World of Warcraft®

Gentyl walked into the inn wearing red. It wasn't her favorite color, but she liked the deep, almost maroon shade of this gown. The gloves and cloak were heavily embroidered in gold and a deep indigo. It matched the silly little hat the seamstress had talked her into buying. With her hair pulled up severely under the hat, many people didn't recognize her when she walked in. They probably didn't recognize her in a dress either, but that's what he had requested.

The inn was already crowded when she walked in and her favorite seat was taken. For all her protestations to Imperon about not being in danger, she still sat with her back against a wall with an open view to the door when she could.

Old habits die hard.

She sat down at a table near the bar and waited.

"Can I get you a drink or something to eat?" Mariiku asked.

As much Gentyl would really like to have a cherry grog, she knew no one stocked it readily. She had to special order kegs of it for Traveler since the old horse still enjoyed it. Well, they enjoyed it together.

"A glass of wine, perhaps," Gentyl replied.

The bar was nearly standing room only and he still hadn't appeared. She took some papers out of her pouch and laid them out on the table. First the list. It was growing, but the information she needed wasn't. Nothing to do about that. It took time.

The other list was more readily handled. The list of bills Twobits had run up while she was gone.

"Hey, Miss Gentyl," Spricket said.

"Spricket! You look beautiful tonight." The little gnome also looked impeccably groomed and wore very stylish dresses.

Spricket blushed. "Oh, thank you. You're the one who looks beautiful, though. I like the red dress."

Mariiiku passed by. "Imperon likes her in red, too."

Gentyl choked on her wine. Gods above and below, please don't let her say anything about the red lace nightgown conversation. Please. Please. Please.

Gentyl continued choking.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Mariiku asked.

"No," Gentyl croaked.
Spricket hopped up on the table and looked at the list. "Are you going shopping?"

Gentyl slid the first list away discreetly. "No, this is a list of bills that accrued while I was gone. It seems Twobits was very busy."

Darkmyst leaned against the bar watching the crowd and sipping whiskey. "I could kill him for you."

"Well, if he dies, he can't work off this debt. In the meantime, I just need to pay the bills."

Darkmyst snorted. "You're too easy on those gnomes. That's why they do the stuff they do."

"Possibly, but I can't really find it in my heart to be mean to them."

With nothing more exciting to look at, Spricket wandered off and Gentyl took out a letter faded with age. She unfolded it carefully, so as not to tear it, and read it again.

Perhaps it comes as a surprise, but it really should not. I've watched you from afar, often wondering what thoughts like behind your calm eyes. At this time I must remain behind this false name, but perhaps, when the world has less demands of our honor and duty I can approach you openly without fear of mutterings from the unknowing masses. My intentions are pure, as I am sure my actions will show.

Until another time, take this rose as a gift. You are a rose in this turbulent garden.

What had become of him? Somewhere deep inside she longed for those earlier days of innocence. Would he still wonder what thoughts lay behind her eyes? Were they still calm? Less than before, but in other ways she was more settled, if not at peace.

Tonight she waited for a far different kind of man. This one was an assassin and a gatherer of information.

Spricket had wandered back before Gentyl noticed and she peered at the letter. "Is that a love letter?"

Gentyl refolded it. "No, just a letter from a friend. What about you? I'm sure you have lots of love letters from beaus."

Then, quite unexpectedly, Spricket burst into tears and cried unconsolably.

"Spricket! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. What happened?"

"It's my love. I can't marry him until I have a dowery of one hundred sheep."

"Oh, dear. That is a problem. Perhaps I can buy some sheep for you so you can marry."

The gnome's face lit up with joy. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

1/2

"Of course. I think love should always be fulfilled. Now tell me about your intended. I'll bet he's quite a handsome gnome and clever too."

"I'm getting married to Vloth," the gnome declared.

Gentyl stared at her wine glass. What were they serving? "Who did you say?"

"Vloth," Spricket replied dreamily. "He told me once that if someone ever offered me their hand I would know it was true love." Then she started sobbing again. "But I don't have a dowery."

"Spricket, did he really offer you his hand? I mean does he know he's getting married?'

She glanced away. "Maaaaaaybe."

"Don't you think he might get suspicious when he shows up a wedding?"

"I thought I'd drug him until after the wedding."

Gentyl sighed. "So he didn't actually offer you his hand."

Spricket dug around in a bag and pulled out a withered and desiccated hand. "Yes he did."

Gentyl leaned away from the hand. "I see. Well, if you’re sure this is the man you love. I'll help."

Spricket jumped up and down and then hugged Gentyl.

The problem with promising gnomes things was like promising a child something. They never forget and Gentyl simply couldn't abide that hurt look when they were disappointed. The next day she set out to buy sheep from farmers. She'd buy them, take them to AAMS and have them delivered. Should be simple enough.

Simple was never simple. She'd forgotten about the zombie sheep fiasco, but the farmers hadn't. Each farm she approached had the exact same sign on the fence. "No trespassing. Gentyl will be shot on sight."

She went back to the inn and picked up the cherry grog delivery then went out to a pasture to think. She took the top off one for Traveler and poured herself a cup. By the time they'd finished the third keg, Traveler was leaning against a tree trunk with his legs crossed and Gentyl was slumped against the same trunk, hoping Traveler didn't fall on her.

Then it hit her. The solution, not the horse.

Exploding sheep.

Spricket didn't specify what kind of sheep. She just needed a hundred sheep.

Three days later, Gentyl delivered one hundred perfect sheep to the AAMS headquarters. She filled out the bill of lading and handed it to the clerk.

