Greyhawk - Casefile: High Treason for Low Characters (Part Four)

 The echos in the tunnel (which is how Ironforgers say that quaint Stormwind saying "The word on the street") indicated that a blacksmith named Tormus Deepforge could tell me where I could find out more about this Dark Iron officer named Captain Beld, so I stopped off at the Stonefire Tavern in Ironforge to grab a couple of bottles of Dwarven Stout and a wheel of Dwarven mild cheese.

There were two things you could reliably count on with a Dwarven blacksmith; you could find them in and around the Great Forge, at the heart of the city, and that the heat of the Great Forge activities always led to a powerful thirst. The Great Forge was the heart and soul of Dwarven culture, which centered in and around the Dwarven skill and creeativity with metals, gemstones, and alloys. At its center is the famed Great Anvil, where the best of the Dwarven blacksmiths gathered to discuss the arts which fed their prosperity or to actually take hammer to anvil and produced weapons, armor, and other useful devices. Enormous foundries, purifying the ore brouht to the city in bulk, surrounded the Great Anvil.  The cacophony of the foundry and the forge made conversation difficult, which is why I needed the bottles of Stout.

If you are going to go fishing, you increase  your chances of success if you bring the right bait, after all...

I found him standing near the the aforementioned Great Anvil, giving instructions to one of his apprentices. I waited until he had finished, then lightly tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"Master Deepforge?"

"Ehh?" he said, indicating that he could not hear me over the noise.

I showed him one of the bottles of stout, made a quizical face, and motioned towards the periphery of the Great Forge.  He grinned, and reached for the bottle, following me to a slightly less noisy spot nearby.

"Sorry for thae noise, young fellow," he said, having already opened and drained the bottle of its thick, dark, nutty-tasting Stout.  I offered another to him, and the cheesed I had brought. "Some can't stand the heat of the Great Forge, but I think the heat is just right. And it's the best place to do some serious smithwork."

"Ye are correct, Master Deepforge, and sorry indeed I am to interrupt ye at your craft, but I find myself in urgent need tae prevent a gross miscarriage of justice. I need to know where I can find a certain Dark Iron by the name of Captain Beld, and I am told ye might be able to start me on the path?" I explained.

"Och, aye, I know where ye can find that blackguard poltron, may his forgefire fail!" Master Deepforge replied, more bitter by far than t he beverage he was drinking.  "Once upon a time, nae too long past, my old mentor, Sturgy Ironband, had a compound south of Helm's Bed Lake in eastern Dun Morogh. There he taught blacksmithing and he was the best, until the Dark Ikron Emperor decided that he wanted the strange ore one of his students found."

"A strange ore?" I asked.

"Aye. Master Ironband called it umbral ore, and was eager to work with it, but soon after it arrived, the Dark Emperor stretched out his greedy claw and a band of Dark Iron dwarves under the command of this Captain Beld attacked his compound and made it his base of operations. That is where you may find him, and I hope you kill him very slowly in payment for Master Ironband's death!"

I thanked him for his help, and left him the final bottle of Stout... I imagine it would be drained dry before I hit the tram to return to Stormwind.

I knew who, and I knew where... now I just needed to figure out a way to have some words with Captain Beld that didn't gedt me killed in the process...

=============================

(WIP)

Laurel Nox - Dandelion Tears

 A customer had approached her to make an analysis of her favorite perfume, which just so happened to also be a bloodthistle-based narcotic. Bloodthistle was, botanically speaking, a relative of the Swiftthistle plant, but whereas the Swiftthistle plant was no difficult to find - it was a parasite, often growing intertwined with Briarthorn or Mageroyal plants.  Swiftthistle was very useful in several different recipes, especially those which provided a nervious energy; ingestion invariably produced a fast heart rate, sweating, and large pupils as the user experienced an artificial adrenaline high that could last, depending on the dosage, between five and ninety minutes.  It was often brewed into a tea, highly prized as a stimulant for those needing an "extra kick".

Bloodthistle, by contrast, was available only in the inaccessable northern point of the Eastern Kingdoms, and grew only near spots with a high amount of quel'dorei magic.  Like its cousin, it was a narcotic, but in the Quel'dorei it induces a happy euphoria and sense of invunerability.  It also enhanced the ability of the users to channel and use elvin magical energies for a time... but with a cost. After the effects faded, the consumer would enter a statge of withdrawal, virtually cut off from magical enemies while the withdrawl symptoms persisted. Like any narcotic, this one also had addicts... and anything with addicts could be found on the black market.

Unfortunately for Laurel, she had the wrong sort of contacts; Bloodthistle only affected elves, and so the local black market had no ready suppliers. This lack forced Laurel to deal with someone that she found abhorrent; a petty merchant in cheese, whose legitimate business masked his smuggling sidelines.  The fellow made a small fortune making "cheese deliveries", hiding contraband of various sorts in wheels of the various kinds of cheese, which were in demand all over Azeroth. This fellow had refused Laurel's own generous offer to distributge her own narcotics, looking down his nose at her. They still did business, however - the fellow had a taste for Thistle Tea, and Laurel provided him with all the Swiftthistle he wanted.

Laurel had asked no questions, but he had been able to obtain for her a supply of Bloodthistle sufficient for her needs in creating the perfume desired by her customer. 

The first stgep, of course, was to create a batch of Bloodthistle essential oil... ordinarily, this was a slow process that could take weeks to distil a useful amount, but the client was in a hurry.

So Laurel cheated.  She retreated to her basement workshop of her house in Darkshire, and began to chant in the dark Fel tongue of demons:

From the Land beyond Beyond

To a place of Hope and Fear

I bid you Tarkin

Now appear!

Her demon Imp appeared in an instant, and immediately began complaining and whining.  Laurel rolled her eyes and inflicted him with a Mino Curse o Agony to forstall more kvetching. "Enough, Tarkin.  I have an urgent task for you." Imps were small, perverse demons with a sadisticly mischevious bent, but they were masters of fire.

