World of Warcraft®

Spriggel squirmed at the desk, and fussed with the stacks of papers, trying first three and then four stacks, checking the aesthetic appeal. Confirming her theory that three was the more pleasant number, Spriggel patted the papers into place, not really caring how neatly they actually were stacked and pointedly avoided the blank sheet before her.
This was the most unpleasant part of the AAMS job, writing reports, and she wished someone else could do it for her. At that thought, she jumped down from the desk and checked out the closet; she’d heard that some orc had taken up residence there, who she hoped to recruit for these unpleasant secretarial duties, but she didn’t see any evidence of him, except perhaps a pile of chicken feathers off in the corner.

She glanced around to be sure Derscha wasn’t in the office and slid the red hat with whitish (?) polka dots out of her pack, shaking her head and sticking fingers through some of the larger holes. “I don’t know if a haberdasher will be able to fix this, but I pray to the Light one can.” Girren had mentioned one Randeway, who might be able to repair this hat, but Spriggel despaired of it ever looking like its original self. And that’s the only way she could return it to Derscha and NOT returning it was out of the question. Stymied by the conundrum, Spriggel climbed back on the desk and turned to the report as the easier of two evils.

With a heavy sigh and with a last hopeful look out the front door (no such luck, Secretaries R’Us did NOT send over a temp), Spriggel sat upon the desk (kicking one of the paperstacks off onto the floor where it would just have to sit until she was finished), checked the tip of the pencil (regrettably sharpened by herself minutes ago and somehow still well pointed during the wait), picked up the paper, clipped it onto her writing board, centered the paper, moved the paper a little to the right, moved it back to the left, set the paper at a cocky angle, straightened it back up, sighed, checked the pencil tip one last time, then sighed again and resigned herself to writing.

As she rambled through her writeup, mindless of tense and proper time order (Derscha would just have to sort it out), she reflected on the quasi-success of her evening: At least she had got the hat, or at least its earthly remains . . . .

(While Spriggel wrote up the dry detailed report she mused that this was how things really should have been:)

((a sleazy PI type voice narration))

She walked into the office as though she owned the place. That dame had it. And she knew it.
“Derscha’s my name,” she sighed in that sultry deep voice of hers that had made harder gnomes than me melt. “I need your help, PI Spriggel. And I need it BAAAAD.”

What could I do? I had to take the case. She relayed to me her story; her pauses for a deep breath kept me riveted. I won’t bore you with the details for she did go on & on; the gist of it was: A break-in at the AAMS office (evidenced by the disarray of paperwork on her desk) and the disappearance of an important near priceless artifact. She rambled on about the artifacts description in glowing terms (Family heirloom, worn by kings, one of a kind, blah blah blah) but in the end, all I really needed to know was this: it was a red hat with white polka dots and she was mighty fond of it. Lucky hat!

She’d last seen it the prior day, or maybe sometime during the past week; she wasn’t certain. She WAS clear that it had been on top of her desk, a desk surprisingly like the one I was currently sitting on, and she gently rubbed her hand on the desk top in the location she last set the hat. You can imagine my desk envy.

I agreed to take the case for the usual fee and had her take me back to her office. She walked ahead of me and, since it wasn’t a long walk, I wasn’t able to enjoy the view as much as I may have liked. As she had noted, her office looked surprisingly like mine. I scanned the room, checking out every detail: The desk (neatly organized, not a paper out of place), the closet (smelled a bit like a barnyard, oddly enough), a bulletin board full of notices, them gams of hers. It was a lovely office.

To keep up appearances, I inspected the door for signs of forced entry (as I suspected, there weren’t any) and I asked the lovely lady who all had been in the office recently. She listed off a score of people; apparently she ran a food delivery service (chicken for the Alliance; cats for the Horde *shudder*; eggs for both) and saw a lot of traffic on any one day. I told her to write a list of all who she could recall. Of particular note to me, were her head assistant, a gnome DK who she just couldn’t live without; her lesser assistant, Arietha; two shifty goblins (redundant I know but there was something about these 2 that got my nose twitching); and an orc who may or may not have gone missing.

