Although I have been mentally playing around with a few Wow story ideas over the last few years, this is the first one I have ever completely put on paper. I have endeavored to make the details as accurate as possible. If I missed something, feel free to point it out. I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was a very fun trip through Azeroth and surrounding parts.

Note: Please Read the following note before reading the story.
NOTE NOTE: Just because I have posted on a female nightelf druid, DO NOT assume the protagonist is a female or a nightelf or a druid. If I have accomplished what I set out to do, any class, any gender, any race should be able to read it as if they were the protagonist.

The Old Man and The G

The light blazed down from the trees and the smell of lakeshore and olemba mingled in the heat. The leathertine sc%!@% of basilisk belly somewhere in the rocks above made me only somewhat cautious.

Cresting the small rise, I saw the old man.

He wore old clothes, wrinkled and smelling of sweat and lake water. A battered hat shaded his eyes and kept the flies from landing on what I suspected to be a balding head. Despite his poor appearance, the man was an artist. Pulling his line in and out of the water with the minimal amount of movement; he was the picture of fluid meditation.

I stood in silence watching a while before shifting my bag higher on my shoulder then walking forward to stand by him.

“Nice day.” I said.

He just nodded.

I busied myself with my own pole and line. I used to have one recommended by Nat Pagle, but I discovered a better one in Shattrath City. Some kid was willing to trade it to me for some Eel Filets. Not that I blamed him. He was a might too small to go after the eels himself and they sure do taste good. I still think I got the better end of the deal though. I drop a few filets off now and then for the kid to make up for the guilt of practically robbing him.

The old man’s pole wasn’t much to look at. But I already knew he sure knew how to use it. He cast again. Once more, the cast took the bare minimum of exertion, as if he had done this so many times the cast by-passed his brain and relied solely on muscles that had distilled the movement down to its purest form.

I wasn’t really wanting to fish. Especially here. Feigning an interest in the opposite shore, I stood gazing out across the water. Without looking at him and speaking softly, I said, “I know a gnome.”

No reply.

Grant it, “I know a gnome” is not actually a brilliant conversation starter. Truth was, I didn’t know how to start this conversation and I didn’t really know the gnome. I knew of the gnome. I actually knew someone who had overheard the gnome speaking. Once.

“Goes by the name Breanni.” I gazed at the rocks across the shore so hard that I felt my eyes begin to water. “She spoke your name in connection to a certain, shall we say . . . item, that I would like to acquire.”

Silence from the old man; the sound of lapping water from the lake. I waited.

Nothing.

Sighing, I thought about leaving but was stopped by a small snort from the old man. “Collectors.” He managed to insert into the word the same feeling you put into “Festering Maggots”. “It’ll cost ya.”

“I am willing to pay.” I struggled to keep the frenzy of emotion I was feeling off my face and out of my voice. One business person to another, that’s what we were. Making a deal, that is all I was doing.

“It ain’t a sure thing.” He said with another flick of his wrist. “All you collectors think it’s easy as handing over the money and getting the goods. It ain’t like that and time is money friend. It’ll cost you that and some effort.”

Time and effort. How long and what type of effort, I wasn’t sure, but surely it wouldn’t be more than a few weeks worth. And even if it was a little longer than that, it would be worth it. And maybe I could pick up some side jobs along the way and still earn a piece of gold or two to boot.

“Alright,” I said. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Nothing too bad. Just a few errands. Mostly centered around your . . . . merchandise, anyway.” He spat on his hand and then wiped it down the side of his overalls in an effort to clean bait and fish slime off of it and then stuck it out towards me. “Names Barlo.”

I looked him straight in the eye and took the hand without flinching. “Just call me . . . mmm . . . the collector.”

“Well, The Collector, there’s no time like the present so they say. I’ll tell you what you need to do first. If you want a tame and well mannered piece of merchandise you first have to bring me a small but wild and ill-mannered piece of merchandise. Then I’ll train it while you run a couple more errands for me. Once again, The Collector, I can’t guarantee it will work. If all goes well, we should have you a nice tame and permanently small piece of merchandise soon enough.”

I figured I might as well get started. I wish I had told him a name though – any name. He looked cantankerous enough to not call me anything other than The Collector now.

“And where would I fish this thing up at?” I asked.

He pulled a grubby piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “That there is a map that will show you the exact spot to go to. Come back as soon as you get one. They don’t last too long without the proper care.”

I stuffed the map into my pack, and with a hasty thank you I headed back into the city.

Not bad, I said to myself as I returned to my room in the inn. Once there I pulled out the map and studied it. This was not only doable, it was easily doable and I could accomplish several tasks at once. I gathered my gear and organized all my supplies. Taking the portal home, I headed off down the street.

My house set back in a small cul de sac away from any main traffic. I shared it with a friend, a druid, who wasn’t the adventuring type. Not that I was really, but as a collector I have had to do my share of adventuring. He stayed behind and cared for the collection and did whatever else druids do in the middle of the night. I went out into the wide wonderful world and brought small pieces of it back.