"I live to serve  you, my Queen of Fel Darkness!" the Imp flattered. Tarkin really only had two moods - whiny complaining and sevile groveling.  

"I need you to take this cauldron and slow-boil the contents," Laurel said, brusing the Bloodthistle and immersing it in the distilled water. "I will be extracting the oil from this plant, so do not heat it too much, do you understand?"

"Oh yeah, sure," said the Imp carelessly.

Laurel narrowed her eyes in distrust. "Understand me - if you do not pay close attention, and ruin this batch, I will apply a Curse of Infernal Itching to your nether regions for a month, until you scratch yourself to bloody, shredded flesh.  I don't care how boring this is, you will tend it with care and constant low heat. No diversions, no mistreating creatures for entertainment, no nothing... or boredom will be the least of your worries!" She handed him the cauldron, which the Imp was barely able to lift to the hearth, using both hands. "And no noise... I have work to do!"

With that begun, she began to ponder the rest...

Perfumes were composed of three different scent notes, often related; tghe base notge, to which one added the middle notges, which influneced thebase note scent, and then the high note, which, when properly aged, would dominate the scent melange. Her customer, a charming and charismatic professional negotiator known as Dandi (Which was short for Dandelion, apparently), was aware of the narcotic nature of Bloodthistle, but did not want it too strong; Dandi was a creature of subtlety. Laurel was almost certain that the perfume was only an part of the perfume's charm; lthough she had not mentioned it, Laurel was virtually certain that Dani was casting a minor charm spell, using the Laws of Similarity - the law of magic wherein the mage, warlock, or shaman infers that one can produce any effect they desire merely by imitating it -  to direct and amplify the effect of the weak narcotic. It was the same law that had voodoo dolls stuck with a pin produce a magnifed effect in the person dipicted by the doll.

In fact... Laurel chuckled.  She had an idea... Laurel filled a pint jar with denatured alcohol, and placed it wihin a thaumaturgical triangle, quickly drawn on the slate floor of her workshop. Rather than try to rush the product, she could cheat, with a judicious application of the Law of Contagion, whereby a spell-caster could create large amounts of wine out of water by pouring a single drop into the supply of water.

Fortunately, her customer had given her more than enough of a sample for both a carful, time-consuming analysis AND a way to meet the short-tern need.

Laurel cast the invocation, and using an eyedropper added one... two... three drops of the original perfume. The Rule of Three was also to be respected.

The alchemical transformation was already underway when laurel turned back to her notes regarding the scent notes... perhaps a base of Dreamfoil, with middle notes of Bruiseweend and Fadeleaf, leaving the top note of Bloodthistle. She would have to play with the ingredients, somewhat... but she would call the final product Dandelion Tears.  She smiled, hoping that name would find favor with her customer.

Greyhawk - Casefile: High Treason for Low Characters (Part Three)

The next morning I was up before the dawn and on the tram for Ironforge, a warm stick of Tram Rat Kabob in my hand.  There was a lot to do, and Keynala could not afford to have an advocate not in Ironfiorge, so I was going to have to do something that only such an extremes could force me to do.

I was going to have to beg a place to sleep from "family". 

The theory was that I was primarily identified as a Greyhawk, which was my mother's surname; however, given that my mother was human, this carried little weight with my father's clan, the Stonefists.  The Stonefists had a storied history of various criminal and anti-social activities, both in Ironforge and Stormwind.  They had connections to the south with the Defias Brotherhood, and to the north with the Syndicate out of the Arathi Highlands and Alterac Mountains.

Or as the gnomes like to say "Dirty deeds done dirt cheap."

When I was growing up, I was vaguely aware that my Dad's family were often involved in sketchy activities, and without doing anything at all I learned how to shadow (and dodge a shadow) people, how to open locks without a key or explosive devices, and fourteen ways to hamstring someone who had pissed me off.  Before my fifteenth birthday, I was well on my way to establishing a fledgling criminal career.

Fortunately, Mom and Dad bundled me off to the Alliance military before I could get caught breaking the law in any serious way.  After my discharge from the Scouts, my sergeant got me a job in Northshire, fighting Defias... and I learned something. No, two things - the first one is that I preferred to operate on the right side of the law. The second thing I learned is that the same skills and abilities I'd learned from my Stonefist uncles, aunts, and cousins were remarkably effective against those who operated on the other side of the law.

Part of operating on the right side of the law in Ironforge was learning the ins and outs of the justice system, or what passes for one, under the rule of the Iron Throne. There were three levels of justice in the Kingdom of Ironforge; what they called High, Middle, and Low Justice.

High justice was reserved to the King and his appointed nobility, and covered pretty much all the crimes which ended up with capital punishment in various ways; death by hanging, death by firing squad, death by impalement, death by immolation, and so forth.

Middle justice involved full civil and criminal jurisdiction, except for capital crimes.  This stuff was handled by the courts and magistrates appointed by the Iron Throne - often paladins who were above reproach.  Most of the penalties here, under Ironforge law, were fines - dwarves had a slow reproductive rate, and so a dead dwarf could take decades to replace. Dead dwarves don't make anyone money, and without money, taxes suffer.  And the Iron Throne adores collecting its tithes, it does. 

Of course, anyone could appeal their sentences to Trial by Combat.  Heh. Good luck with that.

Low justice, also called "Clan justice", was all the rest of things which made life bearable - weddings, wills, minor property disputes.  Inside of a clan, the heads of the clan kept order.  Between clans, usually, the head of both clans would work out a weregild of some sort - cash payments.

Did I mention that Dwarves are remarkably fond of cash? Its what they use to keep score.

