(45) - Goblin Blood

The night that Baron Rivendare was routed by Hammers in Stratholme, the night he took revenge by utterly discorporiating Taelea Steelgrill, the streets of Booty Bay ran black with blood.

Goblin blood.

Nobody knows what happened that night, precisely. They know that a figure in Defias black stalked the streets, bearing an enormous adamantine axe. Hooded and masked, all that could be seen of the spectre was his eyes, which seemed to glow with rage and madness.

The Booty Bay Bashers first found Narkk in the space behind his usual stall. He was not dead, but he could not move; someone had broken first his toes, then his feet, then his ankles... everything below his waist had been systematically crushed, except... well, lets just say that's when he likely told whoever it was whatever they wanted to know. The leeches said that he would recover to sell "pirate supplies" - in a year he might even walk again.

Pesht was a minor functionary to the Director Riddlevox of the Undercity. Fewer still knew that he took payments from the merchant prince Farquajar, to copy certain correspondances and contacts, and send those copies by courier. He was found at his office, with only two fingers left on either hand. He had no toes. An expensive adamantine dagger was the cause of death - it had been brutally punched through the top of his skull and hammered down through his mouth. The blue wax, used for sealing letters, had been used.

Fissif the Courier had the feeling he was being followed. As was his habit, he had checked the some dozen blind drops for his Master, looking for either packages with the red seal - normal reports - or the blue wax seal - emergency reports. He had found a blue-sealed package from Pesht, and had left immediately for the griffons. From there, he took wing north, to Menethil; nobody could follow him through the air, and nobody but a madman would extort his destination from the Flight Master; such things were confidential beyond any royal authority, for they were a vital link between cities that transcended any jurisdiction; the Wildhammers were inviolate.

He didn't know that the Wildhammer clan had a pass-phrase in their own language, for emergencies. And they didn't know that certain people, who had bathed in troll blood in the Hinterlands, who had rescued a captured baby griffon, and who had earned the friendship of Kurdran Wildhammer by healing Sky'ree, his griffon, when she was near death in the Shadowmoon Valley, and who had taken the time to learn their Clan Tongue might have been entrusted with that phrase.

So when he approached Falkan Armonis in Menethil to open an emergency portal to Ratchet, he didn't know that he had betrayed that secret to someone else. He also didn't know that Falkan Armonis could be easily influenced by a bag of gold to open the same portal moments later, especially when the alternative was to offend someone likely to leave him in pieces. Armonis knew the fellow in black, you see - and knew that he had many friends, the kind of which didn't take no for an answer.

And when he was shown in to see Farquajar at his Ratchet office, he didn't know that someone took up a vantage point, the better to follow the Master himself when he left for the Gilded Rose.

He would have been surprised to learn that a shadowy figure leaped from the rooftops, and sent Farquajar's three bodyguards to the Twisting Nether in a pitched battle that lasted a mere 45 seconds. Farquajar had always tried to pinch pennies, and he hadn't quite bought the best that money could buy, after all.

So when Farquajar faced this blood-splattered, enraged spectre, falling over his enormous platform shoes, is it any wonder the goblin prince fainted?

When he came to, he was in a cave, near the sea; he could smell the salt air, and hear the crashing of the waves. The sand under his feet was wet, and the cavern smelt of of tide and seawater. There was little light, but when he came to his senses, he could see that there were a pair of eyes in the darkness. Unblinking, angry eyes.

A voice in the darkness spoke.

"Merchant Prince Farquajar, I found you."

And then, silence.

"Well, my friend, I am at your mercy," began the goblin, after a few minutes, confidence in his voice. "Obviously, you want something from me, something only I can supply! You have gone through a great deal of trouble to speak to me, so please - tell me what I may supply for you to provide me with my liberty, unharmed."

"Yesterday, elements of the guild known as the Hammer of Magni invaded the desmesnes of the Baron Riverdare, and destroyed his corporeal form; the Baron escaped, however, and disintigrated one of them, a certain Taelea Steelgrill..."

Farquajar could not help the gloating, wide grin, even in these circumstances. "Ah, then she has passed this mortal coil..." A flash in the dark, and agony in his shoulder. A sharp knife had been thrust clean through.

"Yes, she is gone, beyond recall. Her comrades tried, but there was nothing left but ash," said the voice, its conversational calmness quite unnerving, given that Farquajar had been wounded.

"So, what do you want?" the goblin asked. The shadow form touched the shoulder wound, and the pain receded - not healed all the way, but enough. Enough to give him confidence that his life was more important, and perhaps gold more important still. "What is my ransom? How much gold..."

He got no further before his other shoulder erupted in agony.

"I dont want gold" said the voice. "For you to walk out of here alive, I want two things... the first is information. The Hammers found your note, you see, and will be coming. I want to know everything - your involvement, who was paid, how the Cabal or Shadow Council is involved... " The shadow said an incantation in Demonic, and said "And that spell will tell me if you lie, or conceal. The whole truth, now, if you please..."

The goblin's eyes lit up with pride and gloating. "Of course the Cabal is involved. They've known you've been pursuing them for weeks now. You were herded, my friend. You went calmly and happily into a trap, and sprung that trap around you. They contacted me a month ago, they knew I had dealings with Steelgrill. What they didn't know was that I had my own reasons for seeing that bitch dead."

Farquajar continued, "So, you found your enemy, the one who was plotting to invade Ironforge with his army of mercenaries and the undead. And you foiled his invasion plans, the Cabal prophets were clear that there was no avoiding your victory in that regard. But they had their revenge. And maybe you've learned something or other about meddling in the affairs of your betters."

"And that's what I know, fully and completely. Now, what is the second thing you want?"

The sand barely made a noise as powerful arms drove the edge of the axe through his neck, causing the head to land on its wet surface.

"I want Taelea back, you son of a bitch."