I stopped in to deliver a new addition. I couldn’t find Snuggles anywhere. Not that I call Snuggles that to his face but what else do you nickname someone who can shift at will into a large ferocious bear? I left the small Netherwhelp in the new arrivals cage with a note and headed back out. Snuggles would take the Netherwhelp under his care and acclimate it to its new home.

A quick stop at the post office to pick up my mail turned into a quick stop at the bank vault and a further quick stop at the offices of my favorite auctioneer. An entire hour went by before I was able to head off to the place Barlo had said to go. Once there I wasted no time in dropping my line into the water. Not sure what to expect, I held myself in readiness. The sun was shining and the sound of children playing nearby carried over the water.

I fished up several fish which went into a bucket. The Collection has to eat something right? They don’t all live on air and gold doesn’t grow on trees. Half an hour and half a bucket full later, my line was grabbed so hard the pole almost got away. I had grown complacent and was thinking of rechecking the map. Working with whatever fishing skill I had, I managed to land a beauty of a baby crocolisk.

Green mottled adorable little baby croc! He or she was a wonder. I quickly dropped him, its sexist but easier, into his travel bucket and held him closer for a better look. Wild eyes stared back at me. A patch of dark green skin at the edge of his mouth gave him the appearance of snarling at me and I secretly named him Snarly. Officially I’d probably give him a name fitting a croc, like Killer or Scales or Reginald Hellscream Trollbiter Dwarfsmiter III of Azeroth, but he’d always be Snarly to me. In short, I had fallen in love. I knew this would work. Whatever Barlo did to this little fellow to get him to stay a baby and to tame him would work.

I stopped back at the house to deliver the fish bucket and to gather up my gear. There was still no sign of Snuggles, so I dumped the fish into the tank and placed a small bag of gold in our secret stash in Wolly’s area. I don’t care if he is small, no one messes with the Wolpertinger.

Twenty minutes later, thanks to the small and mysterious contraption known as a Hearthstone, I was walking up the path to Barlo’s fishing spot.

“Well, if it isn’t The Collector.” He drawled. He hadn’t moved. I wondered how much all his non-casting muscles had atrophied over the years. “Did ya get it?”

“Yes.” I flipped open my pack and pulled out the bucket. A long low whistle came from Barlo.

“He sure is a good one.” He said, setting down his pole and taking the bucket. He flipped a sack over it and left it sitting by his feet. “You know there’s a process right? We want to keep this little guy small and make him trainable. It ain’t pretty to do that. It ain’t easy and it certainly doesn’t happen overnight. I need a few things. Some of which I already have. So while I’m using my own stuff you are going to go get some replacements for me.”

“Fair enough,” I said. I wanted to ask for another look at Snarly, but was afraid of what Barlo might think.

“Well, one of the ingredients I need is found only on the Fellblood Snapper. It’s highly poisonous, and I use it to go shark fishing, so be careful. You can only find it in the pools of Hellfire Peninsula or Shadowmoon Valley. Bring that back to me while I get started on your little guy.”

Shadowmoon Valley was out of the question. As I said, I wasn’t that great of an adventurer and was nowhere near ready to head out into that Hellhole. Which left me heading out into Hellfire. I looked around for someone who’d been there to get a sense of what I would be facing. Arm chair adventurers think it is all “rush in, deal damage, vanquish your foe, and gloat over the spoils of war”. Well, when your foot hits the dust of the road and you’ve got miles of enemy before you, that type of thinking is the quickest way to see what Peacebloom roots look like in their natural habitat.

I found a rogue who’d been to the Pools of Aggonar before and needed to go again. He was okay with watching my back while I fished and in return I would offer him some help.

We made it. I got it, the blasted thing. He got his stuff done. Enough said. Also contrary to popular opinion, dusty road adventurers don’t like to recount all of their deeds. Especially the ones they’d like to forget but won’t be able to. Especially right around 2:00 in the morning when the Noggenfogger is just about ready to wear off and you start looking for something dwarf-brewed.

Barlo was very happy to see me in one piece and poison free. I think he was surprised I had made it. He assured me that Snarly was doing fine – not that he called him Snarly – but I took comfort from this.

“You ready for your next task?” Barlo asked.

“Yes.” I said. “But I haven’t had a decent meal since I left for the Peninsula and I need to catch some shut eye. Can it wait or is it that urgent?”

“It is somewhat urgent and it ain’t that far away. Run up into Zangermarsh and fish up some bloated barbed gill trout. When you slice ‘em open they’ll be full of Giant Fresh Water Shrimp. I need this bucket filled with shrimp. Then you can take a day’s rest.”

Barlo was right. The road ran practically to the lakeside in Zanger and furthermore, I wouldn’t be encountering anything that required a lot of adventuring skill to handle. I’d already been in that area of the Marsh and felt I could deal pretty well with it on my own. I mounted up and headed out. According to the sun, it looked to be early afternoon and I thought if all went well I could make it back in time to buy a bath before eating the best meal I could buy in the World’s End Tavern. The stench the Pools of
Aggonar has a way of lingering and I wasn’t about to try and eat good food with it clouding up the air.