Anyways, with a charge of treason, this was likely to be brought before King Magni himself, which was both good and bad.  The good - Magni had a busy schedule, so the trial was unlikely to take place any time soon. The bad - Magni had a real hard-on against the Dark Irons, who had left a trail of bodies from Grim Batol to Shadowforge City. 

Because the trial was not likely to happen soon, all evidence would be filed in the archives, which was as well-guarded as the royal vaults.  

Archives had archivists, who kept things in the archives safe and, at least in theory, accessible.

The Chief Archivist was a stuffy old bureaucrat named Hjalth Redfingers.  Even if I thought I might have a chance at setting an appointment with him, he'd refuse to cooperate seven times before my ass hit his desk chair for visitors. He served Important People, not Stonefists of dubious Dwarven heritage.

Being the supercilious prickknob that he was, his three Assistant Archivists were also booked solid for weeks, if not months; the difference is that if you got on their calendar, they would do their best to help you if all your paperwork was in order. I didn't have that much time.

Fortunately, each of the Archivists had assistants as well. One of them, a fine young fellow named Anand Paledust, who, from my perspective, had three things going for him. First, he had no talent for his job, and had obtained it because his aunt was the head Librarian for the Hall of Explorers. Second, Anand was known to be enamored of Jesicara Stonefist.  And third, our good fellow Anand had an addiction to dice games played with crooked Troll Dice in the less savory dark halls of Ironforge. 

Jesicara was eager to convince him to see me, and even convinced him to fill out my paperwork in exchange for a small pecuniary remuneration.

By the time I arrived at his office for our appointment, dear Anand had piles of paperwork on his desk almost as tall as he was. 

"Ah, Master Greyhawk, an honor to meet any cousin of dear, sweet Jesicara!" he said, clearly embodying the maxim that Love is Blind. "Please, sit down."

I sat in the spare chair at his desk. "I understand that you are the advocate for one..." He read her name from the file under his hand. "...ah, here it is - Keynala Softstone.  However, advocate or not, I cannot possibly show you the contents of this file here in the red folder.  Red folders are to be held strictly in the highest confidence, and I barely have aurhority to have pulled the file so as to familiarize myself with your request before informing you as to its impossible nature." He gave a look so full of crockolisk tears that I almost thought I was sunbathing at Lake Nefertiti in Stranglethorn.

"Of course," I said, frowning my frustration.

"But to prove that it is only regulations and rules that compel me to refuse your erequest, let us drink together, perhaps in a toast to the Iron Throne?" he said.

"That sounds marvelous.  To justice!"

"Excellent.  Let me just run over to the Stonefire Tavern for a small keg of ale," he said.  "It should not take me more than fifteen minutes. Please wait here in my office, in comfort," he said.

"Oh, but if you are going to do the fetching, ther least you can do is allow me to pay for the drinks?" I insisted, handing him a rather large pouch.  Stuffed with a pre-determined amount of gold.

He had not been gone a minute before I moved across the desk to his seat and opened the red file.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

The file was full of the usual stuff I had been expecting - insinuations that her Dark Iron heritage had overcome her.  Implications that she had chosen to work for a so-called "foreign" organization rather than for an Ironforge company.  A list of known associates, of which I was disappointed to not have been found worthy of inclusion - I must be slipping. 

Finally a report from the Stormwind intelligence service, who had slowly been recruiting gnomes.  Their agent, a gnome woman named Kelsey Steelspark, had detained and killed a Dark Iron agent provocateur, discovering a pouch of gemstones and instructions to deliver it to Keynala Softstone, payment for supplying them with the defense plans of Gnomeregan prior to the sabotage of the city and the invasion by troglodytes.  The bottom levels, those occupied by  Dark Iron saboteurs serving the insane Sicco Thermaplugg, were clear proof of Dark Iron involvement.

Exhibit A

Well, the good news is that now we knew what evidence they had for charging Keynala with treason, and it wasn't good.

I think it was time for a chat with Captain Beld.

Whoever he was.

Greyhawk - Casefile: High Treason for Low Characters (Part Two)

 The Deeprun Tram has long been overlooked by the citizens of both Ironforge and Stormwind as the marvel of Gnomish Engineering and ingenuity that it is - a fully enclosed underground pair of tunnels lined with gantry and a set of double tracks.  These tracks guide two tramcars, a set of three linked wagons which run between Ironforge and Stormwind. 

After the debacle of the Second War, the Stormwind crown faced a massive rebuilding project of the city and surrounding area which had been devastated by the orcs of the Horde. To limit the military possibility of either Stormwind or Ironforge being completely besieged, the Alliance engaged the genius of High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque, who designed the grand subterranean railway system that would link Stormwind and Ironforge. After not a few incursions by plagues of rats, the Deeprun Tram has allowed goods, services, food, and other necessities of life to travel safely between the Kingdom of Stormwind and the Kingdom of Ironforge. 

Best of all, it was free, and the transit was both long enough and smooth enough to give me some serious time to think about what to do next.

Or more accurately, who to bribe next.

While Melissa D'Arque provided both long-legged, red-haired motivation to get started, she had also distracted my enough that I had forgotten to make her sign the usual employment contract, which specified the daily rate (which was a modest 20 silverweight per day), but also to establish an expenses account for the case - which naturally included a few items that were going to be hard to document with receipts for reimbursement; you can't often bribe someone and then demand they sign a receipt, after all.  Still, given that once she told me of Keynala's situation, I would have worked the case for free.  Keynala was a friend, and one of the few Dwarf women I knew who didn't look at me like I was some half-breed nightmare of Troll and Trogg. 

Being a private investigator severely limits one's social contacts, as people never really feel they can relax around someone whose day job is peeping through windows and sorting through other people's dirty laundry. When I make a friend, I do my best to keep them healthy - and I never take cases that might involve hurting my friends.