"Is this going to Souleater?"

"No."

"Is it a bomb?"

Gentyl looked at the sheep who looked back at her. "Do they look like bombs?"

The clerk leaned over the counter. "Nope. Look like sheep to me. You sending them to Vloth. You know he'll probably eat them. Did you put an enchantment on them to keep the Grims from eating them?"

"I don't think he'll eat them."

"All right. Up to you. Sign the ticket and we'll get them delivered. Want to send a message?"

"Yes, tell Vloth this is the dowery for Spricket and I wish him much happiness in his married life. Oh, make sure he knows he can thank Gentyl for helping the nuptials along. Spricket asked me to perform the ceremony."

The clerk just shook his head. "Yeah, well, good luck with that one. You got crates for the sheep? We don't want them multiplying like the bunnies did."

2/2

Rillik walked briskly into the AAMS offices, ready for just about anything.

Except sheep.

"What in the Fel is this?!?" Rillik muttered to himself. He looked at the clerk, questions obvious in his expression.

The young man shrugged. "I'm not sure, Mr. Verogoth. They were here when I got here this morning. There is a note from Ms. Aeldgyth saying she is aware of the situation and will be handling the delivery as soon as she gets back."

"Back from where?" Rillik asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure, Mr. Verogoth."

"Is there a shipment manifest for these?"

"Yes, sir. Five score sheep and one letter, to be delivered to a Mr. Vloth of the Grim Maw Clan, from a Ms. Gentyl. The shipment has been paid in full, pre-delivery," replied the clerk, a small amount of irritation present in his voice.

"Phenomenal. So until Ms. Aeldgyth gets back, we have a hundred sheep in crates clogging up the office..." Rillik lamented.

Unless, he thought to himself, I take the initiative on this one. Vasilia did say there might be a promotion for me in the near future. This could be the break I need to push my chances into the 'sure bet' range.

Rillik maneuvered his way around the bleating crates to the front desk and picked up the manifest. "I'll be handling this one. Ms. Aeldgyth has a lot on her plate at the moment."

The clerk raised an eyebrow at him. "If you say so, Mr. Verogoth. Seems like an awfully tall order to handle alone."

"I never said I was doing it alone," Rillik responded with a grin. "Get a hold of the twins, please. I'll need some help with the heavy lifting."

*
*
*

Rillik watched Jol'Casta and Jol'Kayden walk away grumbling to themselves and rubbing their arms with a slight pang of guilt. He probably could have paid them a bit more for their hard work, but as it stood, he wasn't sure just how much of the initial fee would be left over after expenses. After all, he wasn't positive exactly where Vloth would be found. From the rumors he had heard, the Grim Maws were notoriously migrant in their day to day living arrangements.

Ah well, he mused, they'll get over it. Everyone of us had to work our way up from the bottom of the ladder.

He turned his attention to the 2 carts that he and the twins had just finished loading with crates. They had managed to wrangle 4 sheep into each crate, and were able to load 12 crates onto each cart. According to his math, the cost of the 2 carts was a more than acceptable price for this large of a job. Now he just had to figure out a way to drive both carts himself...

"Whassa trouble, boss-lady?" Loxxi hopped on one foot and then the other, trying to peer over the edge of Andelia's heavy wooden desk. Her superior's expression, habitually serene, had been creased with a small furrow between the eyebrows since the day's transfer notices had arrived from the Alliance Branch. A single page lay in front of Andelia, unmoved for many minutes.

"Don't call me boss-lady," Andelia replied automatically. Her eyes never moved from the page. "Sul'fon is our boss, and I don't think he's a lady. Though I try not to make assumptions about people's personal lives."

Loxxi fidgeted. She had an active mind -- an administrative mind, if she did say so herself -- and she wasn't accustomed to being left out of the loop. "Whatever. Is there news on that paper?" She craned her neck. Everything in the Horde was built too big! It was like they'd never expected to host a very-nearly-the-Trade-Princess or some person of similar stature.

"Not really." Andelia looked up at last and slid the paper to the edge of the desk, within Loxxi's reach. Loxxi snatched at it eagerly, but there were only a few short lines on it. "It's just a bill of transfer," Andelia continued. "Sheep. A hundred of them, it seems. Do you think you and your partner could see to it?" She rose, still looking distracted. The worry-line had not gone away. "I...believe I need to look up a few marriage customs. And company policies. Possibly an insurance agent as well."

Loxxi brightened. "Insurance?" she said hopefully. "I used to sell some insurance on the side, back in my Trade Princess days. I know where you could get a really sweet -- "

"That's all right, Loxxi, thank you." Andelia bobbed an absent-minded curtsey, habitually deferential as always. "I'm sure there'll be something in the log books about...this sort of thing. See to the sheep, please."

Loxxi grimaced as she curtsied. Manual labor again! Oh well. She could probably get her friend Timsi to do most of the heavy lifting...

Heads were busily bent over desks when Aeldgyth walked into her office. They stayed down, their owners scribbling industriously, when she walked back out a moment later, looking rather plaintive.

"Does anyone know why there's a sheep in my office?" A faint bleating interrupted Aeldgyth, and she paused, then corrected herself. "Two sheep. One was hiding under the desk. I think the other's eating it. The desk, I mean, not the other sheep." She frowned. "I'm sorry, I must sound a little scattered. Why are there sheep in my office?"

An awkward silence filled the room. Clerks looked at one another...sheepishly, Aeldgyth decided, was the regrettably appropriate word for it. "Er...I believe they were supposed to go into an order," someone finally volunteered. "Got left out of crates. Shipped back here. We, um...thought we'd let you decide what you wanted to do with them."

