll's best interests to maintain some contact with such talented individuals. Given how engrossed Marion, accommodations, and Isaera had become in their own works and the swiftness at which they advanced upon their goals. Marion's been working herself obsessively the bone muttering about Jaina green eyes in the grass. Isaera was fretting over plans for further support and accommodations for her family back home. And Mor'Lag was spent long hours with Aglet trying to relearn invocations. It was quite admirable seeing such diligence. Such efforts could lead to growth. A less distant Marion, a more decisive Isaera, and Mor'Lag who's confidence had been shattered long being reforged would be wonderful. But the burnout and complacency with the power they had was also a risk. It might be good to have some backup if they ever decided to quite while they were ahead.

Grease and oil popped while vegetables sizzle in cast iron skillets in preparation for the coming dinner rush. A glass swiftly rapping the table seized their attention and ended the murmuring and awkward glances. Thank you for coming today. Well, as you know selections have already been made by the guild. You all showed your strengths, and we wish you the best in your future endeavors. The responses were ranged from feigned respectful interest and apathy. Nadia already taking the lead and guzzling a tankard of ale which was probably the most respectful think she could do at the moment. While Nodrick was tabulating on a steel handheld abacus with flashing bulbs.
This meal is for you. Each one of you has impressed at least one hiring member of the guild. Well, almost all of them. Should you choose, you may remain in contact with the guild. You won't be paid but if an opening occurs you will be the first to know. Who knows, if the guild expands we will need some additional help. Feel free to make your decision at any time whether it be now or later at the guild hall you are all welcome to take one of these. The items presented being enveloped enclosing immaculately inscribed letters courtesy of Emelia and given a slight enchantment just to provide a subtle discharge of magic to prevent any counterfeits.

Some looked expectantly and others with hesitancy. But in the end they would make their own choices.
What followed was lively night offering insights some of which had eluded the interviewers in days prior.

Voxombris was gracious for the offer while also consoling Nadia over her loss to a damn fish and Sheila and Tylia joined Nodrick in performing as the restaurants substitute band after some gentle persuasion. The three performances came together with a compelling guttural chorus of throat singing from Sheila, a melodious mandolin from Tylia, and a screaming saxophone from Nodrick. All while the regularly scheduled band awaited the return of adventurers tasked with retrieving their instruments from a thieving harpy nest down southwards.
OOC: Work in progress. Will add a bit more later.

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Isaera's Side Scene: Far From Home

Show

"Thirty pounds? What a ridiculous limitation. I bet that's what they tell you, but not the real number. Though I suppose if you breach that regularly, you'll end up with the Kirin Tor breathing down your neck." Aleeana gives a melodramatic sigh, setting down the brush. And she's probably not entirely wrong. Teleport and portal magic was a practise of collapsing matter into a mana-scripted waveform and instantaneously punting that waveform along leylines to the destination. The process was simple enough in antiquity when elven magi used it to lazily zip back and forth across the Thalassian landmass in their small numbers; but in an age where humans, trolls, elves, and countless other races had some access to the same magics, the leylines were stressed and, so the specialists said, at times close to catastrophic fracture. It is one of the Kirin Tor's primary purposes to repair those lines with remedial arcane ritual, and the cost of doing so is passed on to mages in the form of galling markup on the black pearls and other reagents the work-a-day mage uses in their teleports. So the Kirin Tor probably were lowballing the actual figures to keep a certain amount of financial clearance between normal magical operation and ley-collapse - and some were probably wetting their whistles for other reasons in the process.

Or the whole thing could be a racket. It's hard to say. But Aleeana appears to have given up, for now, on any ambition to use you as a teleport freighter. The older sister produces a smaller, finer brush and, taking your chin gently in a steadying 'v' of thumb and forefinger, begins brushing your eyebrows too - a perfectly normal and needed part of high elven self-care, however funny it must seem to all non-elves.

"Speaking of boats..."