But in any case, there were two things I needed to do post-haste; first, I needed to speak to Keynala about the case, and second, I needed to pull information from people within the Ironforge criminal justice system. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), I knew the Ironforge criminal justice system rather intimately, with the Stonefist side of the family always somewhere in the shadows on the criminal side. Getting to see Keynala should not prove to be difficult, as I could represent myself as part of her legal defense team (possibly the only member of her legal defense team, come to think of it, but again, my Stonefist relatives knew a handful of clever legal advocates).  

Finding out what the prosecution had in terms of evidence against her might be a little more problematic - but then again, like I said, I knew some people.  

I entered the Stormwind entrance to the Deepwater Tram, and bought a set of Deeprun Rat Kabobs from a gnome named Nipsy; he and his brother Monte had a racket going where Monty kept the Deepwater Tram rat population under control, and Nipsy marinated the meat and cooked them over a grill with onions and mushrooms. Delicious.

By the time I hit the other end of the tram, I had a plan.

The Ironforge City Guard was a fierce but sleepy force, more dedicated to the defense of Ironforge from potential Horde or Dark Iron incursions than anything else; I'm not saying that they wouldn't stop you if you blatantly attacked someone with no provocation (and understanding that casting aspersions on another dwarf's clan was considered a valid reason for naked assault... provoked assault, they called it).  They usually only got involved once the fight was over, to levy a fine for Disturbing the Peace and to send the wounded and the dead to the Mystic Hall for healing or final rites, whichever were deemed appropriate.  

The actual criminal activity was the province of three specialized guardsmen, known as Thief Catchers. Thief Catchers are charged under special charter by the Iron Throne to undertake law enforcement, and while they could technically involve City Guards for assistance, all three of the Thief Catchers had learned early in their careers that the City Guard looked assisting them in the performance of their duties and opportunities of enriching one's self with monetary considerations to develop myopia and bad memories.

If there was an arrest to be made, inside or outside of Ironforge, it would have fallen to one of them.  It did not take more than a fistful of coppers to a ne'er-do-well gnome named Fenthwick to find out that it was Thief Catcher Shadowdelve (not his colleagues Thunderbrew nor Farmountain) who had gone out to Theramore to make an arrest, and bring the malefactor to the Ironforge holding cells.

I caught up with Shadowdelve as he made his rounds, which today covered the Mystic Hall to the Auction House and back again. Shadowndeslve bore twin axes and wore a pair of Cats Eye Goggles to aid in seeing rogues who had the ability to meld into Shadows or procure invisibility vial alchemical means. He has a full head of hair and his coal-colored beard was neatly tucked into his belt.

"Hail, Shadowdelve!" I called out to him as his path took him past where I had appropriated a patch of wall to hold up.

"Guid morrow tae ye, Greyhawk.  'Tis a foine afternoon for it, isnae?" he said. I had been gone from Ironforge proper for too long and his thick Dwarven dialect was hard to follow.

"You have the right of it, Master Shadowdelve," I conceded, not really sure what it was precisely a fine afternoon for, precisely, but agreeing with him would do no harm. "I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?"

Thief Catcher Shadowdelve

"Och aye, o' course ye may!" he said, his voice cheerful enough that I assumed he was smiling beneath his impenetrable beard and mustache.

"I am told you had an all-expense-paid trip to Theramore Isle, to fech a lassie home again?" I said.  "Did she give you any trouble?"

"Nay, that she did not, although her employer was another matter; she spit and yowled like a mother cat over one of her kittens, but I had a proper warrant, so there was not a lot her boss could do, when all was said and done," Shadowdelve answered.

"Oh, then, well-done to you," I said, congratulating him. "It must have been something important to send you down to Menethel Harbor to cross the waters and back."

 "Oh, that is was - the lass is facing a charge of treason, don't ye know?" Shadowdelve said. "It turns out that she was herself hald Dark Iron, and sold information about the defenses inside of Gnomeregan to spies from Shadowforge City." He leaned forward and whispered "A certain bunch of gnomes offered me a small fortune to look the other way while they performed a bit o' back-alley justice, but I put an end to that!  When we got here, I put her down in the Warlocks Hole."  The Warlocks Hole was the part of the Ironforge holding cells designed to inhibit mage teleportation and demonic portals.

"She's that dangerous, then?" I asked.

"Nay, she's pleasant enough, and a priest besides... but the Hole prevents vigilantes from teleporting in as well as out." Shadowdelve barked a laugh. "She should be safe enough until trial, I'm thinking."

"Well, that's good to know. Please, when you finish your shift tonight, have a drink on me," I said, slipping him a gold. "A minor reward from a grateful citizen."

"Oh, thank ye, lad..." He said, and as I turned away added. "Davros, I know ye tae be a guid fellow, but understand this... she WILL see trial.  Be careful how you tread with this... I know ye like to sometimes help, one side or another, as ye see your way, and I will nae stand between a man and his conscience, Stonefist or not. But there is no give in this case, no amount of money large enough for anyone to be looking the other way.  The Iron Throne has both eyes bent her way, and she will see a fair trial."

"That's all I want, Master Shadowdelve. A fair trial and justice," I said.  

 Getting in to see Keynala was a very straightforward process, without the usual banter with the screws (the guards in charge of the prison).  I presented myself to the guard at the entrance and told them that I had been engaged by concerned parties in Theramore to investigate.  I even had a writ with the Proudmoor signet; to be fair, it was carefully worded to imply much more than what was actually true, and the official seal did come from a really, really good copy that I'd had made before I returned the original seal to the clerk's office.

Getting to the Warlock's Hole required taking me past three levels of other prison cells. It was amazing - and depressing - how many people I knew were waiting for their trials, including Uncle Mortimer Stonefist. The guards didn't seem to mind short stops along the way to Keynala's imprisonment after I gave them some beer money to toast their health.

