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Post by Cali on Mar 25, 2016 5:56:11 GMT 1
Sup, bitches! Don't worry, I'm still writing Crust of Mayhem, I just need to bounce between writing projects for creative amicability. Notes for this project: The chapters are gonna be pretty short in comparison to my other stuff. It's WarCraft, of course. If you aren't familiar with it, I always write as if the reader isn't. Still, I can't guarantee you'll enjoy this if you're not a fan, even more so that I won't be straying very close to WoW's abominable canon, particularly the later stuff. Also, I'm pulling a Cyan Steel and putting music recommendations in the thread. It's not required listening of course! Just a bit of optional multimedia... synergy. You know? ... synergy... But yeah! I should mention, it's rated M. May contain scenes of violence, gore, pirate ships, depictions of hellfire, high fantasy drug use, and scenes of orc buttcheeks or some shit, I dunno. Time will tell! Chapter 1 – The Twin ReefsThe midday sky was a pale blue, the sun's light licking the soup of the earth. It was then the trading carrack had crashed into the docks head on without a moments notice, wooden paneling splitting or lashing like the keys of a grand piano. Immediately the longshoremen and port authority were immensely pissed off. “Is anybody hurt?!” A human rushed toward the scene. “Is anybody hurt?!!” He repeated in a beat. “Truth be told...” A goblin stevedore stepped away from the scene, taking off his chaperone cap and beginning to wring it dry of ocean water. “...I really hope everyone on that cog is both dead and in hell.” The incredibly hungover captain of the wracked up vessel, also a goblin staggered toward the bow, leaning over. “I'm very sorry, I'm uh-” He shook his head. “I'm not myself. I mean I had a lot to drink the night before.” Everybody on the dock stood up and glared at him. It was then a second figure rose to the bow, this one a troll, quite oversized in comparison to the goblin skipper. “Excuse me, but who be in charge of this port?” “That'd be I, troll.” The human replied, hands on his hips. “Alright.” He produced a small pouch, tossing it toward the dock, the human sidestepping and intercepting it. He opened it, which revealed around half a talent of gold shekels, minted with the face of Gazlowe, the chancellor of Ratchet. “Compensation for da damage, mon.” “Gee. Thanks. We won't have you all killed. Tell your captain he's banned from the taverns.” The human tied the purse back up. “He not my captain, mon.” He produced another three of the coins and handed them to the captain. “I be just a passenger.” “By the name of who?” “What'd it matter?” The troll shrugged as he leaned over the fore, arms crossed over the rail. “Just an island troll making his merry way of things, dat be all.” “Because one way or another, mister...” He pointed up at him. “...everyone here, especially those who run things on these islands are going to start getting veeerry interested about a troll who's lousy with gold.” The troll nodded his head, stood up straight and adjusted his bright green raiment. “My name be Zuul'Fas.” “Wait... what?” The foreman chuckled. “You're Zuul'Fas? The pirate who singlehandedly killed twenty three night elf privateers and sunk the Praetor?” “Aye. Dat be me.” The troll tilted his head. “Including captain Creekshade. He knocked the cutlass out of my hand... so I had to snap his neck, and throw him overboard.” The foreman nodded slowly, this time he had a very frightened look about him. “You're... uh... just... younger than I thought he- uh YOU, were... that's all.” The human rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.” He sighed. “Everybody get to work on the dock. Long day ahead of us, thanks to our new arrival.” He caustically saluted the hungover goblin captain. “Come by the office and check in, you fool.” The troll leaped off the bow with his belongings, his large leather jackboots, built to fit around his enormous trollish feet. He was ethnically an island troll, his skin a robin's egg blue, his eyes hazel, his nose long bridged and outer nostrils pierced with a small silver bullring. His tusks, however were a mite smaller than most male trolls, which was considered effeminate in troll culture. His body was strangely absent of any sort of tattoos, a rarity among island trolls, and unheard of among their dark troll and forest troll cousins. He had never set foot on the Twin Reef isles located off the twin reefs region of northeastern Kalimdor, but he seemed to feel his way around. The coast was adorned with tiki huts festooned with chimes of seashells, bamboo, and fishbone. The structures were accompanied sparsely by standing canopy trees, most of which were likely converted into lumber or rope. The beaches apart from the docks had a myriad of pearl and fishing divers of numerous races freighting their acquired goods. Many wore only necklaces, bracelets and had bamboo snorkels stuck out of their mouths like pipes. It did not take terribly long to find the establishment he was looking for. A massive inn by the name of “The Maritime Jumak.” It was likely that most residents lived there than in the outlining homesteads. He then walked through the open entryway, his nostrils being greeted by