It takes no telepathic solution for her mind to have gone to where yours has. There has been no shortage of discussion of this mysterious gentleman-pirate elf since Aleeana returned to discover she'd missed out on raking him over with her own less-bashful gaze. She's nakedly more carnivorous than yourself when she has taken a fancy to someone, and if she had been there, she might well have eclipsed you with her confidence. It wouldn't have been the first time your sister's single-minded pursuit of the things she wants had battered aside someone she is supposed to care about. But she wasn't there - she was running off after your bags, and she knows only of the captain through your description. You can feel a kind of jealousy emanating from her, when the topic comes up; a thing she must certainly think of as harmless, and good natured, whatever the reality.

"...Have you given any thought to what you intend to do, when he's back in town? A man doesn't give you his coat unless he's looking for an opportunity to come retrieve it from you. You ought to hide it, so he's inclined to help you come seek it. Oh!" Her eyes flash with felfire-green deviousness. "Or teleport it back to Theramore, so he's obliged to sail you there to reclaim it. Show off your minor-celebrity status, while you're there."

She seems to have become very invested in your potential interaction.

Spoiler: Jakk'ari's Side Scene 2: Jakk'ari's Consolation

Show

OOC: Hey, this is cool: a side scene you're soloing! It's great. Keep it up! You've correctly intuited the characters are pretty undeveloped templates until you 'hire' them, so I don't feel the need to jump in and add much. I just get to read!
Hooray! :D

Spoiler: Marion's Side Scene: Theramo' Money, Theramo' Problems

Show

Nodrick straightens up at your revelation lifting both hands as he does. "Well there you go!" In his effort to express celebration, his soup spoon flicks a single, clinging piece of MineStrome pasta over his shoulder to spek onto the shaven green back of an orc's head. Both your eyes, and Nodrick's track suddenly to this possible disaster, and watch the orc's hand come up to brush at what he must assume is some kind of insect. Somehow he misses it entirely, and the little white pasta shell remains, clinging to the back of the orc's noggin like a barnacle. With the best possible outcome fatefully manifesting from this accident, Nodrick looks back to you and feels at ease to continue. "That'll help, and I'm sure it'll win you some points with the sorceress-in-cheif. But - hey, look, let me throw an idea at ya." He puts the soup spoon down, so he can freely articulate himself with both hands gesticulating alongside his words. They feel carefully chosen, like he's expecting you to be preloaded with a negative response, and he's trying to manage you towards a second assessment.

"Theramore's a good call. I know you're more comfortable with your kinda people working on your kinda stuff. Totally understand. But your greatest asset here is the non-physical value of your design. As long as you're putting that in someone else's hands, you're at risk of losing your grip on this thing. If you can protect it for long enough to corner the market, then it doesn't matter anymore - even if some two-bit wrench-slinger reverse-gnomengineers the design, no one will want to buy a product that doesn't have the ram-skull and chevrons. But if that slips out too early, before your operation is up at full pace, they might just pip you at the post. So let me help you here, okay?" His posture shifts, from forward, attentive, stressful, to reclining in the chair as a physical manifestation of the relief his proposal purports to promise.

"Break it into two parts, and we'll charter a small ship all for your product alone. Have your factory in Theramore doing the main assembly, and let me set up a smaller operation doing the finer machining on the core mechanism over in Booty Bay. On its way west, the ship can carry the core mechanisms and whatever additional cargo they can rustle up. Drop off the mechanisms at your plant in Theramore for the main assembly and finish of the product. Heading back east, takes the finished products to fulfill the orders streaming out of the operations in Stranglethorn. That way, no one but you needs to know how to create the full device, and you can outsource the labor entirely. Is it more expensive than a single-plant operations? You bet. Is it going to make you more gold long term? Maybe. Think of it as design-insurance. Better to have it and not need it. Because if you need it and don't have it, and some skeevy cog-swiveller snipes your windfall, it'll be too late. Problem solved." Satisfied with his presentation, he holds up his big, green palms to either side in a beatific gesture of openness. "Marion. Bubbe. I'm your green knight."

