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.

 

Griffonclaw Artwork!

 

Greyhawk - Casefile: Darkshire Defias Docket

I never should have agreed to take the case. 

Jobs had been scarce, and the wolves at the door were barely able to out-howl the grumbing from my stomach., so when I got a note handed to me in the Pig & Whistle Tavern in the Old Town section of Stormwind from Laurel Nox, I wasted no time pondering whether or not to accept, and intead made my way to the griffon rental pens of Stormwind without delay; the note had asked me to meet Laurel at the Scarlet Raven Tavern in the gloomy town of Darkshire.

Darkshire was a woodland village surrounded by Duskwood Forest.  Once a thriving, happy little picture of a rural village, the forest had been corrupted by evil and dread.  Undead creeatures roamed the countryside now, and marauding worgen victimized travellers and merchants who dared the roads. The Scarlet Raven Tavern used to be filled with farmers and craftsmen, relaxing after a long day of work, drinking beer and ale and dancing to music when a roving bard played.

Now the inhabitants who still survived were sullen and frightened, and strangers were no longer welcome.  Stormwind, hard-stretched to defend their lands from Defias, Murlocs, Ogres, and Blackrock Orcs, barely had time to spare for the defense of the village against the darkness. 

I snorted - Darkshire was the perfect place for my potential client.

Laurel Nox was, at first glance, was an attractive practicioner of the arcane, and an alchemist of no small ability She was a svelte woman with hair the color of a raven's wing, and a ruthlessness concealed behind eyes that gleamed with averice. I knew that she was remarkably capable of finding and providing potions, powders, and unguents for her clients, from healing draughts to tinctures that made the skin hard enough to dull even the sharpest of blades... but the word on the streets of Old Town was that she also could, for a price, supply various herbs and compounds of a more recreational - and illegal - nature. She also supplied me with Swiftthistle, from which I made my own vice. Thistle Tea was a stimulant I found quite necessary on long stakeouts and other places where I needed to stay awake. Probably addictive, but one did what one could do to get by. 

She was sitting by herself in the common room of the tavern (although technically, the Scarlet Raven was an inn, as they also rented sleeping rooms after the the darkness becane to encroach upon the region). She nodded to herself when she saw me enter, as if I had passed a test of some sort. She goit to her feet and steered me to a vacant table for more privacy.

"Master Greyhawk, once more it is good to see you.  Thank you for making the trip from Stormwind.  May I buy you a drink, or perhaps some food?" she said as I sat down at the table opposite her.

"No, I am fine," I said, uncomfortable.  Laurel and I had never been friendly, just a customer and his supplier, but I had watched her with customers before, and I knew that when she smiled at them it never reached her eyes. "Your note said you wanted to hire me for a job?"

"Straight to business, then?" Laurel said with, what I was certain, was a measure of faux regret. "Very well, there is a barn  at one of the abandoned farms that the local Defias are using as a base of sorts.. they have a lockbox there.  I want it."

"If all you need is a lockbox, I can tram up to Ironforge and buy you one. I won't even make a copy of the key," I joked. 

"I suppose I deserved that - I need the document inside the lockbox, but if you can get it, under no circumstances are you to read the contents.  Is that understood?"

I gave her a look of disbelief. "So, go steal a document from a Defias lockbox and return it to you. How will I know its the right one? And even if it is, what is to keep you from claiming i failed, and refusing to pay me?"

"There is only one document in the lockbox, and only one lockbox in the barn under heavy guard - just bring me that, and you get paid - no questions asked," offered Nox.  "I'll even throw in a bonus - a brock of Swiftthistle in addition to your normal fee."

That got my attention.  Swiftthistle Tea was in demand on the battlefront against the Horde, and a brick of the leaf would set me back half a dozen goldweight of coin.

"Done," I saisd, accepting the contract. 

"How soon can you have it?" asked Laurel.

"Well, if everything goes well... have breakfast with me here tomorrow.  You get to buy." I said with a confident grin.

I hoped I wouldn't have to stand her up...