unpleasant aromas such as sweaty patrons, and more delicious ones, such as grilled seafood and fruity grog. The venue was massive on the inside, occasional support beam for the upper floors casting a great distance to the rear and side enterances. The place was lively with music and conversation, all of them shockingly foreign. The music were actually comprised of multiple instruments from the eastern kingdoms, such fiddles and clarinets. There were the occasional steel drum and guiro here and there, but the music was mostly alien to the region, suggesting that this smuggler's haven may have been a bit of a melting pot. The dancers were mostly troll and orc women, predominately naked save for loincloths and assorted jewelry. “Jeepers! Are you Zuul'Fas?!” Came a voice, distinctly dwarven. The troll in question turned to look at him, a shirtless dwarf with a straw hat and a rickety steam powered mechanical arm. “Bloody hell, mate! That green blouse is a symbol of death on the sea! I knew it had to be you! Don't worry, ha! No grudges coming from yours truly!” “Hey mon. You know who runs dis place?” The pirate greeted. “Whaddya mean?” The dwarf scoffed and laughed, his mechanical hand hissing and holding his chest. “Have ye not been here before?” “First time visiting, mon. Contrary to what anybody told ya in da past.” The dwarf shook his head, smiling and holding his hands out. “Please tell me you've heard of Styg. You know, Styg the Boiled?” “Aye, mon. He be a rising star in Kalimdor's smuggling industry.” The famous pirate replied. “I was more asking who da inkeeper be?” “Oh.” The dwarf cleared his throat, pointing to an old orc woman who was helping customers engage in their rum soaked self destruction. “That'd be Big Kiojah.” “Alright... I'm going to be troublin' her for a room.” He told him. “Been nice meetin' ya mon.” “I would ask ya for your autograph...” The dwarf piped. “But... you're a busy troll. Have a good stay!” The troll went up to his small suite later, a modest venue with rough wooden paneled walls, a chair and table, a bright orange rug, and a large hammock near the room's window. He then dropped his knapsack and stepped over to the desk, producing a small flat and triangular token, with green runish crystals inside. He then placed it on the table, producing a small mantle mirror and setting it to the side of it. He then flicked both the mirror and the token once with his fingers. The room hummed for a moment, then a shadowy face appeared within the mirror, replacing the troll's own image. “Hello, Jun'Ijan.” The face said, voice raspy and sounding like it was spoken through a tube. The face was clearly that of a male orc. “I assume your journey wasn't terribly dull, and your new identity well received by the populace?” “Yes master.” Jun'Ijan replied, his voice clearly more refined and well spoken than that of a common island troll. “I have only just arrived... any news from Blackrock Spire?”
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Post by Warhammer Gorvar on Mar 25, 2016 15:54:42 GMT 1
Yeah! I love Warcraft stuff! I love Booty Bay as a setting, its like the Mos Eisly of Azeroth.
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Post by Cali on Mar 29, 2016 5:19:53 GMT 1
Thank ya kindly, Gorvar! I knew you'd be into this!
Chapter 2 – A Big Ripple
On the other side of the mirror, what was visible of the shadowy visage of Jun'Ijan's superior titled his head back. “I'm certain you know, we are quite veritably at war with this entire world. Where the Burning Legion failed with might, brute force, shock and awe...” He began. “...the Dark Horde will prevail with sheer strategy, cunning and skullduggery.”
Jun'Ijan nodded and smiled. “Times are turbulent nowadays, but who's to say a bit of havoc can't be slipped in?”
The shadowy face leaned in once more, the sheen of the mirror turning into little more than a full black sheet with a pair of glowing currant eyes. “Jocular comments really try my patience, Jun'Ijan, especially when much as at stake. You were sent there to manipulate Styg the Boiled to delivering his smuggled goods in our favor. Did your cargo survive the journey?”
“Of course, master Deadthorn.” Jun leaned over, picking up the lockbox off the floor and holding it in front of the mirror.
“Good. Take it to him. Butter him up, blackmail him, learn his secrets, plan accordingly, do whatever it takes to make him work for us. We need as much of the goods he smuggles as possible. Weapons, potions, dry goods, artifacts, spell scrolls, and most of all; ore and oil. We'll need all of those.”
“Anything else I should know?” The troll inquired, setting the oak lockbox on the side of the desk.
“I suggest starting by approaching Vand Direplain, Styg's tauren underboss, or maybe one of his lieutenants, perchance.” Deadthorn spoke. “Requesting an audience with Styg does not sound terribly simple. And for Fel's sake you'd better not be using your normal accent. That aside, I must take my leave at once, contact me within the day. I staunchly suggest you avoid failure.”
“That I will, master.” Jun'Ijan assured him.
It was then the shadow inside the mirror faded, the link severed and Jun was staring at his own reflection. The troll's brain quickly milled about until a vague objective was formulated.