Aeldgyth sighed. You could live as long as you like -- even die -- and you still didn't get away from stupid sheep pranks. She'd always thought it was a strictly academic perversion, but apparently people thought ungulates were funny outside the galvanized ivory-laminate towers as well. She turned back to her office. A sheep bleated at her.

"Well." She fished in her pockets for a moment and produced a battered pack of goblin cigarillos, a bad habit she'd cheerfully picked up after bodily death rendered the side effects entirely irrelevant. "Who'd have thought my staff would ever get so sloppy. And what a coincidence that it was on the sheep order. Suppose I'll have to herd you down to the docks myself, you mangy little blighter." She struck a match, lit her smoke, and flipped the burning paper irritably at the sheep.

WHOOMP! WHOOMP!

When the stars cleared, the staff was patting frantically at her smoldering white robes and shouting something about a medic. She waved them off with some difficulty and shook charred wool out of her eyes.

"I'm fine, you idiots. Hands off!" She rose with scorched dignity, patting her to make sure her eyebrows were still there. "And someone take a memo. Gentyl either got her dietary instructions seriously wrong, or she left a crucial detail out of her shipping order. I want to talk to her! The rest of you go look for stray sheep or something."

Fuming, she stomped back into her office to assess the damage. Apparently moving away from Gnomeregan, dying, and moving away again still wasn't enough to keep you safe from exploding sheep pranks.

But at least now she could indulge in a little punitive paperwork, to say nothing of rider fees...

The innkeeper apologized again for mixing up the order for cherry grog. "Gen, I can probably sell it here if you don't want it. I'm not sure why they sent a second shipment."

"No, that's fine. I'll take it. Might as well put in another order. I've been riding Traveler a lot lately. It seems to ease his old bones."

The innkeeper scribbled down the order. "Still think it's odd that horse drinks cherry grog. Never really figured out how you make him do that."

She rolled the mint chip around in her mouth. It seemed perfectly natural to her, but she seemed to have this conversation a lot. The last one who asked her how she managed to make Traveler drink grog was Darkmyst. "I don't make him drink it. He likes it. I'm sure most horses would if anyone were polite enough to offer it to them."

"Still, you know what they say, 'you can lead a horse to water--"

"But you can't make him drunk," she finished. "I don't. He likes it."

She tied the kegs on Traveler and mounted carefully. One of these days she was going to have to buy a pack horse. Of course, then she'd have two horses to keep supplied in grog. Luckily, Valor had never developed a taste for grog. He preferred wine and she was too cheap to buy kegs of that for him.

She was just reining Traveler around when a boy ran up to her. "You Gentyl D'Amond?"

"Yes." Probably an orphan looking for a cookie. She rummaged around in her pack for a cookie. There were a few regulations about her not selling cookies to the horde anymore, but no one said she couldn't give them away.

She handed the boy a cookie. "Here you go. Tell the orphanage I'll bring some by later."

He tossed the cookie in his hand. "Awesome, a happy fun rock."

"It's not a…never mind. Have fun with it." Poor child. He must not have ever had a cookie.

"I'm not from the orphanage, though. Miss Aeldgyth wants to talk to about some sheep."

Fel. Maybe they just needed some clarification. Well, there was time enough for that. For now, she needed to treat Traveler's arthritis and she needed to think. It was time to start adding Guards to the unit. They'd never really looked for Guards before. Usually people just came to them. This was a problem worth thinking about a bit.

They were out by their favorite tree when Aeldgyth found them. "Gentyl, we need to talk."

Hmm. The "we need to talk" line was usually directed at Twobits not her. Gentyl glanced at the frowning gnome with her hands planted on her hips. Her robe was singed and sooty. This was one unhappy gnome. No wonder. Gentyl would be unhappy too if she had to wear a robe like that. "Temperius is a tailor. I think he can fix that right up. He just needs…." She stopped to think, what nonsense had Faithe told her about tailoring fees for singed robes? "A soul, broken dreams and tears. I think. Who knows with him? Might be cheaper to buy a new robe."

"I'm not here about the robe. We need to talk about the sheep. Two of them got left behind."

"Oh, that's no problem. I have some extras."

Traveler roused and reached down to lick the gnome.

"Eeew, your horse just licked me!"

"He gets friendly when he's drinking. That's kind of odd, though. I never have the urge to lick anyone when I'm drinking."

"I thought you stopped drinking."

"I did. I've just had to do a lot of thinking lately and it helps me think."

"Did you think you might have warned us about exploding sheep?"

"The clerk just asked me if they were bombs. I don't think technically they are."

"What do you think they are?"

"Sheep."

"We need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Gnomes. Sometimes they get so confused.

It was a bad day.

Vloth had just received word from his ulta-secrect spy among the alliance, one that NO one knew about-- a young warlock named Inglenob-- that there were "new developments" that Vloth must be apprised of! (He didn't like the sound of that.)

The day started off like any other bad day might. First, someone reminded him of how much his dear queen had "Changed" since Deathwing had returned. He loved her. He worshipped her, but he was saddened by Queen Sylvanas' new love for her apothecaries and their plague strains... It reminded him too much of Souleater and his "morality is fine as long as you don't get distracted from your true purpose-- ooo! is that a cookie?!" type of philosophy. He expected more from his beloved savior and queen. He was unhappy, but didn't know how to express it.