*     *     *     *     *

 "Geeze... Hey Davros, are you sure this is a good idea?" whined Solly Westwhisker, , his pink handlebar mustache  quivering nervously.  Solomon, or Solly to his friends, was always nervous, but he was also a standup guy, and more importantly, he owed me money.  Solly had a weakness for the underground rat races Old Town, and when he had gotten in deep with his bookie.  When the bookie was getting impatient for his money, I arranged for his bookie to lay off in exchange for some explosive devices the bookie required for a different, hopefully unrelated activity.  Probably illegal, but I don't ask inconvenient questions if I don't have to.

So, the little guy owed me - not enough to spill his blood, but enough that I asked him to come and light off some fireworks for me.  He and I were in the rocks on the road approaching the barn, which held the lockbox.

I think maybe my appearance was making him nervous; I was wearing the dark gray leathers of the sort that Defias Brotherhood assassins liked to wear, and one of their red masks pulled down. Usually, I just carried a pair of weighted sticks capped with lead, as I was not about to kill anyone I didn't have to, y'know?  Just a few quick raps with the lead, and knees and elbow shattered, but nobody died - ususally. Tonight though, I carried a longsword and dagger that went along with the costume.  I could easily pass; after all, my Uncle Dashiel was one of them, a fact neither of us was proud of. 

The barn which held the lockbox I needed was called Addle's Stead, an abandoned farm west of Darkshire and near the deserted town of Raven Hill. Laurel hadn't been kidding - the place was lousy with Defias Brotherhood cutthroats of various kinds, both in the farmhouse, the field, and the barn. 

"No worries, Solly," I said, reassuring him. "You cut the fuses yourself, right?"

"Yeah, but..." he began, but I interrupted him.  "Look, all you have to do is enjoy that Silverleaf cigar, and when its done, stub it out on the fusebox. Then hightail it home, and your debt goes up in smoke and explosions."  

"Yeah but..."

"But what?" I said.

"But what are you going to be doing?" he asked.

"Solly, you know me.. I'm going to be doing as little as humanly possible, well out of the line of fire," I said, lying through my teeth.

"Then why the costume?"

"Oh, this?" I indicated my Defias Brotherhood outfit and weapons. "This was for my sneaking around beforehand.  My job ends as soon as you light those fuses, and then I get to go have breakfast." And if Solly, may the Light forbid, get caught, that was all he could tell them.

Solly eyed me doubtfully.  "If you say so..."

I clapped him on the shoulder.  "I say so.  Remember, smoke the stogie, and then light the stuff."  I left him there, concealed like a squirrel in a hollowed-out tree trunk, squatting on his next of acorns for the winter. Or whatever squirrels do - I don't know, I'm not one of them knife-ear druids or something.

I snuck around to the rocky hill line behind the barn, and waiting for the fireworks to begin. There was one guy who was hunkered down where two boulders were snugged up against the bole of a pine, like twho nuts next to a...well, you know what I mean.

His head hardly cracked when I hit him from behind with a sand-filled leather sap. "Good night, sweet prince, and may Angels speed you to your rest" I mumbled as I dragged him further away - and just in time, as before I got too comfortable taking his place, noises like flintlock gunshots started sounding off across the field. 

The fireworks show had begun.

Solly was a genius at maing fireworks of all kinds, and I'd spent hours sneaking around the outside of Adele Steading, planting squibs and rockets and small explosives. The fuses all traied back to the into a knot in the copper fusebox Solly had used as an ashtray. 

I tossed a few more smoke grenades at the house and barn for good measure; I hoped that in the smoke and confusion, that nobody would question another Defias Brotherhood thug going to protect the lockbox.

I drew my blades and made the barn just as a Defias spell-caster - dark ominous robes, the kind of guy in the white-mice-and-pixie-dust racket -was heading into the building, ordering the others out.  He looked my way and said "You there!  Guard the door!", and I followed the last of the others out leaving the mage alone.

I stood outside for just a few seconds before coming back in. The mage looked up at me and snarled "What part of 'guard the door' was unclear?" 