Four hours later I was heading back with the bucket full. I didn’t even want to know what Barlo was planning for the shrimp. Added to the smell of Aggonar was a thick layer of Essence of Gill Trout Guts and I was sick of it. Barlo was happy to see the shrimp and told me to come back in a day or so. I returned to my room and ordered a private bath. Some adventurers gather in the communal bathing room, but I for one like the solitude. I soaked and scrubbed and scrubbed and soaked, but I could still smell fish. Satisfied that I had done all I could, I headed down to the Tavern.

The World’s End was packed and I really didn’t want to be jostled by crowds. I wandered among the vendors of the lower city picking up one or two items but mostly just going with the flow. I nearly bumped into Grok without seeing him which is impossible as a he’s a hulking huge ogre. He always looks so sad and I’d like to help him. I’m sure though that if he can’t help himself, it’ll take someone with a lot more skill than me to accomplish whatever task he needs done.

I returned to my own inn and ate decently enough in a relatively quiet corner of the common room. Then I slept. How long, I don’t know but it was late morning when I finally dragged myself out of bed and into my clothes. Barlo had said a day or so. I decided to get some work done while I waited. Some of my gear needed fixed and I dropped it off at the armorer. Late afternoon saw me with all my gear back and everything in order for whatever else Barlo wanted me to do.

I wish he’d just hand me the finished croc, but I wasn’t betting on it.

I couldn’t wait, so I headed out to the lake. Barlo was there. He didn’t look away from his line when I walked up beside him; he just stood there silently, a crease in his brow.

“Barlo.” I nodded.

“Kid,” he said with a small shake of his head. “The croc didn’t make it.” My insides jerked like someone very strong had gutted me palm up with a fist weapon and then twisted. “I’m sorry, Kid. It happens. I tried to tell ya.”

He was silent and let me digest my disappointment while he cast again. “If you want to try another, I’ve got an up to date map with a different spot marked.”

I stared at nothing. Snarly was no more. Well, Barlo had said it wasn’t a sure thing and I had set myself up for the disappointment. This time I’d stay emotionally detached until I had the permanently babified and tamed croc in my collection. Barlo must have seen the determination on my face because he pulled another map out of his pocket and handed it towards me. As he did so, another piece of paper peeled away from the bottom of the map and floated, feather like, towards the water. I grabbed it before it got soaked and handed it back to Barlo, taking the map in return.

“I’ll be back,” I said.

“See ya soon, Kid.” Barlo cast. I sighed. At least Kid was better than The Collector.

Once more a portal trip back home and a stop by the old house. I wanted nothing more than to hole up there and have a pity party. Which is what I did for two entire days. Snuggles was nowhere to be found, but the various collection containment areas were cleaned and their food and water was fresh. I spent a lot of time playing with the lovely critters. Playing is a loose term. For some of them, watching from afar is as close as you want to get.

Still no sign of Snuggles by the end of the second day. My luck he had gone all tree form in the park and started to take root. Or gotten lost in his Emerald Dream. If he had somehow gotten himself killed, I hoped he was at least in bear form so I could have him mounted and stuffed. He’d have the place of honor amongst my collection. This is not as offensive as it sounds – we joke about it all the time.

Day three came around and I headed down to the Auction House. Some very nice buyers had paid a very nice price for a few items I had picked up in the Outland regions. This warranted a trip to the bank. The rest of the day was spent in several errands including a stop at the barbershop. My favorite goblin barber was always suggesting new and wacky hairdos. Sometimes I tried them out. This was not one of those times. As I paid him I noticed he’d gotten a new tattoo which was peaking out from underneath his arm bracer. The tattoo was a strangely stylized G shape with a half circle and radiating lines on the initial stroke of the letter.

“Nice tat.” I said.

He grunted a response will readjusting his bracer to hide the tattoo.

“Be careful out there.” He said as I headed out the door.

Next morning I followed the map and caught another baby croc. I didn’t even look at him too closely, just made sure he was secured in his transport bucket. I picked my gear up at the house and discovered Leaf – that is Snuggles’ name – curled up before the fireplace in cat form. I left him sleeping and wasted no time in returning to Terokkar Forest and Barlo. I was beginning to hate this particular spot in the world.

Barlo was pleased to see me. “Was afraid you’d given up, Kid.” He said. “And you sure got yourself a winner here. I’d stake my pole on it.”

I should have made the bet with him. At least I would have gotten something out of the whole entire mess.

“I’ll get started with this guy right away. In the meantime, I’m desperate for a couple of Blackfin Darters. They live with the Golden Darters but they are crafty little devils. You have to wait until the last possible second before you pull your line and set your hook. Any river here in Terokkar should have them in it.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I said.

“Be careful out there, Kid.” He called out as I headed off back into the city.

We had an outpost between the river and the Bone Wastes in the forest. I grabbed my travel pack and fishing gear and headed to the flight master. Having only recently been introduced to them, I thought Flightmaster Nutral handled both the hippogryph and wyvern mounts with easy skill. A few moments later I was in the air for the short flight. I wanted a mount that could fly for my very own, but the Collection took most of any gold I made.