Soon he grabbed the oak lockbox once again and stepped out, locked his room, and was headed around the netted halls of the supertavern before exiting the venue entirely, his boots once again treading the grass with its sandy accents.
“Ahoy, laddie!” Came the voice of the dwarf from before, approaching him with his massive stampy feet. Jun's training picked up two more feet, lighter and softer treading than his. “Hey, Zuul'Fas!”
Jun stopped and turned, seeing the vertically challenged steam cyborg and two humans to his right. One a male with a ponytail and sleeveless leather armor, one female with an open steel basinet helm and a white tunic. The lady was carrying a musket with a falcion shaped bayonet on the end, while the man carried a pistol in one hand, and a cutlass in the other. The dwarf brandished a blunderbuss, the most perilous element of the inevitable dilemma.
“Little parakeet told me your pockets are fatter than a pregnant kodo's arse. That true Zuul?” The dwarf grinned, his teeth like a chess board due to sub-par dental hygiene.
Jun exchanged glances with the trio as they pointed their weapons at him. “I dunno mon.” He shrugged. “What you be sellin'?”
“We were on our way to visit your room, blast ya, and take what you had...” The cyborg spoke, a few passerbys and island residents began to gather at a distance and gawk. “But you saved us the trouble of breaking down yer door.”
“Well, I be a very thoughtful person, true.” Jun looked around him, noting the peering bystanders.
“What's you got in that there box, o' great and terrible pirate?” The woman with the musket asked.
The troll shrugged once more. “It just be my lunch for da day.” He said, and was initially replied to by the sound of flintlock firearm hammers being pulled back.
“Coming from a thief and a liar, I know my thieves AND my liars well.” The dwarf placed the stock of the blunderbuss on his shoulder. “Shame your famous career as a swashbuckler will have to come to such an end. Looks like instead of an autograph I'll just wear your ears around my nec-.”
On the coattails of the actual speed of a blinking eye, Jun tossed a hissing object from his belt, which erupted in a miniature explosion and filled the area with a great deal of smoke. The cloud was bolstered by three gunshots from the weapons the bandits carried, all fired nearly simultaneously.
The wind was picking up, the trio nervously advancing at a snails pace to see if the corpse of the troll would be found among the thinning smoke. Not a few moments afterward, the man's throat was opened to the sunlight, jetting blood in front of him and down his leather cuirass. Jun was behind him, brandishing a bloodied blade, and as the dwarf turned, he was kicked in the mouth, the ball of Jun's causing two of his terrible teeth to be smashed out of his gums, and knocked flat on his trousers.
The human swung her bayonet around in a fury, Jun either juking in the opposite axis of the swings or jumping back entirely. The woman then began to charge with the bladed musket, Jun throwing his lockbox at her, which bounced off her shoulder. He then grasped the musket's shaft, bringing his foot up and stamped hard on her knee, a sickening crack being heard as she fell down, groaning rather loudly from the pain. The agony was saved, as the bayonet was thrust rather deep into her chest, stuck there upright like an arrow for a few moments.
The previously stunned dwarf grasped the flintlock pistol at his side, cocking it and aiming at the approaching troll. It was kicked out of his hand, the weapon discharging and the bullet lodging itself into the upper meats of a palm tree. The dwarf brought his cyborg hand back, punching him in the gut, the force causing Jun to roll to the side briefly. The dwarf staggering up, looking at the troll and splitting pinkened saliva on the ground in defiance. Jun replied, by twirling the curved dagger in his hand.
It was then a broadhead arrow zipped into the area, embedding itself just under the left side of the cyborg's collarbone. The dwarf gasped briefly, and fell to the ground face first. Around them, the crowd began to make noises of awe and murmur among itself at the spectacle.
Jun turned to see the deliverer of the missile that fell his foe. A heavily tattooed elven woman stood, a shortbow in one of her hands. Beside her was a large white haired tauren, his body mailed mostly in steel chain, and one of his horns missing.
They all glared at each other, and then, they knew exactly what they needed to.
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Post by Cali on Mar 31, 2016 3:47:25 GMT 1
Chapter 3 – Den of Oysters
“Want the truth?” Vand Direplain, the mailed, white haired tauren asked. They were walking up the stairs of the half sunken palace, a former naga temple converted into a large mansion. “You're rather early. We did not expect you to arrive so soon, Zuul'Fas.”
“The captain I boarded with had a fast boat, mon.” Jun'Ijan replied, everyone still thinking he was Zuul and keeping up the accent.
“I was gonna say.” Kyiah Dewstone, the tattooed half elf who had felled the dwarf with the mechanical arm just minutes prior, had added. “I thought the job you had at Southshore would have delayed you.”