He deserved an answer.  He really did.  So I drew my flintlock and shot him in the head before grabbing the lockbox and setting the inside on fire and a few more smoke grenades for good measure.  

The lock was cheap. I had fiddled the thing open before I made Darkshire.

Breakfast was good. 

 

Blogspot Changes

 Made some changes so that I feel better about adding more content from Classic as well as Retail.

Griffonclaw - Forging a Future

The smelting fires of Theramore was blazing hot, giving off waves and waves of blistering heat as the human with the steel-colored hair and hazel green eyes carefully rendered iron ore into a stream of molten metal and slag.  The run-off slag was drained into a channel while the fellow poured the molen metal into ingots for storage, eventually to be used in various engineering and tinkering projects.

"This is so much more pleasant that the Great Forge" he thought as the breeze from the sea swept through the open forge building. The Great Forge, located in Ironforge, was the center of the city, which was located inside a great mountain in the middle of Dun Morogh.  The story often told of the Great Forge is that Dwarven blacksmiths often brought their lunches uncooked, and that by the time their meal break happened, the food was cooked to prefection. Griffonclaw had spent hours working in nothing but a sweaty breechcloth and leather apron, drinking prodigeous amounts of water to remain hydrated; naturally, he was the object of much good-natured teasing among the Dwarven workmen.

As he worked, he reviewed the milestones which had led him here to Theramore, and his employment by the militia group Phoenix Ascendant. He had been born the barony of Silverpine, one of the northernmost lands of Gilneas, an acknowledged bastard of the Silverlaine family.  When he was old enough, he had been assigned to page duties in a household in Andorhal, and then became a squire to a paladin in service to Prince Arthas Menethal.  He had rebelled from serving his knight, who had participated in what history called the Culling of Stratholme, and become part of Sir Uther's forces, which had helped to defend Mount Hyjal. He had been raised to paladin by Uther himself, for bravery in the defence of Nordrassil.

After Hyjal, Griffonclaw had returned to Stormwind, serving in the Stormwind chapter of the Order of the Silver Hand until he had interfered with the attempt by Scarlet Crusdaers and their sympathizers to lynch an accused warlock without trial.  He had kiled several of the Scarlet Crusaders in the ensuing conflict, and the political pressure was enough to have him expelled from the Stormwind chapter of the Order of the Silver Hand, and earned him the title of "The Tarnished Knight", branding him a heretic and a warlock sympathizer.

Fortune was with him; the dwarven battle unit he had helped on the slopes of Mount Hyjal convinced him to go to Ironforge, where he was sworn again to the Order of the Silver Hand, albiet the Ironforge chapter.  The branches of the Order of the Silver Hand were independant of one another, and the dwarves despised the Scarlet Crusade.  They gave Griffonclaw a home, and awarded his service with citizenship in Ironforge.

Shortly thereafter, his superiors in the Mystic Hall had been informed of the tragedy which had befallen the milita organization Phaoenix Ascendant, who were temporarily housed in a refugee camp in Menethal Harbor. They sent Griffonclaw has a healer to help the wounded, and he was welcomed by the Grand Marshal.  When they recovered and moved their base of operations to Theramore, Griffonclaw sought and was granted a dispensation to continue in their service.

And now the question was - what to do next?  As he moved the full ingot molds to the cooling area, eh pondered that question without conclusion, except with the firm knowledge that the Titans laughed when mortals made plans. Chaos, the Burning Legion, the Scourge, and the Horde would being work a-plenty in the fullness of time. Until then, Griffonclaw would enjoy the sea breeze.

Greyhawk - 20 Silver Coins A Day

My name is Davros Greyhawk, and I am a Private Investigator.