[WindStruck]

Spoiler: Isaera: Far From Home

Show

Isaera's cheeks began flushing a bit. All the memories of those events and the stupid little game she was playing, and of the captain were flooding back. And the way Aleeana was talking made her more than a little nervous.

"Uh.. Aleeana.. I don't think it would be wise to toy with him. Just.. I don't know. You know how I told you the story. He doesn't seem to be the type you want to cross. But I suppose he would think such obvious sabotage was a pass at him. If he didn't like the games, that obviously wouldn't go well for us. On the other hand, if that were to attract his desire so easily.. I honestly don't think we'd want a part of that either."

Isaera blinks a few times as her sister was combing her eyebrows. This was a little awkward. She would feel more comfortable doing it herself. "Ugh, what am I saying. We? You're the one who's going crazy for some roguish ship captain! I think I'd rather just return the jacket, buy him some drinks, and hopefully we can chat to get to know him. We could find out if he's really someone you want to be with, mm?"

Squinting into her sister's dissatisfied eyes, she changes the subject. "And why are your eyes still green? Are you still using that fell energy when we can afford perfectly good mana?" She sighed. Was she serious about liking the green color?

[MrAbdiel]

Interbellum, Chapter 1: Always Greener

You can say one thing for the Barrens that puts it above Dustwallow: it's not always raining. But it brings with it is own host of environmental discomforts, most notably, the heat; which is abominable to everyone except Jakk'ari for whom it is an absolutely negligible feature. Your group was able to hitch a ride with a kodo caravan heading to the Crossroads; and your services as potential auxiliary guards was simply not required. The interesting natural beauty of the land opens up to you, on the first day of the journey. Twice, you pass small herds of zhervra; black-and-white horse-like creatures with a singular horn crowning their heads. They cluster near to the road and graze there, attracted to the open sight-lines that make it harder for predators of the land to stalk them. They don't even startle as you pass - the kodos, the extremely sunburned but cheerful dwarven caravan leader tells you, put them at ease, even though they would certainly spook if a group of humanoids had approached them on foot. Towards the end of that day, as the sun plunges into the distant valley in which you have left Ratchet behind, you spot a single, lonely giraffe nibbling at a cluster of leaves at the top of one of the savannah trees. It pauses to turn its towering neck to track you as you go, rearranging its amusingly gangly limbs to follow you for a couple of minutes at a distance that is safe enough from you that it might still turn and run if threatened, and safe enough because of you, rather than risk being discovered by predators alone. It's a good tactic - Aleeana spots, and points out, a pair of gold furred, feline shapes stalking in the tall grasses alongside the road. A pair of lionesses that might have swung on the solitary giraffe, but are warded off by the presense of the kodos - apparently, serving as a kind of herbivorous champion of the region. "The web of life here is a little complex," Aleeana offers spontaneously, perhaps just because she feels she is able to do so, out of her three weeks of experience in the land. "Most of the herbivores are no trouble, and they gravitate to kodos because kodos don't seem to differentiate between creatures more deeply than 'predator' and 'not predator'. That's why the Tauren domesticated them so easily. And most of the predators will keep away if you're near a kodo. But thunder lizards get territorial around anything close to their size, so they'll spit sparks at kodos. So kodos will run from them - unless there's something smaller than them to protect, which they treat as a vulnerable child; in which case they'll rush the thunder lizard and try their luck. But a thunder lizard won't attack you on foot. But the lions will. And the raptors will, but only if they're being aggressively hunted by humanoids, or not hunted at all. Raptors will attack if they think you - and by you, I mean the tribe they perceive you to belong to, which is something like 'biped' - are weak. That's when they'll figure they can afford to hunt you. But if the locals are killing them off in numbers, their little nest-tribes start merging into larger groups, and they'll start attacking not to hunt, but to project threat. If they kill a few folks, they'll back off and they break up into nest-tribes again. So the local hunters have to coordinate so they're hunting raptors in that sweet-spot between 'no threat, attack' and 'threat that can't be ignored, attack'. They're clever girls."