Vand stopped at the top of the weathered limestone steps and turned his horned head to look back at her. “How did you know this? Styg, Palemist, and Clinksprocket were the only ones who knew about that.”
“I read the letter.” Kyiah piped, crossing her arms.
“And who gave it to you? Are you going through the boss's mail, now?” Vand was noticeably angry at this point.
“I like to keep my ear to the ground. Be in the know, you know?” The half elf shrugged.
Vand's eyes squinted. “Has less to do with your ear and more to do with your nose being stuck in places they shouldn't be.”
Jun cleared his throat. “Beg your pardon mon, sorry to interrupt but-”
“Yes, yes, Zuul.” The tauren nodded, his nose ring jingling. “Kyiah, we're going to have a talk about this abuse of contract later. Jun, follow me.”
The human servant emerged from the kitchen, beelining his way toward the inner chamber with two dishes of shrimp heavily seasoned with strong spices from northern kalimdor and impaled into formation by an iron skewer. All were atop a seaweed salad with fried rice, mangos, pineapple, and imported green peppers.
The servant sat them down on a rectangular table, its top woven of thick basket and the legs heavy oaken which stood on the tiled limestone floor. At the rear of the room, a naga male sat, his tail wrapped partially around the massive stone chair. Half of his scales were missing, allowing the inner skin of the maritime dwelling species to be seen.
“Leave them for our guests.” Styg the Boiled told him, his voice unsettling and watery as he feasted on large amounts of clam and oysters. It was then the three entered. “What of the grilled pork for Direplain, Victor?”
“Um...” The servant spoke. “It never arrived.”
“Damn you, whelp, you had better be making any excuses!” The naga hissed.
“Actually, the Blood Sail pirates have been attacking shipping routes out of Booty Bay at an excessive rate.” Direplain chimed in. “That's usually where the boar meat and pork come from, so it's no surprise that they haven't arrived.”
The naga's mouth was agape, as if he were going to continue to chastise something. He sighed, eating another handful of clams. “My apologies, servant. Carry on.”
“Yes milord.” Victor bowed his head, turned and submerged into the kitchen.
Styg sighed, leaning on one arm of the chair. “So this is the great Captain Zuul'Fas, the Green Terror as they call you, or the Emerald Slasher.”
“Aye, mon.” He bowed his head briefly. “I have many dumb nicknames others be givin' me.”
“I figured you'd not like them.” The naga smuggler kingpin replied. “Feel free to indulge in my fine food. I'd avoid the clams and oysters, though. They haven't been cleaned, and well, we naga are immune to the majority of dysentery strains.”
“Looks like your dish anyway, mon.” Jun chuckled, grabbing the skewered shrimp and plucking a pair off before eating them whole, every scrap of shell helpfully peeled away, and the wet spiciness utterly satisfying.
“You're rather early, captain.” Styg finished off the last of his massive plate of shellfish, which were plentiful in nearby waters. “I'm going to go ahead and admit that I was disconcerted when your letter arrived regarding your potential tardiness. Glad you arrived as soon as you did, though.”
“As am I.” The troll masquerader piped. He produced a small steel key and placed it in one of Direplain's massive hands. The tauren thrust the key into the breach, turning it and opening the top, revealing the musty interior as well as three meteorite ingots.
“These look authentic, Styg.” The tauren underboss told him, taking an arcanite axehead and placing it onto the meteorite ingot, applied pressure downward and releasing it enough to bring it down firmly a few more times. “No marks from the arcanite axe. This is the stuff.”
“Lovely.” Styg replied. “I appreciate the gift, Zuul'Fas. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Try to keep the street fighting and stabbings to a minimum from now on, though. I know it's customary here in the Twin Reef isles, but has a negative affect on business.”
“Will do, mon.” The troll bowed, finishing off the last of his shrimp and mopping up his insides with the rice and other assorted fruits. Kyiah grasped a robust bag of gold coins, setting it down near Jun's plate. “If it's okay, I'd like to stay here a while longer and be discussin' a business proposa-”
“Lord Styg!” Came a shout from down the frontmost hallway, a middle aged human man in a tricorn hat, a burgundy longcoat, and a pair of steel shinned boots came running down the hallway.
“What is it, Eckhart?!” The naga replied, leaning forward in his throne.
Eckhart Palemist, one of Styg's capos leaned over, resting his torso and placing his hands on his knees, resisting to urge to ventilate heavily. “Two of our oil haulers were seized not a league offshore and stripped of their cargo. The crews were not spared.”
“Damn it all.” Styg grimaced. “This could very well be the work of Halftail. I grow to hate that finagling turd more each passing day.”
“Say the word, I'll put an arrow up his halved ass, boss.” Kyiah chimed in.