Then that damn fool Hellscream asked him to do some stupid task like...travel to Hyjal..or get him something or other. He WANTED to think that this Garrosh guy was an improvement over Thrall. Sylvanas used to bow to Thrall... (he never understood why as she was obviously his superior in every way) but she didn't bow to this son of Hellscream. This... Fool who moved his based to the front of Orgrimmar-- Who in Sargaras' name moves their base of operations to the FRONT of the city?? The same exact place hundred of Gnomes would run naked to, in order to die with glory on top of the Horde Mailbox?? Fool!

Then Maulrush spilled some ale on him. It wasn't that Maulrush spilled the ale that was the issue, it was that Maulrush spilled the ale while giving him a lesson in combat-- Giving him a lesson in single combat, while yawning, that he lost BADLY, while trying to spar with Maulrush--while Maulrush drunkenly fought him half-heartedly with a mug of ale in his left paw-- err hand.

Vloth had been asleep for far too long... *sigh* Beating Maulrush in a duel was never expected.. but losing while Maulrush stood over him, drunkenly swingly a mug of ale as he apologized for not making it more of a sporting challenge??? Oh the shame!!! In his defense, he DID forget to stealth before trying to sap Maulrush... so perhaps that was the start of where things went wrong. He would need to work on that.

And then... just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.... came the message from his spy.

“Dear Most Esteemed Benefactor”, Inglenob’s note began, “a delivery is headed your way of a nature I do not quite comprehend. Mistress Gentyl D'Amond, the lovely leader of Pia Presidium [Why did Inglenob say “lovely”? Was he now also becoming enamored of a human as well??? It was bad enough that this fool servant was smitten with that fearsome warrior, Bebus, but now to be pining for a human?!? It was simply unheard of. Vloth would have to speak with him… or threaten him… or something.] is sending you some sheep. I have been in touch with a contact of mine inside the AAMS, and they confirm this delivery.”

Vloth paused from reading and considered this. Sheep? From Gentyl? What did she think he was, a Paladin? Maybe Tery was into sheep, but he was a Forsaken Rogue! He had long since put thoughts of romance behind him when he passed into the realm of death. No matter, he read on.

“Also, I have heard rumors swirling about Goldshire concerning your dowry to Mistress Springlesprocket--.”

Vloth’s lower jaw (the missing half) dropped open. Spricket? (he gulped.) His marriage to Spricket?? He vaguely recalled some kindly (and somewhat creepy) female Gnome (attractive he was sure as far as Gnomes go—but to Vloth that was akin to saying that one Chicken in Wine Sauce was more attractive than another….) had pursued him romantically. He still wasn’t sure why. It felt like your lunch trying to say, “Hey—Sure I’m a tuna sandwich, but I think you are dreamy, so what say you and me…and the pickle go find a secluded corner and get to know each other a little better, eh? *wink, wink*

In other words…it was awkward. She was certainly NICE… but Ghormaug always told him to never play with his food.

Married?

Dowry??

Vloth hoped that the sheep were at least the exploding type that would put him out of his misery and confusion….

Grindell held up the finished potion bottle. A batch he could be proud of. Love potion number three was finished. All that was left, get out the word to find someone to try it on. There must be someone who needed the boost his love potion could give to any relationship. Taking up a pen and paper he decided to send out letters to all of those he knew ( He had made a list) would be in need of Dr Grindell's special brews.

Ahnni tossed her blond hair over one shoulder dramatically as she walked into Andelia's office. "So like I heard all those sheep the goblins were dealing with were like totally explosive... also that we're like 2 short now or something? And I had like 2 thoughts I guess? I mean 'cause like it would be really bad if the sheep all exploded before we got there 'cause then like she wouldn't have a dowry and stuff. And you know, I don't wanna like... mess up true love or whatever.

ummm.... So Edi, I think it's cuter with an i on the end don't you? And she's a gnome, she should totally have a cute name! Anyway, she set off the sheep or whatever with fire right? So I was thinking if I like encased them in ice that would make them less likely to explode... but probably less likely to breath too... do exploding sheep need to breath?

Also I was thinking maybe I could like turn the goblins into sheep to make up for the 2 we're missing? I mean like sheep that surprise turned into goblins is a lot better than sheep that surprise explode right?"

Ahnni flipped her hair dramatically over the other shoulder and waited for the skeptical looking Andelia to respond. She also wondered if Andelia had ever considered doing her hair differently, those kind of buns had gone out of style years ago. Did she know about the concept of messy buns? Ahnni would have to bring her the latest "Young Lady" (which she special ordered from Stormwind).

Gentyl really needed to go find more materials to replace the two missing sheep. She shouldn't have turned those extras loose on the people who insisted on sitting on top of order givers with their drakes.

Ah, well, she enjoyed tinkering. Of course, she really ought to be tinkering on things of more import than exploding sheep, but what price love?

Vloth paced about the guild hall anxiously. Things were...different since he had woken from his deep slumber. Well okay...sure, Frostfall's siblings were all elves. Each and every one of them.... He could somehow get over that. Even this new paladin one *uggh...*. And okay, maybe Souleater was back and still the same old Souleater. And Maulrush still had fleas-- but the point was this- Things were different. First- someone told him that Arthas had been defeated. The Lich King? Defeated??? Riiiiiiggght. He wasn't going to fall for that one! Second, Atok was nowhere to be seen, but there was now this priest named Dabney that harrassed Vloth in a similar manner. It was almost as if Atok's personality had been trapped within the body of this new Priest. Very perplexing....