I was born in Kharanos in Dun Morough to Dhaeven Stonefist and Morra Greyhawk.  Yeah, my father was one of the Stonefist clan, which is why I go by my Mom's name.  The Stonefists have a long history of working for one or another of the bosses of the Hidden Circle, the dwarves who run every crooked scam in Ironforge - everything from illicit and illegal drugs like Sa'Diablo and Kryff to prostitution (what there is of it in Ironforge) to forgery and fraud to theft and extortion.  Blackmail.  Murder for hire. Alright, you get the picture - but while the occasional clansmember like Tilda Stonefist served in the Alliance Navy, far more of them were part of the Defias like my Uncle Dashel or practitioners in dark warlockry, selling their abilities to the highest bidder.

As you might imagine, dinners in the Stonefist clan hall were a little... tense. 

My father finally left, working in the mountains Dun Morogh, supporting his family with smelted copper bars he'd dig out of the mountainsides. Mother was a human hunter that had been gored by angry Goretusks, and been nursed back to health during a particularly cold and vicious winter by my Father.  She was short for a human, and my Father was tall for a dwarf; being partially human as well.

What, you don't think human women take dwarven mates?  Some dwarves are rich, and dwarven women are...rare. While dwarves usually shoot blank cartridges (why do you think they live so Fel-damned long?), sometimes the bullet hits the target, and children result.  

These kids don't do well - dwarves consider them humans because their mothers were human, and humans... well, let us just say that the history of Humankind is not overly stained with the Milk of Human Kindness. So most of them stay in dwarven demesnes, where while they may not be considered "real" dwarves, they aren't persecuted and killed for being mongrels.

I grew up like a sprout, and my parents loved me, which is more than I can say for some.  My Father taught me to find, dig, and smelt copper and my Mother taught me how to mix my own gunpowder, how to load and fire a flintlock pistol and blunderbuss.  Both my parents taught me to roll and use explosives.

Like my Father, the Stonefist clan considered me something of a "White Sheep", and just as soon as I could, I enlisted in the Alliance army. I went through a couple of weeks of training as a spear grunt when my training sergeant noted my stalking abilities; Mother had made sure that I could track and sneak up on snow leopards, after all, and kill them so that their hides could be taken and sold.  

Compared to snow leopards, Orcs are easy... anyways, I got sent to Scout school and learned to draw maps and make lists. How to sneak around, and how to sabotage things to really screw up Horde logistics. How to kill with knife and sword, but as silent and deadly as a yeti fart.

Uncle Dashel would have approved.

In any case, after eight years I found myself with an honorable discharge and no job.  I didn't want to reenlist; I don't like taking orders much.  Uncle Dashel wrote me a letter of introduction to a Defias in charge of the bandits looking to steal Northshire Abbey blind; while I really did not want to be dipping my toe into that particular pond, it beat starving.

 As I passed through the gates, I head a voice shout out to me. "Greyhawk!  What in the seven silent sentinels are you doing here?" Willem had been my training officer in the Scouts, but had recently been deployed here as Deputy to Marshal McBride, the guy in charge of the defense of Northshire Valley. I tossed him a small keg of Honeymead I'd brought with me, and he told me that they had been so under-staffed that the Marshal was offering a bounty for every Defias sash brought in across the river - no questions asked.

I tossed the letter to the Defias leader into a cookfire, first chance I got. I was a disgrace as a Stonefist, but the idea of making my way killing bandits and helping people rather than victimizing them appealed far more to me.  

And compared to sneaking and killing Horde soldiers, Defias bandits proved easy. When Willem introduced me to Marshal McBride, it was as a private investigator and a veteran scout... and that is when I started that career.

I work out of Goldshire, mostly - its a good spot to gather information on what is happening in Lakeshire, Darkshire, Westfall, and of course Stormwind.  I get 20 silver coins a day, and expenses when I can, and when I don't have a client... there are always more Defias to kill for beer money.

Defias are like rats breeding in a sewer; at least, I will never starve. 

Laurel Nox - Commission

Laurel outside her bookshop

Laurel Nox - The Price of Sa'Diablo, Part I

From a path known to only the most roguish of individuals, two hooded figures climbed their way over the small boundary wall and shuffled through the park to better cover a short distance away. It was dusk in Stormwind city, the sounds of the Alliance capital were starting to wind down.