I landed and checked in at the Inn to secure a room for the night. Grabbing a cold bottle and a snack from a vendor, I headed out to the river banks. I sure caught a lot of Golden Darters, which was fine by me. They make a real tasty fish stick and I can usually sell them for decent gold to fellow adventurers and travelers. You’d be surprised how many kids steal a port from mom and dad and pop into Shattrath City for the day but fail to bring a lunch or the skill to conjure one up. I knew of a kid who stole his dad’s hearthstone and spent three days in the Lower City orphanage before they caught up with him. He got grounded and a book deal. He’ll probably be able to afford to pay for his own croc. He won’t even talk to Barlo himself but send his “people”. Yeah, I’m not bitter.

I fished all afternoon without so much as one suspected Blackfin Darter nibble. I was beginning to think Barlo just wanted to get rid of me.

I took a break and tried again at dusk. I was pretty comfortable, relaxed and calm watching all the floating light motes, when I felt the lightest nibble on the line. I forced myself to remain meditative and to wait. Several long slow breaths and a few more nibbles later and I pulled the line up sharp and into the evening air. There, dangling from the line and shiny as polished obsidian, was a nice little Blackfin Darter. An hour of contemplative fishing snagged me seven more. Eight was more than a couple so Barlo should be more than satisfied.

I spent the night in the inn. After a breakfast of warpstalker links and bonelasher omlette, I caught a flight back. Barlo was very pleased with my catch and gave me a small bag of coin in exchange for the extra darters.

My next task was to go to Nagrand and fish up a Mudfish that had gotten away from Barlo a couple of months ago. If he hadn’t been able to get it, I’m not sure how he expected me to get it. More work to keep me busy I thought.

The first thing was to practice my fishing skills. Not anywhere near Barlo though. I flew back out to our outpost in the midst of Terokkar and settled in for several days of serious fishing. When my muscles started to cramp, I took a break and climbed to the top of one of the towers. In a strange mood, I stood staring out across the tree tops, my fingers idly tracing the texture of the wall. Coming out of my reverie I realized that the random texture I was tracing reminded me of the G on my barber’s arm. And as I stared at it, my mind superimposed another image over the barber’s G – the image of the piece of paper that had fallen out of Barlo’s pocket. It too had had the exact same G in the corner of it.
I didn’t know what that G stood for and I didn’t know how they all connected. But my gut told me they were connected and not in a good way. I was going to find out how.

First things first.

Nagrand is a beautiful place, I’ll give you that, but it is not the most hospitable. I had gotten pointers from Barlo as to the best spot for fishing up this mystery fish of his and started doing my research on the area. When I felt as competent enough to handle any nasties I might encounter, I set up a flight for the next morning. Of the suggested spots, I decided to try out Sunspring Lake and make a stop at the Consortium outpost there. Gezhe owed me a bag of gems for my services to the Consortium and I had a pack of obsidian beads to pass on to them.

Aeris Landing is an interesting place, but the fzzzzt and sizzle of the Consortium machinery drives me nuts in a very short time. I left the Landing and moved east along the lake searching for a cozy little spot. I wanted enough shore to fish comfortably from and I wanted steep, sheer cliff at my back to make it all the harder for things to sneak up on me. Thirty minutes or so of searching and I found a sweet little place. I had enough shore to stand on and the water at the edge was shallow enough I could wade out a few steps if I wanted to. I set everything up and prepared to wait.

All I managed to snag that day was junk: Various scraps of cloth, an old shoe and once, a box that contained a hat. Not a single fish though. I made my way back to the landing and retrieved my mount from where Gezhe was keeping an eye on it for me. The ride to the inn I was staying at was fairly uneventful. I grabbed some Clefthoof Stew and hit the pallet wanting to be up early.

I awoke before it was light and headed out into the wilds of Nagrand. My plan was to make it to the Throne of the Elements just as the sky was beginning to lighten. The route I had marked out should take me through peaceable territory. I skirted the edge of Skysong Lake avoiding the Lake Spirits that were not too friendly when encountered.

The Elements that inhabit this area always fill me with awe. Their greatness and grandeur are undeniable and, in Gordawg’s case, literally earth shaking. The members of the Earthen Ring that are stationed there are very serious minded when it comes to maintaining balance in Nagrand. I’ve always had good dealings with them, although I generally breathe shallowly around some of them. They are really close to nature and you’d think they’d take advantage of the natural cleansing properties of the water they are surrounded by, but apparently the idea has yet to occur to a select few.

I found a nice spot on the edge of the Elements territory and dropped my line in. The owls, so prevalent in Nagrand, and contrary to the nature of many owls, began to wake up and go hunting in the pre-dawn light. Nothing else stirred as the light brightened.

An hour or so after I had started fishing, a shaman came along the edge of the water and took up a spot not far way. She settled into the quiet of the morning and we fished companionably.

The repetitive movements of fishing and the easy morning light lulled me into a placid state. The lap of the water against the shore and muted sound of song birds washed over me. My pole leapt from my hands. I dove forward and managed to close my fingers around the very end but the pull on the line was strong and I felt myself begin to go under. All the breath had been knocked from my body with the dive and, though under water, I gave a reflexive inhalation. Instead of choking as I expected, I breathed easily. At the same time something pulled me up, my hands still tightly gripping the pole.