Then there was the fact that Southshore was now a Horde property. Sure, He always assumed it would be-- especially with all those damn battles from Tarren Mill, but apparently the Horde won while he was asleep. On the other hand, the Taurens at Camp Taurejo looked emaciated and puny when he flew over the camp the other day. He noted that they had put up the Alliance banners of the humans they had recently defeated, apparently in preparation to burn them in victory. He wished he could have stopped to aid them and cheer them on. They did look odd and sickly from way above though....

But now this... this... odd delivery just a few minutes prior.............


"Special Delivery for one Mr. Vloth!"

"Err... from who?"

"AAMS, sir!"

Vloth hid. He called out from where he had vanished behind a bookcase "Who is the delivery from?"
"From a Gentyl D' Armond"

Vloth hid even further. He squeaked with apprehension…”errr… it isn’t rabbits is it? Please say it isn’t rabbits.”

“No sir” came the reply from behind the still-closed-door. “It’s sheep. 98 healthy sheep.”

Vloth did a facepalm in resignation.

“Are they bombs?”

“No sir. We were promised they were not bombs, but sheep. AAMS has a strict policy not to deliver bombs following that incident in Dustwallow---“

“I see” Vloth interrupted. “Okay, leave them in the penn.” He sighed heavily. “Is there a note attached? Did she say what they were for?”

“Hmm… no note. We were told to deliver them quickly and with a cheerful demeanor as it was part of a dowry.”

Vloth cried. No really—he cried. “LEAVE ME!” he screamed at the messenger as he threw open the door, tossed a few gold coins at the delivery person and slammed the door shut again in anger.

So… Gentyl was playing that game was she? She was in on this entirely UNFUNNY joke concerning this Gnome and her infatuation with him. It just didn’t make sense. First of all, Spricket Sprinklesprocket had LONG since gotten over her crush on him. He vaguely recalled a letter of proposal she had written to his good friend, Abominus, courting him after moving on from Vloth.



Dear Mister Really Neat and Only Slightly Maggoty Abominus Sir,

I would like to take an opportunity and tell you, once again, that you may have my hand in marriage. Granted, said hand might not still be attached, prolly not the one with which I was born, but a hand nonetheless!

I think with your maggots and slight speech impediment, and my disgusting oozeling and stream of consciousness speech, we would make an unstoppable pair. I find you to be just as handsome as the day you were buried, and I know that with my cooking you could actually put some meat on those bones.

I think you will find me a worthy mate. I have 227 sheep, and while yes it's true that only two are still alive, they are good and faithful sheep. Very few of them still run the risk of aspodelies. I am also a very nice talented mage with a rabid sense of decorum and a lusty need to kill things. Perferably blood elves with an occaisional Obain thrown in for good measure.

Please consider me for your next conquest. I believe you will find me short and tasty - I mean wonderful and a good companion!

Yours, because Vloth wants to eat me and probably not because I'm so tasty but because I'm a gnome and rather gamey,

Spricket Sprinklesprocket
Queen of the Ittey Bitty Kittey Committee

She was wrong of course. He didn’t want her because he was a bachelor for life, and he didn’t believe in marrying his food group. Heck- he didn’t believe in DATING a food group. That was akin to Gunji dating a dragon flank! Unheard of. Apparently Abominus had turned her down. Poor thing. Vloth did momentarily wonder how frisky her sheep must have been (the two remaining living ones) to have procreated enough in the time he had slept to create 96 more…. Wow… and he thought Gentyl’s snowshoe rabbits were amorous….

The thing that concerned him—the thing that TRULY concerned him-- was this hole bit about a hand. THIS was why he had been pacing as the AAMS messenger arrived.
Just hours before he had received another message and delivery, this one from an agent of his, one that noone at all knew worked for him—a young Gnome Warlock by the name of Inglenob.


The letter went as follows:

“Dear Esteemed Mr. Vloth,

I have searched high and low on your behalf for the items you have sent me to acquire. After two months of searching I can only say this, and with all due respect—what kind of fool loses his hands in the first place? Uh, sir. With respect. (Err.. please don’t kill me.) What I mean to say is, I understand that you had your hands cut off following that battle in the Arena with Orodrain. And yes, I’m sure that a resourceful gentlemen such as yourself would have no problem without them (I do wonder how you managed to fish though….), and I was happy to hear that they were finally healed and re-grew under the magics of Miss Frostfall—but to not know where your hands were all that time?? Regardless, in my searching on your behalf I was able to find and acquire this one hand. I will spare you the stories of what it was being used as/for when I found it. I will however suggest you have it thoroughly washed, disinfected, and de-cursed before using—hell, before even touching it. Yeeech. As to the other hand, I could find no trail or mention of its whereabouts. Its location is a complete mystery to me, and all inquiries as to where it might be were met with blank stares of disgust and bewilderment. Except that one time when I asked a pretty Gnome lass and she snickered, blushed, and stammered before shrugging her shoulders and also denying any knowledge. So I am sad to report (please don’t kill me) that I have only found this one hand. I hope you are happy. You already have two new ones, what do you need these for anyway??? (Please don’t kill me.)

Your trusty and loyal servant,

Inglenob



Vloth briefly considered killing him. Gnome lass…? *SIGH*

That could pose a problem…. He once told Spricket (by way of “letting her down easy”) that she didn’t want to waste her time fawning over a heartless Forsaken (him) when she could do far better (that is what you are supposed to say, right?), and that she would know true love when someone who really and truly cared about her gave her his hand.

*GULP*

And now this….