You camp with the caravan that night on the road - in better tents, now that you've had a little financial freedom to afford them - and the next day, you part ways with it. Aleeana and the caravan carry on towards the crossroads; you strike west across the open land filled with yellow grass, and grown rock mesas, and hardy, scattered trees offering brief respite from the punishing sun. One again, fortune smiles on you, and you're not disturbed in your travel. A significant streak of your overland journey is through an area where a fire has burned off most of the long grass a week ago, and stubborn green shoots are poking up, unjaded by the savannah sun. Aside from nearly stepping on a nest for a golden-brown wind-serpent (which hisses and flaps up into the air in its undulating panick, circling above you as it considers its options and choosing not to try its luck, as you move on by), the second day has little trouble to offer you all the way until the afternoon. The sun behind you, just beginning to discolor the sky, you come around a mesa and see the sudden, almost shocking intrusion of green of the oasis. A dense wall of palm trees, and great ferns with huge feathery leaves surrounds what is less of an oasis pool, and more of a small lake; surprisingly clear, and pleasingly fresh; bubbling in places where it is fed by the pressure from underground springs. It's quite beautiful, actually; with the shade cutting away much of the heat for the day, and the steamy vents feeding the pool suggesting a source of radiant warmth for a campsite through the night, or for an adventurous night-swimmer. A pair of huge tortoises, with angular, pineapplish nodes covering their shells, give you wary looks with their big, dumb eyes. They're the size of large dogs, and with a sharp, bony underbite, they look capable of chomping fairly hard; but they seem more interested in seeking food in the water than out of anyone's legs, and they maneuver away into the water at their top, embarassingly slow speed. Clusters of bright red and orange flowers, each bloom as big as a human hand, nod approvingly at your approach. And at the far side of the water, a couple of minutes walk around its perimeter, is a white-granite stone protrusion with three natural openings - two high, one at ground level - giving a kind of sloppy resemblance to a giant skull. This, certainly, is the entrance to the caverns. You could make your way to the entrance and start immediately exploring; or opt to make camp here, and start that effort tomorrow.

Spoiler: OOC Options:

Show

Welcome to the Lushwater Oasis. Everyone can give me up to two things they'd like to do as you arrive, and may feel free to proactively roll, or take a routine 10 as appropriate, for those things. Examples might include scouting around the oasis for wildlife or visitors (Perception), looking specifically for tracks made by a higher order of life than the wild creatures (Investigation), conferring with the elemental spirits in the area (Jakk'ari's Communicate), performing a cursory examination of the water's quality (Expertise: Alchemy), doing any of these things while paranoid'ly trying to remain hidded (Stealth), or any other creative thingamabob you'd like to try to get past me. Feel free to comment on anything your character might have done on the journey here, or if you're so inclined, the wardrobe changes they have adopted for this safari - wide brimmed hats, parasols, what have you. Obviously that has no mechanical effect, but you're bringing the world to life.

[JoyWonderLove]

Spoiler: ooc, why so little

Show

I’m mostly out of posting sorts, so I’m posting this tiny bit now to get myself back into some kind of posting order.

Posting.

Spoiler: Not Quite Insightful Conversation (Felix)

Show

About two hours and a quarter into what would be the guard night shift, Emilia appeared out the front door backwards, two steaming mugs in hand. For all the same polished armour, longsword, and ponytail in the earlier meeting, the silver sun tabard was glaringly missing. Removing it from her person had become an unofficial sign these past four weeks. As much to herself as those nearby, it oft meant to ask little guild related work of her then, and expect less until tomorrow. Although it was not unknown for her to wear the tabard all day, if duties demanded it, it made her appearance even odder at that time of night. Being an early riser had meant earlier bedtimes to balance.

Emilia marched, as was oft her way, over only to ignore the former cadet despite standing in line with him. She gazed out at the dusk and dirt and the stars shining above. “Can’t claim I miss this crap,” she muttered, loud enough. Even with the precise affectations she sported for duties dropped, the refined pronunciation and accent still barely clung to her, like rusted armour on a marble statue. She offered Felix one of the mugs.