I came out of the water to find the shammy holding onto me. She stepped forward and reached for part of the pole and together we began to coax the fish in. Very soon, my arms began to weaken and hers must have too as well for she dropped two totems, the ones the Shamans call The Strength of the Earth and The Healing Stream. I felt my tired muscles begin to be restored by the healing stream and new strength flowed into me. The fight continued but I felt now that there was a chance we would win.
Many long minutes later I was holding in my largest travel bucket what had to be the world’s largest mudfish exactly as Barlo had described him. With many thanks to the Shammy whose name was Zephyr and an offer to buy her dinner the next time she was in Shattrath, I headed back towards Barlo.

As I neared the city, I saw that the Darkmoon Faire was going strong. I decided to pay a visit to Flik, a young orc child who has a rare affinity for raising small frogs. I had been able to purchase a tree frog from him sometime ago for my collection. He occasionally had wood frogs and I had been wanting one for a while now. I was in luck. Flik was in, unoccupied and had one remaining wood frog he gladly parted with for a gold piece. Although my own income had not been all that stellar recently, I willing parted with the coin.

On my way out of the fair grounds, I passed by Sayge’s tent as his current customer was leaving. No one else was in line and so I sought my fortune. I could use a bit of good news and since fortune tellers tell you what you want to hear I sat down. I let him go through his rigmarole and took the time to wonder what his story was. As a gnoll, and a well spoken one at that, I figured it had to be a really great one. When he was done with his questions he simply wrote something on a piece of paper and then held the curtains of the tent open for me. Puzzled I stepped out into the sunshine and took the paper that Sayge then offered me.

Mounting up and heading into the city proper, I unrolled the scroll to read my fortune.

“Look Out!”

Look out? That was my fortune?

I should have listened. I should have portalled home with my wood frog and the mudfish, got the mudfish mounted and hung above the fireplace and let it all be. I should have done this, but I didn’t. I dropped my gear off at the inn and left the frog in the innkeep’s care with a promise to return shortly. Then I headed out to Barlo.

A slow grin greeted me as I held up the mudfish. Barlow scratched his ear. “Well, I’ll be --,” he said. “He is a big one; but I would have sworn he was bigger. Maybe I’ll turn him loose and let him grow some more.”

I think I had a brief seizure accompanied by visions of dumping the retaining water over Barlo’s head and stuffing the mudfish down Barlo’s throat. But, something about his posture made me forget the fish though and look at him more closely. He didn’t even have to saying anything, but said it anyway. “Sorry, Kid.”

I walked away.

Away from Barlo. Away from the hope of adding a Baby Croc to my collection. Away from stylized Gs. Away from it all.

I spent some time working on a few odd jobs I had picked up. Hemet Nesingwary and his band of Happy Hunters needed some help bringing down a few Clefthoof. I had also been asked by some deranged goblin chef to go get him some berries in Netherstorm. I quite enjoyed the trip and the biodomes. The fauna there had a terrible temper, but the flora was interesting to look at.

Afterwards, I picked up my wood frog and went home. And I went to my favorite bar. Look at the map of the city and you won’t find it anywhere. But it should be famous. It was the only place I can get an Azerothian Sunrise. A drink so named because, one, it was made from a drink from every race on Azeroth and, two, after drinking it the next thing you are conscious for is the sunrise.

I’m not sure how long I was at home, but I ran the usual errands: auctioneer, bank, gear repairs, vendors of various foods for the diverse appetites in my collection. I made some adjustments to the collections homes and fiddled around with a few minor repairs. Snuggles does very good upkeep, so there wasn’t much to do except enjoy the different members of my diminutive family.

One morning I realized that the fish we gave to the cats was beginning to run low, so I gathered up my fishing gear and headed out to my favorite fishing spot in town. I had filled three fourths of my bucket when I did it. I caught another baby croc. I almost just put him back in but thought: Third time’s a charm.

Barlo didn’t seem all that surprised to see me. We didn’t say anything as we made the exchange. I wasn’t getting my hopes up and I didn’t care if he needed more supplies or not. I started to walk away but he called me back.

“Not sure if you need anything to do, but I have a friend up in Dalaran that could use someone who knows their way around a fishing hole. Interested?”

I hadn’t done much on the continent of Northrend; I am NOT a cold weather person. However, something new to occupy myself would make the time pass more swiftly. So, I got the information from Barlo and a promise to get a message to me one way or another about the croc and headed off to the floating city of Dalaran.

You can say what you like about the Kirin Tor, but they sure do know how to build an impressive city.

I met Marcia by a fountain in Dalaran’s Eventide sector.

I thought she was joking when she told me what she needed. Seems some guy had gotten his arm chewed off by a Monsterbelly near the coast of the Borean Tundra. Because the water is so cold there, the healers were fairly certain they could reattach as it would not have begun to decompose, providing of course we could find it before the fish digested it.

As I said, I hate the cold. I bought an entire set of cold water fishing gear that covered me from head to toe and that contained its own internal heating system. The wonders of gnomish engineering being what they were, I prayed it wouldn’t explode when I got it wet.