Spricket may have acquired his hand…. Literally instead of figuratively. She DID realize he meant it figuratively right? Right??? *sigh* And for the record he did not GIVE it to her. She seemed to have aquired it through the black market somehow. (Vloth pondered momentarily as to why there was a market for Forsaken hands.)

Ah well, he had better tend to those sheep. Since he wasn’t much of a mutton fan himself, he went out to the penn, gathered them up, and led them down to the kitchens of the Grim Maw Clan. At least the orcs would be happy with the plentiful dinner options.

What was that ticking sound??

Xanedina watched Vloth enter the guild Hall through the corner of her eyes. She continued putting on her nail polish though. A good manicure is important. Xane finished painting her nails & blew on them to dry them as Vloth started to explain his problem. She picked up her Ruby Star lipstick & put that on using the inside of her shield as a mirror. xane couldn't wait to show Melethril the new color lipstick & nail polish she'd picked up. They matched perfectly! She blotted her lipstick, checked her hair & then sauntered over to Vloth.

"So you need another hand to avoid marriage to a gnome?" Xane frowned. "How did YOU get engaged to a gnome?" Xane leaned back & crossed her arms. This should be good.


(That pali Vloth mentioned dubiously before. The sort of sibling of Frostfall just HAD to make an appearance.)

"I'm awfully sorry, boss." Loxxi handed Andelia a piece of cheap, crumpled paper. The ink was smeared and illegible in places. "We got held up at Customs. They gave us this!"

Andelia squinted dubiously. The single sheet had clearly been run off a cheap printing press, probably one that hadn't been well-maintained, and the ink on it smelled vaguely of fish. At least she knew it was an official Steamwheedle Cartel document. No one could counterfeit that level of negligence.

---

NOTICE OF OFFICIAL ACTION
STEAMWHEEDLE CARTEL PORT OF CALL

Crates 2079A-2079G, sender AAMS-A, recipient AAMS-H, held for inspection at Cartel Port Booty Bay. Contents deemed suspicious under clause 1098C ("Possible Involvement in a Plot to Replace Us with Hyper-Intelligent Sheep") and clause 2945A ("Funny-Smelling Livestock Act, Make Sure Someone Else Eats It Section").

Crates cleared for transport after delay. Sender is eligible for "Time is Money" refund of 13g for delay. Sender is charged 479g for Customs Official Union wages.

Balance Due: 468g

---

An official stamp below was cracked and crooked. Andelia rubbed her temples. They'd even gotten the math wrong, she noticed. At least it explained where all the sheep had been.

"Well, no matter. We'll get these delivered to Vloth as soon as possible. He'll be glad to have the remainder catch up." Andelia peered out her office window into the courtyard. "Er -- that is the entirety of the remainder, isn't it?"

"Well...most of it, Miss Delia, ma'am." Andelia watched in dismay as Loxxi's toe made little circles on her carpet. "It's just...well, they are sheep, you know, even if maybe some of them also explode? We think some might have...chewed their boxes. There's some holes."

Andelia could feel a headache threatening behind her eyes. She nodded slowly. "I'll deliver what we have," she said. "And...explain the situation. As best I can. No doubt he'll just be happy to have the matter of the dowry cleared up. I'm sure he's looking forward to the happy day."

She wasn't, she reflected as she made her way out to oversee the wagons of sheep, really sure about anything of the sort. With the distinct feeling of a woman who'd drawn the short straw, she beckoned for her hawkstrider...

Everything was grey. Vloth looked at the ghostly angelic figure standing before him and the frowning guildmates who shuffled in a 10' range of him. Most where putting their face in their palm. Some were refusing to even look at him. Souleater seemed to be giving him a "thumbs up!" for a job well done.

Impatiently Vloth looked up.


[Resurrection in 23 seconds]


*sigh*

There was going to be hell to pay. He was pretty sure once all the color came back and he was restored to the living that the guildhall would be in tatters. It was hard to tell in this ghostly, grey state. He supposed he could always go off and try to find his corpse as a few of the others seemed to be doing. Souleater, he noted, had stayed behind. He really did appear to be grinning with delight.


[Resurrection in 15 seconds]


At least that explained the ticking. He assumed (incorrectly) that the ticking sound was due to ticks. After all, these were farm animals, that were penned outside. And ticks had to be called ticks for a reason, he conjectured. The AAMS would be hearing from him. They specifically told him these sheep were not bombs! He'd demand a refund, but then he hadn't paid anything, so he didn't think that would work.


[Resurrection in 4 seconds]


Well, at least with the sheep destroyed, and no trace beyond that of a few gears embedded into the remaining wall fragments of the guildhall, he could deny any "dowry" had been sent. This bought him time to find another hand to swap out for the one Spricket apparently had. Maybe Dabney would lend him a hand. He didn't need to know what it was for, and Dabney was a priest, so he'd never even miss it. He could heal/grow one back. Or mind control someone into giving them one of theirs..?

*The world flashed back into color and became apparent around him*

They all seemed to be standing there, advancing on him....

"Uh... now Demonseed.... uh... Roxavi... Look here, Nikomus... I uh... it wasn't my fault! I was told they were sheep!" (Vloth backed away slowly pleading with them)
"Look, Gentyl did this. She's behind this-- Focus everyone! Remember the havoc with the snowshoe bunnies? And now this? Shouldn't we focus on the person who is truely to blame?"

Dabney smirked. "You mean, the Rogue that went and got engaged to a Gnome?"

Vloth gasped! "I DID NOT GET-- Gah!" He threw his arms up into the air in frustration and vanished just as Orgonash and Drewpid prepared to jump him and put him in shackles or whatever they intended to do to him. He wasn't sure what the fuss was really all about. After all, the guildhall had needed some serious cleaning and renovation for quite a while now-- ever since Ziek moved back in actually... so this just accelerated things.