One of the guards brought me a stool as I sat just out of reach of the bars of Keynala's cell. The cell was small, perhaps six feet across and deep, but unlike most of the prison cells, the stone perimeter where the bars met the stone had glyphs and sigils carved within the stone, no doubt part of the wards for the cell. The cell contained a simple pallet bed, a simple wooden chair, a chamber pot, and the cell's occupant, who had curled up in a sitting position on the bed facing the back wall of her cell, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Miss Simplestone?" I said, in a soft voice.

Keynala did not respond.  She was clad in a simple set of double-stitched robes, which had been provided by the prison. 

I tried again, pitching my voice slightly louder. "Keynala, I have been engaged by Melissa D'Arque on behalf of the Phoenix Ascendant to investigate this matter. Would you be willing to answer some questions?"

I unrolled my forged credentials. "Key?"

The sitting figure grunted at me from her corner, providing the first indication she could hear him.

 "Phoenix Ascendant, I don't want anything to do with them," said, sighing deeply and rising to her bare feet on the cold flagstone. Her auburn hair was a tangled mess, but given that she had been arrested and transported here, I could hardly blame her for not packing a comb.  She had bags the size of Traveller's backpacks under her eyes; clearly she had not been sleeping well, if at all.

Again, I could hardly blame her.

"How is Melissa?" she asked, her voice a croak much less melodious than I remembered. 

"Melissa is in quite a foul mood, given that her best friend has been arrested on charges of treason.  She believes you to be entirely innocent... as do I," I said. Having obtained her attention, I shredded my forged paperwork. "Now neither Phoenix Ascendant nor Lady Proudmoor are involved, just you and I."  I paused, to let that sink in. "Have you hired an advocate yet?"

Keynala shrugged her shoulders, as if the matter of legal representation was irrelevant. She stood, and moved the chair closer to the bars. "Advocate?" she scoffed. "No, why would a half Dark Iron with no affiliation with anyone have an advocate?"

"Key, there are certain legal principles that are real, here," I said. "The first is that whether you participate or not, you will get a trial.  You are allowed to have an advocate defend you.  You are allowed to hire an independent investigator."

I bent over and placed a single Ironforge copper penny on the smooth flagstone, and slid it across the ground to her feet.

"I am told that there are lots of eyes on the trial. Not only will you have a trial, but with such attention, the prosecutor is going to bend over backwards to make sure it's fair; they don't want any mistakes or irregularities in the proceedings.  That means there is room for us to maneuver - but time is our friend, not theirs.  The more time we can obtain, making them follow due process, the more time we have to prove your innocence. So let me ask again  - do you have an advocate?"

"No, Mr. Greyhawk, I do not have an advocate; why don'a ye go ahead an' be that fer me, then?" her voice was redolent with sarcasm, but I saw that the harsh lines around her eyes soften, and blur.  She was a strong woman, was Keynala - if I had been arrested, incarcerated, and seemingly left to rot, I would have bawled like a wee bairn at the first sign that I was not alone. 

"Give me the copper coin, then - we will count that paid in full, and in front of witnesses," I said, indicating the watching guards with my eyes. 

Keynala looked down at the coin and back to Greyhawk.

"I have no pride," I said. "I will fall to my knees to grovel and beg if I have to."

Keynala rose and pushed the coin across to me before turning her back.

I picked up the coin, and said " I am hired, and I get to oggle a petty backside.  I will consider that a tip, of sorts". By establishing the client-advocate relationship, my ability to help Keynala opened up several avenues. 

Keynala had begun to silently sob, and her shoulders shook a little.  Mixed with her muffled sobs, I could hear a half-chuckle escape her lips.

"Wit' this robe certainly shows enough of it.  No room ta hide an axe or staff fer certain," she replied.

"Although I regret the circumstances, I do not regret the view..." I quipped. "Are you being fed?  Do you need anything? Bath?  Clothes?  Wine?" I paused and then added "Viking beaver cheese? I know a guy..."

"Any other time y'd make me blush ta mah ears, Mr. Greyhawk, an' tingle all over" I hoped she meant the flirting, and not the mention of the Viking beaver cheese. She sighed, and walked back to her pallet, resuming her sitting position. "

"I have questions," I said.

"What do ye wanna know?" Keynala responded.

"You are part Dark Iron in heritage?" I asked.

"Aye I am, she affirmed.

"Tell me how that happened... never mind, that came out wrong.  I know how it happened, not how... oh you know what I mean.  What brought you to Ironforge?" I clarified.

"I was a mere babe when mah parents passed in the War," she said.  I assume she meant the War of the Three Hammers. "Mah uncle took me in"

"And your uncle lives in Ironforge? May I tell him you are well?" I asked.

"He don'a care ta much now that everyone knows," she said, her voice as filled with bitterness to put Black Bean Brew to shame. Ouch. Time to change that subject, clearly.

She waved her hand dismissively "But if ye wish tae, go ahead."

I nodded, and said, "Do you have any details about why they have accused you of treason, of selling Gnomeregan defense plans to agents of Thaurissian?"

"No," she began. "It's nae been a secrect thae I've made it a point to study Thaurissian history an' tae attempt tae help those taken into bondage under Blackrock Mountain."

"I suppose thae I was just an abvious, easy target tae be their scapegoat."

"So there is no hard evidence, just circumstancial prejudice?" I asked.

"They haven'a exactly discussed wit' me what proof they have," she said. "Admittedly even when they do speak wit' me I do nae exactly hear 'em."

"Very well.  That is a good place to start, then." 

"Anything else?" she asked impatiently.

"Yes.  Allow me to get you visitors. I know Melissa is very worried. And you have other friends, as well, who must be frantic."

Keynala nodded with a sigh "Mel is a good lass." She brought her knees to her chest again, hugging them.  Her voice cracked a little ass she responded "Do what ye will, but tae be honest 'm not wishin' anyone tae see me like this"

"If I get you better food, will  you eat it?" I asked. "And if I can get you a bath, will you take it?"