I headed out with a group of other fishermen – and I use the term “men” very loosely here – to track down this elusive fish. Five days we spent hoping from berg to berg until we found it. We all went back to Dalaran with the arm and watched as the healers did indeed reattach it to the man’s torso.

Marcia then told me she had another job that was a very profitable one. She’d give me 35 percent of the profits no matter how big or small. When I found out what she wanted me to do, I decided those profits had better be pretty big. It seems items of value sometime end up at the bottom of the sewers beneath the city and she occasionally goes down and drags them up. Then she tracks down their original owners, raking in rewards, or she sells them through a friend who has set up a shop down in the sewers.

The thing about sewers is: They stink. No matter how you look at it, they stink. And there are rats down there as big as --, well as big as gnomes. I’m not kidding. I caught one and the giant thing started following me around. I started giving him the odd piece of food here and there to keep him happy. He seemed content to nibble on whatever I offered.

When I was sure he wasn’t going to start gnawing on my appendages, I kept on with the fishing in a cozy little nook out of the way of traffic. These are sewers, but very busy sewers. Jewelry is not the only thing that ends up at the bottom of them. I worked on dredging up valuables while watching all the activity that went on. I was in the perfect position then to see the goblins come down into the sewers by a little used back route that came directly from outside. They were carrying a heavy crate between them and were walking quickly through the shadows.

As they went up the tunnel away from me, light from a torch in a wall bracket fell on the crate, highlighting the “G” burned into the side. I waited until the goblins turned into a connecting tunnel then followed them. They wound their way through the labyrinthine passages, sticking to the darkest places.

You wouldn’t think of sewers as being large, but there are some areas where the sewer pipes open up into cavernous spaces and the dregs of society have assembled ramshackle buildings in these places. It was into an alley that ran behind a row of these buildings that the goblins turned. I followed them cautiously. They did not go far before they stopped. A few dilapidated crates and some rotting barrels provided me with scant cover as I hunkered down behind them. None too soon, as two more goblins entered the passageway bearing torches. I crouched down even further, holding my breath, as they walked by. The torch bearing duo joined the four and they waited in silence until the shadows farther along the alley moved and a hulking figure stepped to the edge of the torchlight.

The dark figure was cloaked so I could not tell what race it was, but I was guessing orc or tauren, maybe even a short draenei or a tall dwarf. They spoke too low for me to hear anything other than the murmur of their voices, but it became apparent that the figure wanted to see the merchandise before paying for it. The goblins, after some discussion, removed the lid to the crate and the shadowy figure reached into the box with large gloved hands to lift the merchandise out and into the torchlight.

My heart stopped.

There in the torchlight was Snarly. MY Snarly. Reginald Hellscream Trollbiter Dwarfsmiter III of Azeroth. He was bigger than when I had seen him last, but the little snarl was there.

A small but heavy bag clinked as it exchanged hands. The figure tucked Snarly under his robes and disappeared back into the darkness. The goblins gathered up the crate and left. I was frozen in place as they walked by me.

I stayed in the alley a long time letting the shock wear off. I also didn’t want to run the chance of one of the alley’s recent occupants witnessing my departure.

While waiting, I renewed my quest to find out what the “G” stood for. Goblins are not known for their conversational skills but I knew one that might be convinced to share some information. I grabbed my pole and headed out of the sewers. The rat decided to follow me. I didn’t stop by Marcia’s figuring she’d find someone else to fish up her slime coated valuables. I grabbed my gear and headed out.
Tanaris isn’t exactly a location I’d recommend to many people. It’s a desert. A desert filled with sand, angry scorpions, crazed trolls, bugs –very, scary bugs, ruthless pirates, cutthroat outlaws and of course, goblins, all of whom could be described by any adjective in this sentence. There is one goblin that spends all his time out in the desert and is pretty half-baked. I’d done a few odd jobs for him some years back. He scavenges around for artifacts left over from some ancient civilization and actually makes a camp in a heap of ruins.

I didn’t expect Marvon to remember me and I was right. He barely even acknowledged my presence but kept on working. I finally got his attention by pulling out a packet of little luxuries that I remember he liked. I let him choose a couple and then took the rest back.

“You can have it all.” I said. “For a price.”

A goblin is a goblin, even if his brains are fried, and Marvon looked ready to settle down for some long bargaining. I held up a hand to hold him off. “Just an answer to a question; that is all I want.”

“Well, let’s hear the question then.” Marvon said.

I bent over and drew the G in the sand. “What does this stand for?”

Marvon ran away. Or would have if I had not been expecting something along those lines. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up close to me – eye to eye. “Listen Marvon, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” I said, gritting my teeth for using such a trite statement in cold blood. “The easy way is: You tell me what I want to know. The hard way is: I put you in a sack, drag you all the way to the middle of Dragonblight and drop you off. How long do you think a desert rat will last in the frigid cold?”

Marvon seemed to wither before me, his eyes shifting around, looking for a way out and then deciding to give in. “All right.” He said, licking his lips. “I know a goblin –“

“No.” I growled, tightening my grip on his shirt. “None of this, ‘I know a goblin’ business where I get sent from here to the Ghostlands and back and before you know it I’m in the depths of Black Rock Mountain floating face down in a pool of lava.”