Aeldgyth suspected the Steamwheedle Cartel Stevedore's Union had sent one of their recruitment poster models this time. He was tall (for a goblin) and powerfully muscled, his head shaved smooth and lightly oiled; his teeth gleaming white and clenched rakishly around a little wooden spike. The words GONNA ROLL THE UNION ON were proudly tattooed around what appeared to be a cannon-laden steamship drawn on his bicep. Aeldgyth was fairly sure battleships didn't actually roll except when you dry-docked them, but she was willing to believe it was some nautical expression. They seemed to have lots of those.

With an effort, she focused on the enormous crate -- he had carried it in casually on one shoulder! -- and the paperwork laid atop it. "So exactly what am I looking at here, Mr....?" She trailed off, raising one eyebrow suggestively. She stood as she spoke, and wished she'd worn leggings instead of robes to work. Aeldgyth was tall for a gnome, a good three inches above average, and she didn't mind showing her legs off when the occasion warranted.

"Hardtacks, mum. Brassy Hardtacks." The wooden splinter shifted from one side of Brassy's mouth to the other without disturbing his laconic grin. It was clearly no ordinary toothpick; its glossy surface had been painstakingly varnished. "It's sheep parts. Wool, mostly, an' some shrapnel. That's, uh, the sharp bits a'metal, mum." He tapped his forehead deferentially. "I guess one a'your folks's crates sat a little long, an' there was a kinda haxxident as you'd call it. Not sure what all got lost, rightly, beggin' yer pardon, mum."

Aeldgyth grimaced. The Steamwheedle Cartel seemed to be fond of making her packages sit a little too long whenever she had to ship through Booty Bay. Rivalry, no doubt, and she devoutly hoped they'd gotten all the sheep-related explosions they deserved, preferably inside their own customs house. "I see," she said, "and the rest of the shipment?"

Brassy brightened. Even his scalp seemed to gleam more cheerfully. "Well, 'ats the good news, mum," he assured her. "See, a coupla goblin ladies what was representin' yer outfit picked up th'first few loads, an' we didn' realize there was more 'til it started explod -- uh, agifyin' unexpectedly. But we figger, you AAMS folks moves so much goods, we'll just slip whatever un-sploded crates we find in wit' th'next orders an' get it all ta yer Horde Branch attaway." He grinned proudly. "It was whatchacallit, like when they cuts knots open. Literal thinkin'."

"Lateral," Aeldgyth corrected automatically. She sank back down behind her desk. The hollow feeling in her stomach, she regretfully decided, had nothing to do with excessively handsome goblins. "Do you mean to tell me that the first load of sheep we delivered to the Horde Branch was incomplete -- and that packages of those same sheep are now going out with all our couriers on that side?"

Brassy beamed like the sun. "'Ats tha very picture I wanted ta paint yers, mum," he rumbled happily.

Visions of brisk, white-robed couriers fanning out from the Bay with Vloth's sheep -- with Spricket's dowry sheep -- swam before Aeldgyth's eyes. The fact that the sheep were undoubtedly explosive made matters worse, of course, but the dowry was incomplete. That was what mattered. Dowries were important to gnomes of good breeding; if Aeldgyth had ever had time for marriage she would have insisted on a sizable one herself. She felt faint.

"Thank you, Mr. Hardtacks," she managed. "Ah...that will be all, and I please hope we can do business again." She stumbled slightly over her tongue, not even really noticing his faint air of disappointment as she ushered him out. Something had to be done. The very reputation of the AAMS was at stake. Locking the door, and sealing all the shutters, she sat down at her desk. With trembling hands, she took up a blank paper and a quill and wrote:

MEMO: PLEASE LET ME HAVE GENTYL D'AMOND MURDERED.

She stopped there and thought very hard. After a long moment, she added:

HORRIBLY.

Feeling much better, she tore the paper up, burned it, and sealed the ashes in several different bags, to be dispersed in windy places by her staff. It would never do, of course. But it had been a nice thought. Taking up a fresh sheet, she began to write in a much steadier hand:

URGENT MEMO: ALL HORDE COURIERS

SHEEP CRATES TO BE DELIVERED TO VLOTH AND VLOTH ONLY. ANY COURIER WITH SHEEP CRATES TO REDIRECT IMMEDIATELY TO VLOTH OF THE GRIM MAW CLAN. MAKE DELIVERY PERSONALLY.

Signing it, she felt greatly relieved. No doubt there would be more delays. It was awkward, not their best showing by a long shot, but at least the sheep would get where they were supposed to. They might well trickle in a few at a time, over the course of days or even weeks, but she was sure Vloth would be happier getting weeks of unending sheep deliveries than he would not getting the sheep at all! And Spricket would surely be happy.

Feeling much better about herself, Aeldgyth made a note to see if the Stevedore's Union was doing a calendar order this year.

While peons and new recruits cleared the rubble away from the remnants of the guld hall, Taran listened to Vloth's explanation of how he came to be bethrothed. While he listened delicate ideas prickled around in his head...

"Vloth, joo be sayin' dat joor hands was taken from joo... cut off at da wrists or sometin... an' dat may be how da ankle-bita be gettin it..."

Vloth explained "I had lost a duel, and he just chopped them off!!! I didn't know it would come to this"

"So.. joo didn't give her joor hand, someone else gave it to her"

"Right! But she thinks that because she has my hand, that we are to be married!!"