Keynala shook her head. "'Mhm not hungry."

"With all due respect, I do not see what  your hunger has to do with it.  You need food to stay healthy.  Especially cheese," I said. "Maybe some books?"

Keynala chuckled over her sob. "Only if a naked man is there ta wash mah back... I don'a wish fer anythin' Mr. Greyhawk"

A few minutes of silence passed between us, and I shook my head as if to clear it of cobwebs. "... I am sorry, I dont think I heard anything after you had me giving you a bath."

Keynala blinked a few times, and started to laugh softly.

I stood, and slowly etended my hand and arm into her cell, my fingers open. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and rose, stepping close. "That made me laugh, didn'a think I would feel that again."

"Dearest Keynala... do not give up hope. Trust me. Trust Mel" I said.

Keynala took his hand, seeming to draw strength from the contact. "I don'a have much of that left Mr. Greyhawk".

"Then trust my inherent untrustworthiness," I said with a grin. "Never give up on a buffoon of  a scoundrel Stonefist, either."

Keynala's lips quirked unwillingly into a half-smile. "Good thing yer handsome, an' I thought so before all this."

"Then would it be killling ye tae call me by my first name, Keynala?" I said, laying on the Ironforger accent thickly. 

Keynala threw her head back and let out an unforced, pleasant laugh.

I took a half-step forward, and before the guards could object, kissed her fingers interwined with my own. I dropped her hand and stepped back. "There, I will reclaim that kiss loaned to ye in the Darkness, with full interest, mind!"

Keynala blinked, bemused, as her cheeks immediately darkened several shades of red all the way to the tips of her ears.

Yes, I am shameless, but she was laughing now.  I considered that a major victory.

"I cannae promise I will eat, or change, she said with a sigh, "but I will do mah best."

"Nobody ca askf ro mroe than that," I said, nodding. "Someone will visit every day, whether you do or not. You will not be alone and fogotten, Keynala.

"Oh, I'm nevr alone..." she said. "Thae guards make sure I do nae do anythin' stupid."

"Well, lets see if I can arrange company a trifle more congenial, then..."I said, grinning. 

"Davros!"she exclaimed, achieving something I had thought impossible - her coloring discovered a new deeper shade of red.

"Come tae thae," I mused out loud, "I don't think I could manage someone less congenial than the guards." I turned to the guards, who were smiling as they eavesdroped.  Even better.

I left the cell, and added Melissa's name to the 'allowed visitors' list; I could do that, as her official advocate. I took the tram back to Stormwind, where I met with Melissa in the Pig & Whistle Tavern in the Old Town section.

Melissa had adpted the table under the stairs as if it was her own, and not my unofficial office desk. I sat down opposite her.  

"Keynala is well, but very despondant," i said with a heavy sigh.

Melissa took a long drink from the tankard in front of her. "I'm not surprised...Well, hopefully it she won't be in there for long." She sighed. "Did you learn anything new?"

"I learned quite a bit... and yet, not enough," I said. "But the investigation continues; indeed, we are just beginning."

"No shite, Greyhawk," she opined. OK, so I have a penchant for the obvious.

"But I need your help.  I need a change of clothes for Keynala; as you can tell, I can barely dress myself. She needs something comfortable, and some decent food. Can you get something appropriate for her? I wouldn't know where to begin."

She waved off the notion that it was in any way an imposition, nodding to herself. "I'll grab some things from her room. Do you think we can get any personal effects besides clothes in?

"Probably not.  She is in the highest level of security they have... so clothes, maybe food.  Probably nothing else," I said.  And she doesn't want visitors, but she needs to know she has friends who she can rely upon.  I think her embarrassment is the least of her problems at the moment."

"I can do that," Melissa confirmed. "Clothes, snacks, people... got it. What are your next steps?"

"Next, I go and bribe a file clerk. I need to know what evidence they have, and the easiest way...

"...Say no more. This isn't my first go around the bend, Davros." Melissa thought for a moment, and grinned. "You know, we never did discuss your rates."

Greyhawk held up a Ironforge penny that he had pirced and put around his neck on a leather thong. "Paid in full."

"Key?" she asked.

"Key," I confirmed.

"Damn that women. I should have guessed." Melissa chuckled to herself, and stood up from the table, taking hold of her staff as she did so. 

"I am blessed with such stubborn women in my life, apparently," I confessed.

"Apparently, though you shouldn't be surprised. In this line of work, we all tend to be stubborn." She slid two gold coins across the table. "Drinks and dinner are on me," She said, daring me to challenge her on the subject.

Mama Greyhawk didn't raise any fools. "...fair enough."

Melissa nodded and... teleported in a shimmering portal of arcane energy, no doubt to Theramore.

I ordered a bowl of stew with unidentified meat in a congealing mass of vegatables and gravy.  It was better than prison food. If only for culinary reasons, I had to get Keynala out of there.

Greyhawk - Casefile: High Treason for Low Characters (Part One)

I sat in my usual table under the stairs in the Pig & Whistle, a seedy dive in the Old Town section of Stormwind, a half-eaten bowl of Mystery Stew (don't ask what is in it - they might be mean and actually tell you) and a second tankard of what the humans laughingly called ale when she walked into the Common Room. She was tall for a dame.. oh, who am I kidding? Given my rather mixed heritage, with a dwarf or two in the family woodpile, most of the dames in Stormwind were either my height or taller. Her long, red hair probably betokened a short, fiery temper, but there are some burns worth the pain. She sauntered to the stairs, saw me, and smiled. I was probably in a lot of trouble. She was exactly the kind of woman that lead to complications, mayhem, and occassionally murder. Her face was strong, with an aquiline nose, luminous brown eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a smile that threatened to fulfill all the promises made by the black mageweave she wore. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and she knew it, from the tip of hwe mages' staff to the bottom of her knee-high leather boots.