“As much as he irritates me, we were hatched from the same mother.” Styg replied, a hint of reluctance in his menacing voice. “He has grown dangerously close to crossing the line, but this is still in our vocation after all. Merely a bit of competition. I'll not allow him to be killed, at least not yet.”
“Not to mention we have no idea if Ryk Halftail was involved.” Direplain appended, pacing a bit.
“An astute observation.” Palemist retorted, his breath caught. “Want my men to look into it, milord?”
The troll interrupted before Styg could answer. “Allow me to look into it, mon.”
Styg's mouth was agape once again, his fiendish yellow eyes, like a serpents glaring at him. “I guess you're trying to fatten your recent reward, eh pirate? This is the most honest work you've done according to what I've heard about you.”
“I can be a very honest troll when I be wantin' to.” Jun replied, his tusked mouth contorting into a one sided grin at the right corner of his maw. “Plus, I not be goin' anywhere anytime soon.”
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Post by Cali on Mar 31, 2016 6:52:56 GMT 1
Chapter 4 - Fast Shadow
The Twin Reefs were bathed in the lukewarm light of late dusk. Within the recesses of the partially sunken temple, Styg the Boiled had chose to take an early slumber in one of the submerged chambers of the structure, walled away from his enemies. Security of course, was tightened to a seamless knot, with the guard doubling patrols.
This did not stop Jun, being trusted, from having free access to a sizable segment to the interior. Where there were of course restricted areas, he would have to make access. Through nonviolent methods, not even non-lethal. He had to be a complete ghost for what he was attempting to do.
Jun was naked save for a loincloth and a black kerchief wrapped around his upper neck and concealing his lower face. Also dark leather waist harness which held a few small pouches of gadgets and materials, as well as the sheath of his curved dagger. His face and body were doused with streaks of ash to conceal sebum and sweat. He had no invisibility potions or trinkets, so raw stealth and reticence were the words of the day. On his way to Styg's throne room, there were some entryways that had two guards stationed on either side of them. Very difficult for him to sneak pat him, so a brisk toss of sand into a nearby torch would darken the room just enough for them to not notice him slip by.
As he reached the throne room, which was rather dark at that moment, he quickly dived under the basket topped table positioning himself in the shadow of what little torchlight there was. Victor, the servant from before stepped out of the kitchen, walking a ways before two more figures emerged from another chamber.
“Hey Victor!” A goblin called from the same hall, walking beside what appeared to be Kyiah. “Why are you still here? Get the fuck out already. The boss needs all the energy for tomorrow he can get.”
“Sorry master Clinksprocket, but I had to ask permission to take my leave, as is per custom.” Victor nervously responded, placing his hands together and bowing his head.
“Well you got my permission. Now scram.” The goblin responded, Jun remembering the name of the goblin, and determining him as one of Styg's lieutenants. The servant quickly got out of there, allowing Dewstone and Clinksprocket to summarily to approach the table and lay an open book atop of it.
“Alright, these are the products were trying to move, but we're locking all the ships down before we can determine who jacked our oil.” Clinksprocket began. “You're going to be ready to go when we ask you to clip somebody. Anybody be it a messenger boy or an orc warchief. Got that?”
“You can always trust me, Gil.” Kyliah retorted, leaning on the table, the goblin turning his body and allowing Jun to reach grasp his keychain off his belt. Jun was lucky he was taller than most goblins, otherwise he might have spotted the troll that lie under the table.
“Yeah. As far as anybody can trust people who read their mail.” Gil Clinksprocket chastised her.
“Dammit, Gil, Direplain already chewed me out for this.”
“Shh... listen.” Gil began, sighing. “I got word from buddies on the Kalimdor mainland that you're a bit... liberal with the interpretations of your contracts. Some of them say you can't be trusted.”
“That's a load of harpy shit.” Kyliah chuckled, looking to the ceiling and rolling her eyes. “And you know it.”
“Stow it.” Gil sighed, flipping through the book before closing it, and turning to leave. “You may be our best assassin, but I urge you to do as your told and don't go poking your snobby elven nose where it don't belong.”
“My physique favors my human mother's side, thank you.” Kyiah began to follow. “How long do you think I have to wait until you give me the word to start culling?”
“You psycho.” Gil groaned. “As soon as either Zuul'Fas or one of Eckhart's crew finds us a lead.”
“Zuul's a pirate. Probably really good at tracking and following a trail.”
“Yeah, but Eckhart may move quicker. He doesn't trust that lanky fucker and neither do I. As far as pirates go-”
It was then they disappeared into inaudibility. Jun then crawled out from under, opening one of his pouches and producing a few cylinders of papyrus. He then unfurled one, tapping on the surface and allowing its runed magic to suddenly summon an observation ward.