“Peppermint and ginger. Steeped long enough that it actually makes us more alert; not like some rip-off artists down there that piss in a cup and claim it lemon tea. ” She pulled a very unladylike face even while looking down at Rachet, before returning to scanning the horizon outwards, like anyone that had pulled sentry duty in the past.

“Funny how little things can make you miss home. How’s Rachet been treating you?”

[Plaids]

After a long trek out into the savannah the oasis was quite pleasant. Clear water and shaded groves were the most popular places to rest in such warm climates. But appearances and first impressions could be deceiving and everyone else would need to know better before learning from experience
It looks like we have arrived at the mouth of caverns everyone. Stick together for now and don't go refilling our water supplies just yet. The water might be saline, and we don't know yet how accommodating this oasis is for us just yet.

Considering the plight of the apprentice druids who entered prior it would be best to prepare some rudimentary contingencies. Seizing several sticks and ferns Jakk'ari begins to fashion fibrous cords to attach the discarded sticks. The result is nothing special with the durability or fantastical uses that Marion, Mor'Lag, or Emelia would produce with the right workbench. But the sticks tied with fibrous chords to the large fern leaves would mark the parties traveled path and point towards the direction the wind would be exiting.

Jakk'ari pushes aside a large leaf fern and proceeds through a shaded thicket. The cool air providing a welcome respite from the heat as the shaman proceeds to the cave face. The ground is firm but springy unlike the hard packed coarse scrub soil earlier in the day. Everyone was out of their element and help would be needed. Now came the crucial part. "Elements I come seeking your aid. My companions and I have come seeking apprentices of the Cenarion Circle. We believe they have become lost in the caverns below while investigating a disturbance to the land. Has anyone else recently arrived at this oasis and the caverns below?

Spoiler: Actions chosen

Show

Jakk'ari has chosen to make some trail markers out of the sticks in leaves in the oasis to make sure the party does not get lost in the caverns. He is also asking the elementals if they have seen anyone enter the caverns recently. This could be anyone from the druids who entered the caverns or any other unknown party.

[Feathersnow]

Mor'Lag liked the loose-fitting sundress they had commissioned. They had permeated it in chrysanthemum and citron oils before leaving, based on Marion's ideas for bug repellent. Between that and the fabric itself, she was largely protected from the biting vermin of the swamp..

As the group began to set up the camp, Mor and Lag survey the area. Lag searches for any sign of intelligent life, while Mor surveys signs of dangerous animals. Their two heads allow both surveys to go in tandem.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

The journey across the barrens was easier for Marion than one might think. Though a casual judgment may write the aristocrat off as a soft, pale girl that would be hard-pressed by even a two day journey through the exotic and unknown savannah wilderness, the warlock took to the trip with surprising fortitude that might not be so astonishing when one remembered the distant and arduous travels she had endured just to arrive on this continent. And so, a hardened journeyman by now, Marion sat atop the howdah that had been fastened to one of the great beasts where she could read a book, survey the local interests and deploy an umbrella should the beating sun become too harsh.

The warlock sometimes listened with passing interest to Aleena's tour-guide like explanations and on other occassions she zoned her out as she focused on the opened pages of her tome before her. It's not that Marion didn't appreciate the elfs new-found knowledge of the local area, she did, it's just...well, despite gazing upon something few humans had seen, the Alteraci just wasn't that interested in this type of biome. Heat. Endless golden grass. Big animals. Occasional pigman, green or brown. The end. It wasn't the mountains, the rich forests, the flowing azure rivers or the green fields of her homeland...if anything, it just reminded her how far away from home she truly was.

When they finally happened upon the oasis, Marion smiled to herself at the vision. It was quite beautiful, she had to admit, like a ripe green-and-blue fruit nestled within an endless sea of brown. The scent of fresh, running water. The emerald foliage of the healthy vegetation. It was a little patch of Eden amidst a blighted land.


ooc:

Marion would have brought along an ample supply of provisions, given that she's now Ms Moneybags. Food (trail-ration variety), water, camping/survival tools and some spare coin/precious stones should bartering or trade need to take place.