"Hello Greyhawk... Fancy seeing you here. It's been some time, hasn't it?" Her grin widened, and she slid into the chair opposite me, staff leaning against the table. Her legs neatly crossed themselves as she leaned forward.

I did my best not to become too distracted by her gorgeous legs, and barely managed not to disgrace myself. "Madame D'Arque, always a pleasure. What brings you to this little patch of paradise?" Melissa D'Arque was a fire mage, and more likely to be found in the Mages section of the city, near the amenities of the mages' academy. She was a classy woman, and probably had expensive tastes - and worth every copper penny. I could not remember precisely when I'd met Melissa D'Arque, but I remembered the place. She was part of an organization called Phoenix Ascendant, a mercenary group based in Theramore, a beautiful little city on the edge of the Duskwater Marsh, on Durotar. It was run by the top mage in the Alliance, Jaina Proudmoor, and enjoyed a semi-official truce with the Horde, courtesy of their leader, Thrall.

That didn't stop most of the Horde from killing, skinning and eating anyone from the Alliance - mostly metaphorically, but with trolls and the Forsaken, you could never quite tell.

“A refill, a favor, and hopefully, a job.” Mel leaned back in the chair to order a drink from Reese, and I focused on food rather than compromise myself further. Mel continued unprompted, “My flask is enchanted so I never run out of Langston’s delicious bourbon, but it’s not perfect. It goes... stale, after a time. So, every so often I come back to get a fresh refill.”

"Fair," I said. "So that explains the refill. What about the favor and, even more importantly, the possible job?"

Mel took her drink as it was delivered, and started pouring it into her flask,”I am here as beset by a very close friend. I believe you and Keynala have met?”

"I have had the honor of meeting Keynala, yes."

“What do you think of her?” Mel asked, pointedly.

"Personally or professionally?" I replied.

“Either. Both.”

"Ok, professionally... She is a Dwarven female of mixed heritage - I am guessing Bronzebeard and Dark Iron - about four and a half feet tall. Chestnut hair. Slightly wide-set blue eyes. Speaks her Common with a slight accent. Often wears a floppy red sun hat. Has Light-based healing powers, but resists being called a Priestess of the Light, reason unknown. Personally, she seems like a very sweet, very clever dwarf with trust issues," I concluded.

Mel nodded, more to herself than what I said, “Then you should know that I come here to you as a personal favor for her, and tell you this in confidence. Keynala has been arrested by the authorities in Ironforge and charged with treason. I don’t know anything for certain, except that this all smells like rat shit, and Key is not a traitor.”

"...says every friend of everyone accused of any crime, ever... but that said, I agree with you. Unless the Dark Irons have some level of coercion, maybe. But just to be clear, who, exactly is my client here? You? Or Keynala? If its Keynala then I need her to engage me, but that is a detail; either way I need to make a trip to Ironforge."

"That's exactly why I need your help; I don't know if this is just a prejudice finger pointing because of her heritage, or if the Dark Irons have something they're using to get this done. For now, let's say that I'm your client, until we can reach Keynala and get to the bottom of this. Will make paying you easier, at least..." Mel refastened her flask to the holster, wrapped around her upper thigh with dark leathers. "So, will you take the job?"

"Well, normally, my fee is 20 silver a day plus expenses, but since it's for Keynala, I am going to work this one pro bono, as they say," I responded. I didn't add that if I was doing the case for free, if I discovered something bad that might harm Keynala, or if I needed to avail myself of... extra-legal remedies, I didn't want to have to report that to my client.

When anything had to do with Dark Iron dwarves, it tended to get bloody. 

Greyhawk - Casefile: The Missing Shipment of Hides

The sun beat down like a merceiless slave overseer, lashing my bald head with streams of searing heat as I stood on the elevated wooden street of Booty Bay, standing outside the tunnel that was the only footpath to the Stranglethorn Jungle.

It was a long walk to Stormwind.

Booty Bay is masquerade of a city by a camp of pirates, located at the southern tip of the Strangethorn Jungle. While the largest band of pirates in the city were the Blackwater Raiders, a loose consortium of pirate captains, any independant pirate vessel could shelter in the cove - unless they were members of the rival pirate confederation known as the Bloodsail Buccaneers, who were the rivals of the Blackwater Raiders for control of the Cape of Stranglethorn  The city was built against the rock walls of the sourrounding mountain which kept it seperate from the rest of Stranglethorn, and was basically one very large pier, with multiple levels connected by ramps.  

While not precisely lawless under the nominal rule of Revilgaz, it was a pretty wide-open place. Pirate captains brought their booty here, and the Baron's arrangement with the Steamwheedle Cartel ensured that the goods were properly trans-shipped to new owners.  

It would not be inaccurate to call Booty Bay a fencing paradise, which is why I had ended up here. Defias Brotherhood, Horde and Alliance freelancers, pirates... all of them came here to get rid of their mis-appropriated merchandisse.  Drugs illegal in civilized society were openly sold. Slaves taken by raiders from all over Azeroth ended up being sold here. 

Not a church of the Light in sight, as far as the eye could see.

It was not surprising that I had tracked a missing shipment of leather hides here. 

I had been hired my a gentleman named Cronus in the Felhound's Rest in Stormwind. He had made arrangements for the hides to be delivered to craftsmen in Ironforge for some project or another of his, and when he and his folk had met the incoming ship bearing the shipment from Ratchet, the hold was empty of the hides. Cronus had hired me to look into it.

The last known physical sighting of the shipment had been on the docks at Ratchet, where the cargo had been verified and signed into the Bill of Lading.  The Bill of Lading had the signature of Wharfmaster Dizzywig, and stamped with the customs seals. 