I waited.

So did he.

I got tired of waiting and started dragging him forward saying, “Dragonblight, here we come.”

“No!” Marvon struggled. “I’ll freeze! You can’t take me there. Wait! Wait. I’ll tell you,” His voice had modulated into a wheedling wheeze. “but it is only a rumor. I don’t know for sure.”
I thought Marvon might be telling the truth for the first time in his little green life so I stopped to let him talk. He took a while and I could tell he wasn’t too happy. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s the Green Lantern.”

“What is?” I asked.

“The symbol – it’s the symbol for the Green Lantern.” He whispered back.

“What’s the Green Lantern?” I asked.

“No!” He hissed at me. “Not out loud. We don’t speak their name out loud!”

“Okay!” I said, trying to placate him. “Just tell me what you know.”

“I. Know. Nothing.” He said. “But there is a goblin legend that says that the G.L. rules the Goblin Princes and shapes the future of the world.”

Shaping the future of the entire world I highly doubted, but if there were a group of goblins that controlled the Princes, then they would be a powerful group. And if they knew I was asking Marvon about them, my life expectancy was as good as a snowball’s in Silithus.

I let Marvon go and tossed him the package and a piece of Gahz’ridian I had picked up. “For your trouble,” I said. He snatched up the ornament and dashed into the tent calling out, “Don’t mention it! Ever!”

I wasn’t too anxious to head back into a goblin controlled area, so I used my hearthstone and ended up back in Dalaran. I purchased a modest dinner at the inn and sat down to eat, mulling over what Marvon had told me. While finishing the last of my Rhino Dogs, I got a sudden brilliant idea. There was someone I could talk to about all this. Someone who scared me almost as bad as the idea of the Green Lantern, and who was rumored to have trained an entire phalanx of Killer Roaches. But I was out of options and I wanted answers. A combination proven to cause desperate measures. The best part was that I wouldn’t have to go far.

I found my way through the streets of Dalaran to the Magical Menagerie. A clerk asked if she could help me and I told her I wanted to see Breanni. I waited at her request as she disappeared into the back of the store. I didn’t have long to wait. She returned shortly.

“This way, please.” She said. I followed her past a couple of supply rooms and what looked like the workers break room. There was a small flight of stairs set into a wall and we went up these. She opened a door into the room at the top and waved me through. It was a small, round room. Before I could say anything, she shut the door and left me alone. It took several moments for me to realize that the floor was moving. I was going up. Whichever tower I was in was one of the tallest ones because I rode up for quite a while.

The floor eventually stopped moving and the door opened up. I stepped out into a realm of wonder.

Even now, words fail me. I try to explain it all and somehow, I never do what I saw justice. The carpet was so rich I sank into it up to my ankles. The wood paneling and book shelves that lined the walls gleamed and were filled with works of art and intriguing curiosities. The circular room had two ceiling to floor windows at opposite ends. The furnishings were of the highest quality and a wonder in and of themselves. But all this paled compared to what else the room the contained. Everywhere I looked, I saw what I had only ever dreamed of collecting.

Gnomes are known for their engineering prowess. Breanni was not your typical gnome. She had taken that drive and ingenuity that led to tinkering with contraptions and turned it towards collecting the minute exotics that graced Azeroth and Outland.

There, in the middle of the room, on a table with grass growing on the top, strolled a small Teldrassil Sproutling. I had only heard rumors that the Night Elves were working on growing this adorable creature as gifts to be given who ever would champion their city in the Argent Tournament, which had only just begun.

Across from me a large fireplace provided a cozy hearth and upon it was a large basket with three cubs curled up in it sleeping away, their white, black and white and black and brown bodies rolled all together into a ball. Beside the fireplace a perch held a large hyacinth macaw and a tiny hippogryph.

To my left, a hatch at the bottom of the wall opened and a small chilly penguin slid out and ran across the floor, trailing cold air behind him. No sooner had he gotten to the other side than a small gorilla ran by me and jumped on a tire swing hung up before one of the windows.

High above me, in the stained glass domed ceiling, two phoenix hatchlings circled one another, singing a song just at the edge of hearing, their light trails swirling together. A gurgling made me look to my right, and a small murloc came out from under a chair to wave his fist at me and scold me unintelligibly. Behind him, a Siamese kitten jumped up onto the gargantuan desk placed before the other window and gazed at me. Its eyes were large and slanted and quite startling. It was then I realized that immediately behind the Siamese sat Breanni, her eyes also large and startling as they gave me a bemused stare.

She sat in a tall winged-back chair that should have accentuated her small stature but somehow made her all the more imposing. Her beautiful silver hair was coiled nicely in either side of her head. Her suit was obviously tailored just for her and, if I’m any judge, was Dalaran made. An ember Skyflare Diamond graced her right hand ring finger. A frost wrymling hovered above her shoulder and she occasionally passed it up some treats.