The first figure removed her hood, stretching out the fabric to get around slender long Ren’dori ears. Short hair colored in a dull cerulean framed a face of soft lilac, her starlight eyes looked hesitantly toward the Main Street.

“There really is no need for such theatrics Vivian. Your bounty was cleared with the unfortunate demise of the Ranger-Captain.”

“I-I am merely looking out for your safety, my Lady.”

“Indeed.” The utter boredom and the disappointment that came with it was certain as the grave.

“The shop you seek is up the stairs and down the causeway. Take a left at the end of the tunnel and follow the wall until you see the shop. The woman you are looking for is named Laurel. If anything happens we-“

“Don’t wait for me.” With that, the hooded woman took off, following the directions given.

((Description of SW and shop face here bc I’m lazy!))

Finding the shop open, she removed her gloves and casually stepped inside.

The scent of freshly-brewed coffee assaulted the woman's nose as she crossed the threshold into the book shop.  The shop was two stories high, with a staircase that led up to the mezzanine level.  Every wall was covered with bookshelves, and each shelf was filled with books and scrolls.  Some of the shelves held small signs indicating the general type of books available on the shelves, which were then arranged in rough alphabetical order by the name of the author.  The ground floor also held a small coffee service with a selection of clean porcelain mugs, with a small ewer of cold cream.  Small supplies of sugar and honey, cinnamon and chocolate syrup were also available.  One mug was filled with small stirring spoons.  There were several stuffed leather chairs with side tables.  Several rugs covered the floor.

"Welcome to Nighttime Reading. How may I help you to satisfy your desires... for literature?" purred the human.  Raven-haired and dressed in soft Magewave robes, her green eyes blazed like emeralds.  She wore no jewelry, and if she wore a scent it was drowned in the redolence of the coffee. What might I tempt you with?  Some coffee?  Tales of romance and desire?  Kaldorei poetry?  Or worse, Dwarven poetry?"

The woman chuckled, removing slender black gloves. Her hands were pale, almost stark white in the light, and bone thin. They moved with the surety of knowledge and the grace of a spider, tucking this and that as they removed their layers. “Coffee is indeed tempting, but I must pass. I would very much like to hear more about  your selection.”

"Please, make yourself comfortable, Miss...?  My store specializes in literature, especially steamy romances.  I have a small selection of just about everything else - poetry, history, language primers, arcane theory... nothing that is written is out of scope for me.  Additionally, I have a wide network of sellers of work of a more... specialized nature, and can put them in touch with prospective clients."

The woman did as she was instructed, settling herself down on the cushions of a couch. "You can call me Ilene."

"Excellent, Ilene.  How may I make your visit here satisfying?"  said the bookstore owner.  "My name is Laurel Nox, and I am at your service."

"An honor to meet you, Miss Nox. I'm looking for some reading material on behalf of my sister. I was told that this was the place to go and... well it's good to see your reputation wasn't unfounded." Ilene removed her hood and smiled politely up at her host, which notedly did not go to her steel-gray eyes. Deep purple hair that hung would just past her shoulder blades was tied up in a bun, contrasting remarkably with her alabaster skin that was clearly well maintained with a variety of creams and ointments; Laurel could smell the heady but not entirely unpleasant mixing of the aromas. Well-manicured, but thin hands played with the fabric of her robe.

"Of course.  May I ask what kind of literature your sister has enjoyed previously?"  Laurel had an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre popularly known as "Steamy Romances", and stocked an almost complete collection, the notable exception being "Blue Moon", which had unfortunately been published just when Praline of the Scarlet Crusade had enjoyed a brief popularity preaching of the sin of miscegenation, of the mating of different races.  The Scarlet Crusader had led several book-burning parties featuring the book as its central fuel.

She chuckled airily, ”Well you see, that’s where I run into trouble. My sister has... we have not spoken in...many years. She’s recently returned from serving Alliance interests but... she’s not as she was. She contracted some...virus? Fungal infection? I don’t quite know what to make of it. It’s eating at her body and mind, left her comatose. I was told by the priests that reading to her might help her keep strength but- well the last book I remember my sister reading was folk tales for children. I couldn’t read that to her, that’d be ridiculous wouldn’t it?”