All of which meant very little.  Ratchet, like Booty Bay, was a goblin town. Some distance up the coast from Theramore on kalimbor, Ratchet was smack in the middle of the Horde in the Barrens, surrounded to the north by Ogrimmar, to the west by Crossroads, and to the south-west by Thunder Bluffs. Ratchet was run by goblins, and goblins really only had one deity - profit. Anything that anyone would ever want to buy — and plenty of things that no one ever wants to buy — can be found from the shops and street vendors. Casinos, playhouses, brothels, fine restaurants, taverns, tearooms, bath houses... The head goblin, Gazlowe, made sure that everyone was safe to spend their coin, on whatever their heart desired. Goblin watchmen were quick to put down conflict and make sure the visitors played nice with each other... or disappeared, their remains sunk in the bay to feed the colorful fishes and crabs. 

Everything in Ratchet has a price.

So I caught a griffon to Menethil Harbor... and had a delighful dinner with a lady who was either a former Defias Brotherhood member or a spy for them.  I placed a silent wager on her being former; she was wearing the boots that the Defias wore, especially made for sneaking, but with steel toes for kicking a foot-sized hole in their opponents. She also had sense enough to cover the Defias cog tattoo. A spy would have not dressed n battle-scarred leather and would definatgely not worn the telltale Defias Boots. Unfortunately, while dinner was delighful, I had a ship to catch to Ratchet, and dide waits for nobody, not even a human/dwarf halfbreed private investigator.

The ocean voyage was long and tedious, but at least I didn't have to worry about anyone wanting to slit my throat and throw me overboard. You have to look for the bright spots in life.

I found Wharfmaster Dizzywig on the docks.

"Hey Dizzywig... My name is Davros Greyhawk, and I have been retained in the matter of a missing shipment. I have some questions about a shipment which left the docks three weeks ago.  Got some time to talk about it?" I asked, grateful for my goggles which filtered out the glare from the water. 

"Tme is money, friend" he said, taking care to look busy, checking his the paperwork on his clipboard.

Wharfmaster Dizzywig

"Yeah, money is kind of the point, 'friend'" I said.  "I got the Bill of Lading here that says you verified the cargo of hides.  It has your signature.  It has your custom stamp.  But when the ship carrying it got to Menethil Harbor, the cargo was not in the hold...and I checked. There was no sign of it ever having been in the hold.  No large holes where a shipment might have been, and the ship's cargomaster doesn't have a memory of a shipment of hides."

"So?  My paperwork is all here, and in order," Dizzywig snarled, defensively.

"Are you telling me the shipment was loaded onto the ship?  Are you telling me that the customs duty was paid?" I asked, wanting to verbally confirm what the paperwork I had in hand had certified.

"If that's what the paperwork says, then that's what happened," Dizzywig confirmed.

"Good, I wanted to double-check... and I apologize," I said.

"Don't worry about it kid... wait.  Apologize?  For what?" questioned the goblin.

"You mean, you don't know?" I said, my voice filled with incredulosity.

"Know what?" asked Dizzywig.

"Those hides that went missing... they were headed to Ironforge, to be made into black leather armor, a special order for some noble in Stormwind named Gregor Lescovar... then they was going to be shipped to Lakesire, and insured in case of 'theft'. Good thing too, because the Defias Brotherhood loves to find weapons and armor shipments that match the stuff they carry." I winked at Dizzywig. "I'm sure that when I report back that your paperwork was in order, they won't mind that you diddled the Bill of Lading to misdirect the shipment." I leaned in close to his weating green skin, and whispered "Booty Bay? Is that where you sent the leather hides? I suppose pirates need armor too..."

"I... uh..." he stammered as I turned and walked away.

"WAIT!" he yelled before I had gone less than ten yards.

"Greyhawk.. friend Greyhawk..." he began. "Maybe we can come to an understanding...sometimes, you know, sometimes there are some shenannigans in the port, of which I am completely unaware, and not responsible for, right?"

"You mean... some illegal activity?" I gasped. 

"Sometimes, cargo gets pilfered after the paperwork... it can be a real problem," Dizzywig explained.

"I see... that would be a problem, and the Captain of the ship woud be screwed, unless he had insured the cargo," I answered. "Shame that the Captain works for Lescovar... and has already rigorously... questioned," I feigned sorrow. "He claims he never got the hides... so that means that Lescovar... Count Lescovar, that is... might have to send his special interrogator here to 'rigorously question' you.  Like I said, I apologize." 

"Isn't there anything you can do to help me?" Dizzywig whined.

"I can tell Marzon the Silent Blade that you were very co-operative?" Dizzywig moaned. "Ot, if I knew who had stolen the hides, I might just send Marzon to see him instead... if only I had a name, and where to find him..."

"Well, I don't know nothing about any crimes I might have been complicit in" explained Dizzywhig, painfully earnest. "But the word on the street is that some guy named Darokin Stone operates the ring out of Booty Bay.  That's all I know!"

"Well, its thin... in fact its dwonright anorexic... I should just keep to the facts. That way I don't get Marzon coming to see me instead," I said. "After all that would waste my time... and time is money, as you said."

"How much?" pleaded Dizzywig.

"How about you buy me a berth on the next ship to Booty Bay?" I said.  

So let me be straight here - I was not taking a bribe. I was letting Dizzywhig fund the next stage of the investigation.  I mean, clearly someone had crossed his palm to falsify the documents, so it was about as much justice as I could get, soaking him for the expenses to travel to Booty Bay.

So to Booty Bay I went, but when I got there, I could find plenty of people who knew a smuggler named Darokin Stone, but noboy knew where I might find him.

The fix was in. I don't know how, but someone tipped off Stone that I was coming. 

The only thing I could do was to make my report, and start walking home.

Through a troll-infested, ruins-encrusted sweltering pesthole with mosquitos the size of falcons. 

On the brighter side, I could add the days I spent walking to my fee.

A guy can work pretty damned hard for 20 silvers a day plus expenses.