I started forward and then stopped. What should I call her? Breanni was too informal. Ma’am didn’t sound quite right. Sir was out of the question. Your Highness might work but sounded pretentious.

She waved me into a chair and said in a gnomish voice underlined with cool, calm power, “Call me Breanni. And I know who you are . . . Kid.”

The way she said it made me wonder and I began to look around for the telltale signs of Killer Roaches. If she was in league with anyone who didn’t want me around anymore, I knew I wasn’t getting out of her office.

“Relax.” She assured me. “I only said that so you’d know we know about you. We have some mutual interests and I’d like to offer you a proposition. You help me get what I want and I’ll help you get what you want.”

“And what do I want?” I asked her. I wasn’t quite sure myself at this point and looked forward to some clarification.

She smiled. “Good point. You want a lot and probably more since you came into my office. I can help you with two things. Barlo is the first. The second is a small matter I took care of several days ago. I too am familiar with an affinity for the small and exotic and, shall we say, rare collectibles. She rang a little bell and a tall human woman came out of the door to her left carrying a baby croc. This croc was a mottling of bluish green hues.

“His official name is Sir Charles Eviscerate Norris in honor of a rogue who saved my life once. Around here though, we usually end up calling him Chuck. I believe you were after a baby croc too.” Breanni gave a nod and the door beside her opened back up. There in the door was a hulking figure in a dark robe. The robe was thrown aside to reveal an orc holdling Snarly. I started to rise, but Breanni held her hand up.

“He’s yours. But only after you help us out.”

I sat back down. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, let me tell you some of what I know. Old Man Barlo is no longer the orginial Barlo. He was the first time you met him. But we now know the real Barlo is being held at his place in the hills East of Shattrath. A certain group of goblins, in an effort to increase their wealth, makes Barlo stay there and work on baby crocs which they then sell at very high prices. In a surprising move for goblin engineers, they managed to build a very fine mechanical bot of Barlo. So far, the mechanical Barlo hasn’t blown up, but since that is what goblin engineering is all about, we thought it would be just a matter of time. And then the entire thing would have fallen through. But, those gobgineers were better than we expected. I actually suspect they stole some gnomish engineering research and applied it to their construct.”

“Be careful out there.” Barlo had said these words to me. The very words my goblin barber used as his parting shot. The original Barlo had already been replaced by then it seemed.

Breanni continued. “They have been using you and others like you, to catch crocs. The ones that make it through the process are then sold to the highest bidder.

“This mechanical Barlo keeps an eye on the entrance to the secret path that leads to the real Barlo’s place and the base of the current baby croc operation. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes,” I said. I was surprised, who wouldn’t be considering the flawless performance the Barlo Bot gives. “I’ve been hating a mechanical construct instead of a real person. And I’ve been made a fool of. Got it. So what do you need from me?”

“I need a diversion. Something so unexpected that the mechanical Barlo has no choice but to put all its attention on you. I’m sure I do not need to explain that just about every part of the bot Barlo could potentially be a weapon so you’ll need to make it good but be careful doing so. While you divert his attention, my team will go in and rescue the real Barlo, shutting down the baby croc operation. When we are done, you will get an addition to your collection. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed.” I said. “How long do I have to get ready?”

“You have some time. We are still putting our team together. I will send you a signal when we’re ready. Any more questions?”

“Yes. What about the G.L.?”

“What’s a G.L.?

“You know. The Green Lantern.”

“The Green Lantern?” Breanni’s face was impassive. “Never heard of it. Sounds like a bar to me. Whatever you think it is; I’m sure it doesn’t exist.” And for a brief moment her right eye closed slightly like the beginnings of a wink.

“Now, I’m afraid I am going to have to ask my associates to see you out. Unfortunately, in less than a pleasant way -- for appearances sake.”

I was tossed out on my rear and almost trampled by a mammoth. I sat on the street and shook my fist at Breanni’s store throwing out a few choice words. For appearances. But inside, my heart was singing. I was going to get Snarly.

That was five months ago and I’ve been pretty busy training. I’ve spent time with every possible skill trainer there is, improving my weapon skill as well as learning a hodgepodge of spells and little tricks.

And I’ve been searching through the inns and bars of this world tracking down you. All of you here in this room. All of you with a grudge against Barlo. All of you that have been used by the bot.

I got the signal today.

We move tonight.

Snuggles is going with us to provide the occasionally required healing touch and Zephyr here is going to go to cast some water walking on us. All that Barlo Bot does is stare out across the water and I want him to see me coming. I’m going to be the only ice blasting, flame calling, duel wielding, knife throwing, trap setting, curse casting, hamstringing, judgement passing terror he’s ever met. And I can tell you all this: He. Is. Not. Prepared.

So I ask you: Are you with me?

Aye, and aye.

((Thank you for the delightful read.))

*Kootai sits back and nods with approval. Her usual warm smile faded long ago and now she seeks revenge.*

((Excellent story! Well done and Bravo! Lived it, absolutly loved it!))

-Kootai

(Axelpyre and Kootai: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the story.)

Certainly. And by the way, cute little Netherwhelpling!

(( Was a fun read. I was sad to leave it, in the middle of the story to go somewhere. ))