The ward itself was little more than a green eyeball on a crooked bony stick, an eerie display. It turned its eye around every now and then. He then positioned atop the table, placing it there. He then summoned a few other wards with the scrolls, placing them in various corners of the room. He then used the keychain to open a door to an area less guarded, in order for him to slip out, before returning briefly to leave the keychain on the table.
Jun had sneaked back into his room, wearing his normal clothes that he stashed in a discreet location. He then returned to the mirror, activating the token and peering inside. The face of Deadthorn appeared once more, interrupting him with his deep and terrible voice before Jun could speak.
“The wards are functioning, and we have you to thank, Jun'Ijar.” Deadthorn told him in gratitude. “They're powerful enough to be mobile for months as our agents and magi eavesdrop on conversation they have. They will hold little secrets from us.”
“They're ethereal, right? No chance of them bumping into one?” Jun asked out of concern.
“Not possible. They are indeed untouchable once they go into their invisible state. The perfect trespass.” The darkness in the mirror responded.
“The naga accepted his gift in great favor. I learned that his lieutenants do not trust me, however.”
“They've no reason to yet.” Deadthorn shook his shadowy head. “Have you formulated an antidote to this obvious tension?”
“Yes, master.” Jun nodded. “I have.”
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Post by Cali on Mar 31, 2016 8:29:01 GMT 1
Chapter 5 – Ask a Murloc
It was nearing midday when Jun wandered the northeastern beach of the particular segment of the island. It was here where most of the island's residents usually recuperated apart from the tavern, as far as an island of smugglers went. He spotted a square hut, made mostly of sticks and mud, as well as an orc woman standing outside of it and smoking a long pipe. She had long black hair, a singular ponytail way behind her and wore little more than a buckskin top and a loincloth. Other people around them, mostly females of most races took notice, but went about their business.
“What up?” Jun asked, approaching the orc woman who immediately stood up and extinguished the pipe, leaning back against the wall of the beach hut, which was surprisingly sturdy.
“Not much. New in town, huh?” She replied, crossing her arms. “I got some tea brewing inside.”
“Show me in.” Jun followed her to the brief distance inside, the “floor” mostly leather and fur, and rough wooden tables here and there. A large fur bedroll lay in near the back corner, as well as a large battle axe on plaque on the wall.
“That's my father's.” She poured her tea into two clay cups as she saw him eying the axe. “He's a lower ranking officer in the Warsong clan. Even though he's heavily disappointed in me, he wanted me to have that.”
“I see, beb.” He nodded. “Be good that he hasn't disowned you for whatevah reason, eh?”
“Yeah, most orcs can't deny their blood. It's in our, well... blood.” She smiled, handing him a clay cup of red tea, which was wrapped in a bit of basket to cushion the extreme temperature seeping into the vessel's exterior.
Jun then produced a coin, a gold Ratchet shequel. “Woah.” The orc woman chuckled. “I don't usually charge that high.”
“I not be charging you for dat, beb.” Jun smiled. “I wanna know if anybody be coming through here. Dose ships dat be hijacked were pretty close to dis beach-”
“Oh great.” She sighed. “Client confidentiality.”
“This venue be under da supervision of Styg, be it not?” Jun asked.
“Actually, the goblins on Little Coral own this venue.” The orc responded, head tilted and her hands on her hips. Jun then produced yet another gold shequel. “Alright fine.” She took it. “I swear I saw three men and a murloc take a raft to the sea not moments beforehand. Big raft too, the weird thing is, I don't see many murlocs around these parts. Especially not ones who work alongside civilized people. The word civilized was used very loosely I may add.” She shook her head. “Had to have been Gackkeet. He had the same burning orange scales, same markings, everything. It was a clear day, so there.”
“Thank you very much, Styg will be appreciatin' your cooperation.” He withdrew six silver Ogrimmar lupine coins.
“Silver now, huh?” She chuckled taking the coins. “Oh wait... this is-”
“For me, yeah.” Jun replied, reaching out and removing what she wore before turning her around. She took the hint and leaned over on the table as Jun did the same for himself.
“So uh...” She asked, looking behind her in curiosity. “How do you know, Styg?”
“It's not what I know about him.” He dropped what remained. “It be what he thinks about me.” He then stood behind her, one hand on her back while the other and reached down to position himself accordingly.
No more than an hour later, Jun had returned to The Maritime Jumak and immediately walked over to Eckhart Palemist as soon as he saw the man, in his usual stereotypical sea captain attire. “Hey mon.”
“What is it, Zuul'Fas?” He turned on his barstool, one hand on his broadsword as if he was preparing for the troll to strike. He felt more presence as three of his thugs closed in all around him, most likely out of caution.
“I know who be boarding an' takin' your tankers, mon.” Jun spoke. “One be a murloc by da name of Gackeet.”