"Now, I an' I be knowin dat ownaship be a hard ting fer joo ta be undastandin', but listen to ol' Taran. When dat stinkin' Alliance ruffin' be takin' joor hands, dey became HIS hands, not joors... So when dey be givin' ta da gnomie, dey was givin' dere OWN hands away... jes because da flesh was from joor body, don' mean dat dey were JOOR hands ta be given away in marriage. Joo kin be off da hook fer dis!"

"But it's MY hand!!" Vloth howled. "I want it back!!"

"Vloth, joo need ta be careful here... if joo give her a differen' hand, joo'd be givin' one of joor own free will.. dat WOULD be givin' her joor hand!"

"This is terrible, I am going to be married to FOOD!"

"Kin we be makin' da bride inta an hour'd'eurve? She be about da right size..."

Vasilia was sitting at one of the sturdy tables at the Feather's Tavern going over her paperwork and enjoying a glass of ice cold milk. It was her first day back after Ms. Aeldgyth had given her a night off. Now there was paperwork to do, since she seemed to be the only one keeping the filing up to date.

That's when she walked in. A figure that both branches of the AAMS has become well acquainted with over the last few weeks; and she wasn't empty handed.

"Oh no..." whispered Vasilia, quickly shuffling her papers into her satchel.

"Ah, Ms. Starfallen, I had hoped you would be here." exclaimed Gentyl, walking over and putting a crate on the floor next to the table with a small thud.

"Ms. Gentyl, it is a pleasure to see you again." replied Vasilia.

The crate rustled softly and made a low "Baaaaaa" sound.

Looking at the crate, Vasilia hesitantly asked, "Is that what I think it is? I thought we delivered them all already?"

"Yup! Another sheep for you. Well, the same sheep for you. It would appear that this one managed to get away and find her way back home." replied Gentyl, "I suppose those goblin's broke a few crates while handling them."

"Yes, Ms. Aeldgyth did mention that this shipment ran into numerous difficulties getting through customs. It seems the Goblins are a bit worried about so many sheep being moved at once." stated Vasilia, looking down at the crate, half expecting it explode at any moment.

"Well, you better get this one transferred to Vloth, I am sure he is upset about being one short." said Gentyl, grinning ear to ear after thinking about Vloth counting out 99 exploding sheep. "I will let you know if any more make their way back to Stormwind."

"Yes Ma'am, I will get this off right away." quickly replied Vasilia.

And with that, Gentyl smiled, turned and walked out of the tavern leaving Vasilia with another sheep to deliver.

"I guess I better find a safe place to put you until I can arrange another transfer with Sul'fon horde side. They wont be too happy about getting another sheep. I think Ms. Aeldgyth's office is out of the question this time, especially since she has just repainted it after the last two sheep..." said Vasilia, giving a small sigh as she wrote a few quick notes and picked up the crate.

"Baaaaaaa" replied the crate....

Vloth tapped on the blueprints as he oversaw recontruction of the new Guildhall. Well.. perhaps oversaw was a bit of an over-statement. He was told to keep out of the way and assist carrying things, but he was sure that was merely an oversight.

"Put the embalming fluild cauldron over there to the left a little more." The orc worker, having no idea what Vloth was referring to as the plans showed a rectangle and the label read, 'Table', merely nodded and said, "Zug, zug." As the boney foresaken smiled his approval and proceeded to lose interest in him, the Orc assumed that was the correct response and the problem was averted. He went back to work building the table.

Vloth liked being in charge. He felt like the contruction foreman as he pointed and provided immensely helpful suggestions on how they could do things better.

"You aren't in charge. Please stand over to the side more and keep out of the way."

Gah! "Demonseed, stay out of my internal monologue!"
"I'll stay out of your bizarre internal monologue once it becomes internal" said the warlock. "You've been talking out loud this entire time and it's really unnerving to those of us who actually ARE in charge and are trying to rebuild the guildhall!"

Vloth sighed. That explosion really seemed to have shaken him up. He vaguely became aware of an object causing him to itch near his neck. As he went to scratch whatever it was, his boney hand happened upon the cause of the unpleasant feeling-- a scrap of paper, mostly singed and charred. Odd...he thought, what's this?

--------- essaging Service
Horde Deliveries Division

-Recept of Delivery:
100 (*crossed out*) 98 sheep. Remaining 2 sheep on backorder, and will be delivered once crates are located.


Vloth had not noticed that part before. Usually with these things he just scribbled his name without reading the document. Apparently there were two more sheep en route. He did a doubletake as he looked at the delicate and costly construction going on around him.

"YOU!"
"Work, work?" answered the peon, as he finished the last table leg.

"No, not work, work! Guard, guard! I want all AAMS messengers driven off or killed on sight. under NO circumstances does ANYONE accept a delivery from them! Do you understand? Find me guards and make sure no one accepts any packages! And for the love of Sylvanas, anything that looks, smells, or sounds like a sheep is to be immedately taken far away and pushed off a cliff."

"Right away." The Peon went back to finishing the table.

Vloth started to pull his hair out, but realized he had so little left that it was better to find other ways of releaving his frustration. He sought out some actual guards and repeated what he had just said.

If the sheep weren't delievered, then a "dowry" could not be considered "accepted"! He would be free from this awful situation, merely by avoiding all AAMS people and not accepting any packages. He immediately grabbed his fishing pole and tackle box, and headed off on a prolonged holiday to a secluded spot, confident that there was no way they could find him to deliver the remaining sheep. Errr, bombs. Oh.... whatever.