"Well, that is a question... if she is not conscious, then perhaps the mere engagement of the mind while unconscious is the causation of the possible assistance," Laurel said.  "If that is the case, then the subject of the book does not truly matter, and so the reader might just as easily please themselves?"

"I suppose an argument could be made for such a scenario, but I don't want her to come back to me five months later chewing my ear off because instead of encouraging her to return to us, she came back only so she could berate me to death!- If...she recovers, of course."

"But if the price of her recovery is berating your literary taste, wouldn't that be worth it?  Of course, there are some... non-standard medical practices that might also help.  Like Sa'Diablo..."

At this, Ilene’s eyebrows visibly raised, ”Sa’Diablo? I have never heard of this...What is it?”

"I am told that Sa'Diablo is a drug with both euphoric and healing properties... quite illegal, but also quite effective"

She mulled over the words for some time, scrunching her brow at ‘illegal’, but refocused her gaze not long after. “Healing properties you say? How effective is it at healing? This rot as moved so fast, not even the Light has been able to keep up- Can it- can it heal faster than the Light?”

"I do not know, first-hand.  I hear that it is Fel-based alchemy though, so perhaps it might be efficacious where the Light has failed...?"

“Fel-based...? Hm. Interesting.” She narrowed her eyes at Laurel, ”Why would you tell me this?”

"No reason, I just thought it might be relevant to your problem at hand..." Laurel said with a disarming smile.

Ilene frowned slightly, lowering her head and redoubling the efforts to pull at a loose string on her robe. She muttered to herself, before making out. “Show me to your selection of mystery novels, if you have any.”

"Of course!"  Laurel turns and slowly walks to the bookshelves containing suspense, murder mystery, and adventure novels.  "Please, let me know how else I might help!"  Laurel grinned and left Ilene alone with her thoughts.

"Of course!"  Laurel turned and slowly walked to the bookshelves where the shelves contained suspense, murder mystery, and adventure novels. "Please, let me know how else I might help!"  Laurel grinned and left Ilene alone with her thoughts.

At some point, Ilene came out of hiding, carrying two books that judging by how haphazardly she handed them to her for purchase, she held no real interest. There was a determination that wasn't there beforehand.

"I think- yes I think these will do fine," she glanced around before continuing,"...and tell me, have you heard anything more about this Sa’Diablo?"

"Well, there was a fellow arrested for selling it in the Pig And Whistle tavern... and sometimes I suspect that Jarel Moor, the bartender at the Slaughtered Lamb, might have connections in that regard.  There is much more t the Slaughtered Lamb than meets the eye, and it is rumored to be a meeting place for those with aspirations or connections to the Fel magics.  I know I often drink there, and find the crowd... congenial." Laurel gestured to her front door.  "My poor succubus has been harassed much less since the fall of the Burning Legion.  These days, it's only the Scarlet fanatics or the tattooed space goats that hold any real disfavor for warlocks, even those who fought the Burning Legion with their own demons."

"I...I see." Ilene looked to the door, biting her lip before passing the necessary currency for the books. She wrung her hands, watching Laurel with intense eyes.

"Was there something else with which I might offer assistance, Ilene?" Laurel said with a smile, wrapping the books in plain brown paper and twine.

Ilene shook her head, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, despite how genuine her voice seemed."No, I think you have been plenty helpful to me, Ms. Nox. For once, I have some hope for my pla- my sister. Now, I think it is a lovely fall evening, and I plan to go have a drink."

"May the Darkness embrace you, Ilene" offered the Warlock in farewell.  She would have bet a pouch of silver that Ilene's drink would happen in the Slaughtered Lamb. "Hopefully Moor will be able to find out more," she thought to herself. watching the customer walk away.

"And the Shadows give you clemency." Ilene bowed her head, and quickly made her way out and into the night air.

Thess