“How do you know this?” Eckhart replied, his eyes squinting, though the expression was more of intrigue than of suspicion.
“Orc woman in da huts up north told me she saw da murloc with three humans take to da sea.”
“You asked one of the beach whores who live up north? The Coral Boys turf?” He chuckled. “Well, whores rarely ever lie. Plus I knew that scaly little shit was trouble.” He gestured to his men. “My crew know where Gackeet lives. Go with them and bring him over for a chat, eh?”
His three henchmen looked at one another, then to Jun. “Right.” The troll responded, looking at the tallest one. “Lead the way, mon.”
After being dragged kicking and screeching over a mile away from his hut and into a shipside warehouse by Jun and Palemist's henchmen, Gackeet's orange ass was unceremoniously thrown inside onto a workbench.
“Who paid you, you urchin?!” One of the leather armor clad henchmen demanded, giving him quite a beating, though avoiding his head to reduce the trauma on what little brains the murloc had. “Who the fuck paid you?!”
“AAAUUUUUUUUUUCCK! I NO TELL YOU.” Gackeet grimaced, punching one of the henchmen back, this one a lower ranking goblin thug. They then resumed even more violently afterward.
“Alright, that's enough. Tie him down.” Gil Clinksprocket commanded as he entered with Direplain and closed the door behind them.
“We found some cash on him boss.” He handed him a pouch made of a shark's bladder, which Direplain took, counting several silver coins, rectangular in shape and rather ancient.
“This certainly wasn't petty cash.” Vand began, walking up to him. “Who gave this to you?”
“Me no talkering!” Gackeet squirmed as he was tied down with a leather strap around his chest and legs. “Lettey go me!”
Gil nodded to a human thug, who took out his large military made mace and starting smashing his leg with repeated blows.
“OOOOOOOOOOWWWRRRGGHHH!” Gackeet screamed, thrashing about, his leg now hanging by a few interior tendons as the bones were shattered. “HE HOLYNESS! MASKEY MENS!”
“Who are the 'maskey mens'?” Gil leaned on one side of the table with one hand as he interrogated him.
Gackeet croaked a bit. “I... I... I tell... don't hurted no more, you knaves.”
“Now, now. No name calling.” Gil smarmed. “Now speak you hideous fuck.”
Gackeet clenched his massive eyes, hissing slightly before raising the lower part of his body and letting out a roaring throe of murloc flatulence, most of everyone except Jun and Gil flinching or running the other way.
Jun hid his amusement for the spectacle as the thugs were on their knees, coughing from the stench. Gil suppressed the nauseating aroma that currently filled that particular side of the warehouse, walking toward a crate with the silhouette of the Steamwheedle cartel insignia on it, rummaging through it and pulling out a steam powered, corner grass trimmer which he began to prime, the circular blade beginning to spin.
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” The murloc screamed as the extremely sharp blades were brought down, severing his good leg from above the knee.
“WHO'S YOUR BOSS? WHO ARE THE MASKED MEN GODDAMMIT?!” He then held the whirring quadruple blade of the machine to his chest, gently hovering it closer and closer toward him. It made contact, a shallow mark beginning to cut into him.
“HE HOLYNESS! RYK THE HALFEY GREAT! DEFFYUS BROHODS!” He screamed.
Gil switched off the machine. “Ryk? The naga, Ryk?”
“Yesayeah!” The murloc groaned. “Deh great and mighty Ryk show great mercy and kindey by bestowlering gift of money to me!”
Gil nodded. “And Deffyus? These are the Maskey-men?”
“Indoodz!” Gackeet panted. “Dey arrivo'd five sunnies ago! They hidey the stoley oiley on hees island! In a teeny cave!”
The goblin capo nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “Well, Gackeet you've been very helpful.” Gil piped before drawing a flintlock pistol from his belt and shooting him just above the murlocs left eye. One of the thugs pulled out his own pistol and shot him under the chin for good measure.
“The Defias Brotherhood? Really?” Direplain stroked his bovoine chin. “This is more serious than we thought if Halftail is allied with them.”
Gil placed the pistol back in his holster. “You three go back and tell Eckhart to send a team to get the oil. Zuul, I'd be very grateful if you helped me clean this mess up.”
“Actually, Zuul is coming with me.” Direplain replied opening the door and ushering Jun to follow.
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Post by Cali on Apr 1, 2016 2:56:06 GMT 1
Note: I made some minor oopsies in terms of names and plot elements I forgot to write down in the final few paragraphs of the previous chapter. Edited.
Chapter 6 - Political Backdraft
Jun set the cup back down on the surface, the taste of rum delicious and the liquid burning down his esophagus. “So you say der there be yet another problem?” He spoke to Direplain, the large tauren hulking over the small round table inside the Maritime Jumak.