For her actions, Marion will cast Demon Armor on herself and throw some glances around. Sorry to be annoying :P but that's about all she'd do at the moment, she'll leave the "scouting for enemies" and "searching for interesting stuff" to others who are more inclined. She'll just prep for heading into the cave.

[WindStruck]

With the even hotter weather of The Barrens, Isaera was, of course, showing off a lot of skin again. She basically wore a tiny two-piece outfit as she had two weeks prior during that near-scandalous incident, though this was tempered with a cover up of sorts. A small sarong and half cardigan of light, almost sheer fabric adorned her body, and combined with tactical use of parasol and ointments, the bugs nor the elements hardly bothered her. Of course, she also had the foresight to bring warmer clothes for the nights, and exploring the Wailing Caverns if need be.

"You've seemed to learn a lot," Isaera remarks to her sister, as she explains the web of ecosystems.

Before they part ways, she stops Aleeana and says, "Hey. Be careful," with a genuine look of concern before embracing her in a hug.

- - - - - - - - - -

Upon arriving to the oasis, Isaera is relieved in a way, having come to such a lush, beautiful place amid the veritable wastelands all around them, though she knew full well that there was likely a danger lurking nearby.

"I'm sure the water is fine," she says, waving away Jakk'ari's concerns. "If it was anything dangerous, there would be no vegetation growing around it. I know that much."

Raising a finger she adds, "That said.. I am curious if there are any magical or other unique properties to this water. And it would probably be best to purify it by boiling, regardless."

She soon gathers a few samples of the water and begins preparing some tests for them. While these things are going on in the background, she takes the chance to follow Mor'Lag around, trying to see if she can spot anything the ogress misses.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

As fun as it would be to take a nice dip in the water, that would just be irresponsible and stupid.

So anyway, real stuff here. Isaera will try analyzing the water for unique properties. As suggested, an expertise alchemy check would be in order: (1d20+14)[29]

However, if anything else magical is discovered about this water, I'd also like to try my hand at expertise: arcane magic (1d20+14)[27]

I don't think Isaera would feel comfortable wandering about the area by herself, but she could perform an investigative check while near Mor'Lag...

investigation: (1d20+14)[16] We'll look for signs of "higher life".

Lastly, with the resources I have to make up to three potions, my choices would be:
- a mana potion. Obviously. Gotta have my fix, especially in case of emergency!
- a potion of regeneration. I think in WoW it was something like minor trolls blood. Will probably grant one or a few ranks in fast healing.
- This might be completely random, but I feel like a potion of water breathing might be useful.

[JoyWonderLove]

=Meeting Mission Parameters=

Emilia’s attempt to do justice by way of a liaison offering a middle path done, she still seemed pleased at the druid mission being prioritised. The missing were best rediscovered sooner than not, and it simply fit their guild far better than the other options. As the night elf summarised the agreed upon actions, Amber’s odd green eyepatch was pulled out and turned over idly in hand. It looked unique enough that she would notice it elsewhere, but unique enough to ask of it after their awkward end? Like as much a sentimental thing, or else a good luck baubel at best. When others weren’t overmuch placing attention on the paladin, she speculatively brought it level with her right eye and glanced the room before pocketing it again. Rising from her seat, her mind was away.

There was a mission to prepare for, and a concern of whatever haunted Felix.

=Absence in an Oasis=

Emilia had been restlessly quiet the entire bumpy way of the caravan. She frowned while unconsciously poking at the rings of her chainmail, feeling strangely vulnerable for her tabard absent. It had seemed wrong to wear it on their first deployment. Their guild had its own name and mission and resources, of which the Argent Dawn was only a small but integral part, and none of her fellow guild leaders had anything identifying themselves. So she had opted to go without. A guilt-ridden attempt at solidarity, worsened for realizing they appeared a spittle of armed thugs with no identifying banner or uniform, and were soon to be skulking around in a cave system. It stank of being brigands hunkering where Alliance and Horde wouldn’t tread. Or mercenaries, at best. That she opted for a surprisingly fine black cloak with silver trim to keep the heat off her head had been her ego insisting on it, over a wide brimmed straw hat.