The head assistant sounded like an upright gnome, so it was clear I probably wouldn’t need to interview her. I met Arietha, when she briefly stepped into the office and it was clear to my experienced eye that she could not have been involved. The orc, well, he was currently out (or lost, there seemed to be some confusion with regards to him). As for the goblin ladies, they had made a chicken delivery (sounded delicious) to some hoodlums up in Aerie Peak, and I figured if I hurried I might just catch the two of them there in the Terra Incognito hideout.

But to be well prepared, I checked in first with my dwarven contacts in the Forlorn Caverns. They had heard of Terra Incognito AND the menagerie of guards they were known to employ. I was told to pick up some sugar cubes, pumpkins, and grappes before I left. So I did. Per their directions, as my taxi gryphon circled the Aerie for our landing, I tossed pumpkins down to the gryphons perched below. Obviously I didn’t think that one through; pumpkin puree splattered the area. The gryphons did NOT appreciate it; nor did their dwarven handlers. So I was forced to make a hasty and undignified retreat out of the Aerie and down the hill. I made a mental note to update my contacts with the correct protocol when I returned to Ironforge and kicked. Their. Sorry. Behinds. I found the local pub where I bought a few rounds for the local dwarves and chatted them up to confirm the remaining information I’d been told.

Well fortified, I approached the hoods’ hideout and, most suspiciously, I did NOT smell barbecued chicken. I had to wonder: what were those goblin dames up to? And how were the Terra Incognito involved? But since I was here, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a look around; I hadn’t heard any signs of habitation inside so it was likely safe so long as I was quick about it. And I was known for being quick.

Peering through the doorway and down into the Terra Incognito hideout, I noticed the usual signs of habitation (barring actual people): armor in various stages of repair, a banked fire in the fireplace, table and chairs with papers scattered on the table along with a mug and plate, a fawn figurine sitting on the floor to give the place a nice cozy feel, shelves with various objects – hah! including a splash of red & white color on one near the fireplace. Hmm, this might be easier than I thought and, as I had seen no signs of the guardian tallstider or cub, I hurried on down.

Reaching up to grab the red object off the shelf, I froze in my tracks, my elation insta-deflated, as something big and hairy whuffled down my neck, blowing my hair around and into my face. I ask you: Have you ever felt the cold of dwarven steel on the back your neck and heard the unmistakable sound of a trigger cocking? This was worse; I may have shrieked, but that doesn’t make me any less of a PI, I tell you; anyone would have. Slowly I turned my head, keeping my body still, thinking my time was up, and another whuffle blew my hair into my eyes. Blinking and brushing my hair aside, I looked up. And up some more.

He had 4 mean looking feet on the ground, and I could tell that he knew how to use them. A barrel body connected to a long neck that soared his head way up in the air and two big monster eyes completed the package. That fawn meant business and he had me right were he wanted me with my back pressed in the corner by the fireplace. Turns out he wasn’t a figurine after all. Very sneaky! I could appreciate that. Just not at the moment.

Not having time to check it out, I stuffed the red object in my pocket and grabbed a couple of sugar cubes, hoping to bribe the guard. That sugar thief wasn’t happy with just those two cubes, no. Instead, he shook me down for all that I had, but at least he let me go unhoof-marked. I’m not ashamed to say, my nerves were shot to fel and I was thinking that I couldn’t make my way fast enough back to that local pub for a little nerve settling.

“PEEP!”
(NOW I would need to be stopping somewhere else first to clean myself up.)

That alarm sounded almost in my ear as I crept down the hall leading to the entrance, and once again I shrieked. The jig was up! Hands in the air I turned and looked up at two beady eyes, a kaleidoscope of feathers, and the wrong end of a beak. The guard strider (where in fel did HE come from?) had found me and set off the alarm. “Peep!” again it shrilled, before the first ringing of my ears had cleared. Looking about for the incoming troops, I barely caught out of the corner of my eye that the strider skittered off. When I turned he was gone; he was fast. You can bet I was outta there in as fast of a flash, wondering why Terra Incognito employed such a useless guard and how could I get further compensation from my lady client.

I hoped this hat, if hat it was, was worth it and she’d show me some gratitude when I made it back to the office.

ha, too funny. good work.

((Lawl!

This was really far more than I was expecting. Excellent work.

And yes, the hat is very, very dear to Derscha, above any other hat that she owns... it's her favorite hat for a reason! ))