“Allow me to be emphatic, Zuul'Fas.” Direplain replied, drinking a sip of imported tauren firewater. “Styg's derrick is getting a far slower yield than usual, it's barely spurting up anything. We think somebody is tapping into the pocket on the isle. Somebody is really adamant on cutting off our oil supply.”
“I see.” The troll replied, finishing off the last sip of the double shot of rum. “Be a shame if something be happenin' to dat.”
“We have a general idea of where another derrick may be, according to the first mate of the last brig that sailed in before the lockdown.” Direplain spoke, tapping his enormous forefinger onto the table. “We can get you a gunboat with long ranged mortars to take care of the derrick if you want to captain it. That's your specialty after all, pirate.”
“Actually, I be preferring to do it the landlubber's way dis time around.” Jun insisted, a smile on his face.
“Unlike you, but not unheard of.” The tauren huffed. “If Fort Livingston was any indication, that is. How'd you pull that off?”
Luckily for Jun, this particular part of Zuul'Fas' past was included in the dossier he read on the journey. “Sheer stealth, mon. Stranglethorn Vale be real dark during the night. Making it da perfect opportunity to slice some throats and make away with the booty unnoticed.”
A servant carrying a tray of plates avoided drunken, swaggering sailors and brought the two's food over to their table. One was a large strip of heavily salted kodo haunch, as well as four “Midshipman's Rolls” or sometimes “Smuggler's dumplings”, soft ripened cheese and thin pasta noodles wrapped in a thin, tasteless seaweed. Jun was served Theramore style lobster and crayfish, loaded with egg yolks and sour mustard sauce. A side of sliced mangos was also served.
“Everything look good, Vand?” The half-elf server asked, hands clamped and a smile on his face.
“Splendid.” The tauren nodded approvingly.
“On the house as usual. Enjoy.” The waiter bowed, turned and continued on his job. The two began to devour their entrees. Direplain chewed and savored the kodo meat while leaning in to talk to Jun. “I can get you some naval gunpowder canisters with small dynamite attached to the top.” He said.
“Improvised explosives?” Jun asked, gulping a bit of lobster.
“Actual explosive charges are in short supply. Unless you're willing to risk buying from the goblins on Coral Island.”
“Dey probably be charging me double anyway.” Jun huffed, switching over to the rice in his dish for variety.
“These explosives are reliable. Dwarven demolition teams used these to blow up shipyards and oil refineries since the second war.” Direplain explained. “Most preferred them over the volatile powder kegs for obvious reasons.”
“I trust you mon.” Jun nodded. “Where you be delivering those charges?”
“We'll deliver them to the northmost warehouse.” Vand was already almost done with his kodo haunch, being a fast eater. “Do this as soon as possible. I really would rather my son and daughter get here as soon as possible without the tension going on.”
“Dey smuggler's too?”
“Nah, they're legitimized traders. Fur, hides, dry goods and such. Pretty profitable delivering them up to Quel'Thalas and the Undercity.” Direplain responded, a hint of sentimentality in his voice. “I'm going legit to as soon as I get the opportunity. I owe to them, really.”
“Styg be okay with this?” Jun asked, his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.
“We made an arrangement that he gets to be a shareholder of whatever enterprise I open up. A fair deal.” The tauren replied. “That ordeal with that murloc, displays like that really grate on my nerves. Clinksprocket and Palemist are both very much like that. I really would like to not be a part of things like that anymore. I don't even know how I manage to eat after that.”
“I can't fault you for dat, boss.” He shrugged his arms. “Torture was never my thing, even though I be a pirate and all.”
“Clinksprocket and Palemist have both been clamoring for my title as Styg's underboss.” Direplain began to work on the cylinder shaped dumplings. “I doubt there will be blood over it, but the fact that they loom over my seat like buzzards is vexatious. They only care about power and wealth.”
“What did you sign on for, if you don't mind me askin'?” Jun was curious, returning to eating his seasoned lobster.
“The Horde's bureaucracy is rivaling that of their Alliance counterparts. It had a... negative effect on my tribe in particular.” The tauren sighed. “They've constrained trade, and if people want things bad enough-”
“They be getting' their hands on it, yeah indeed mon.” The troll nodded. Soon afterward, the half-elf from before brought another round of drinks to them, promptly leaving afterwards.
“Now it's my turn to ask...” Direplain leaned in. “What got you into the piracy game, captain?”
Jun picked up his shot cup, leaning in as well. “Truth be told, the Horde be givin' me the shaft as well.”
“I figured as much.” Picking up his glass of firewater. “Fuck the Horde.”
“Fuck da Horde.” They clinked their drinking vessels and promptly down their drinks. Vand Direplain had no idea how close to the actual truth that was for Jun.
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