“Just find the druids,” she muttered to herself, between sweating and mouthfuls of mostly water. “Do your utmost to that, and Light take the rest.”

Beyond dispensing the rations at the start of the journey, Emilia had said much of nothing to anyone else, and made no attempt to start conversation. But she did listen when the ranger spoke of the ecosystem, and seemed fascinated with the oddly horned horses and excessively long necked creature, considering the kodos with a new regard when it became clear their very presence kept the predators at bay. The big lumbering beasts had more nobility to them than some Stormwind Houses. The rattling, bumping, jostling journey felt a great deal more tolerable after that. Still, how did they suffer this nonsense uphill, and not challenge taking a wagon all the way here? I would sooner chance a mount than this. She would have to put in a request for horses with the Argent Dawn when they returned, or push for that stablemistress in the next round of staff intake for the guild.

“Finally,” Emilia exclaimed when the wagon stopped the first night.

But by the second day, with no narration and much marching, Emilia grew bored scrutinizing the sea of grass and savanna trees for threats eventually, and instead settled for sighing impatiently. When her throat was somehow parched and sated of drinking from her water skin, and she was bored of not talking to others, she instead wrapped her fingers around the longsword hilt and dragged the sword up a little, before stabbing it down, and continued not to talk to anyone. Exactly as she had when waiting at the tower, she let the sound of steel on leather sooth her in addition to the rustling wind and heavier thud of the ogre. It was no surprise threats gave them wide purchase.

They arrived at the cave. When the troll warned off of the water, Emilia took a smaller mouthful of her water skin, before producing the item she had inscribed to help pinpoint residual druidic magic. Her right hand forever kept at least one finger on the sword hilt, what with threats enough in the wild to undo even druids lurking somewhere.

“Raptors, spiders, and wind serpents favour the cave system. To say nothing of the Kolkar and the oasis. Stay vigilant.”

Emilia went over to the oasis, scrutinizing the area, even as she bent and resisted her impulse to refill on water. She instead checked around the oasis for any footprints or signs of recent humanoids in the area to begin her investigation, and went from there.

Spoiler: Actions and item requests

Show

Action 1, Mission First: Skill Mastery Routine Check Investigation for 24. Let’s find those druids.

Action 2, Stay Vigilant: Perception (result 14, no Skill Mastery) and stay vigilant. Check out the oasis and cave.

Item Request 1: Inscription (result 20) that helps me find the missing druids. You mentioned an inscription that can help hone in on druid residual magic? If I can get away with temporary inscriptions that fade away in time, I want to stick the inscription on the emerald eyepatch. If not, I’ll leave it alone and go with...a compass I bought in Rachet and Inscribe that? Make it point the way!

Item Request 2: Cooking (result 15) to make rations for the group, not unlike you would find for an army deployed.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Spoiler: With Nodrick

Show

Marion watched with detached amusement as a tiny portion of the goblins food went on a little adventure.

Shaking her head, seemingly snapping out of it, the warlock turned her attention back to Nodrick as he laid out his plan. Once again, Marion could see the benefits...but her instincts told her not to trust the goblins. She had no reason to doubt Nodrick's personal loyalty - he wouldn't be here if she did. But all those goblins? That was just asking to be swindled.

Nodding, pursing her lips, "I think you're right, Nodrick," she started, leaning back in her chair, her hands coming up to tent her fingers before her.

"Compartmentalising the production process would be an expensive, but effective, means of intellectual property protection. Yes, yes I have found your arugment thoroughly convincing!" she said, sitting upright and leaning forward.

Using her dinner implements before her in an impromtu map of Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms.

"We'll make one component here in Theramore..." she pointed a finger at where the human city would be.

"We will then contract ships to carry crates aboard them for our second, smaller factory in Stormwind," she pointed to the city's location on the improvised map.

"There they are assembled, boxed and dispersed across Azeroth's trading lanes! And from there, we can place shipments onto the Gnome train and look to secure a contract with the Explorers League in Ironforge."