World of Warcraft®

The Steamywind Cartel is proud to present the debut of Quillsy Inkspinner's latest series of steamy romance novels, My You're a Tall One, inspired by real-life adventurers of Azeroth. The first volume, The Sword of Oarwind, is already set to top the bestseller lists. The Sword of Oarwind is available now from all major bookstores.

An excerpt from The Sword of Oarwind:

Wearing nothing but his loincloth, Oarwind threw his head back and let out a bestial roar, thrusting his great, big sword deep into the soft belly of a gnoll. "Unhand the maiden at once, you fiends!" The last of the gnolls scattered, leaving behind a young gnome still tied to a tree. The gnome was in full bloom, no more than thirty-eight years old. Her hair, as green as emeralds, sprouted high from her head in two springy pigtails.

"Oh! Sir Oarwind! You came for me!" said the gnome.

Oarwind strutted towards her, his muscles glistening under a sheen of sweat. He said, "Yes, it is I, Sir Oarwind! Fear not, sweet gnome, you shall be safe in my arms!"

"Oh, Sir Oarwind! Your sword! It is so big! And where are your clothes? Why, you're in nothing but your loincloth!"

Oarwind threw back his head and laughed. He said, "I lost my clothes in the heat of battle, sweet gnome!"

The gnome maiden squeaked and lost consciousness. Oarwind rushed to her side and untied her at once. He cradled her in his arms and watched the gnome's cherry red lips part as if she was trying to speak. Oarwind leaned in close so that he could hear her, so close that he could smell her. She smelled like cherry pie. Oarwind said, "Yes, fair maiden? What is it you're trying to say?"

The gnome fluttered her eyelashes and whispered softly, "My ... you're a tall one ..."

Quillsy Inkspinner lives in Dun Morogh with her husband and twenty-six fluxfire felines. She has a PhD in Inscription and Creative Writing from The Arcane University. She is represented by the Overspark Literary Agency.

Purchase your copy of The Sword of Oarwind (My You're a Tall One, Volume One) by Quillsy Inkspinner today!

COMING SOON: My You're a Tall One, Volume Two, The Staff of Pimperon

Sizy orders five copies for herself and a few friends then swoons as she leafs through the pages. I'm not going to get these goggles done with this exceptional reading material unread, she thought to herself. Better finish it right away so I can start my fourth and fifth readings and then get back to work. The gnome plops down with book in lap in the middle of the store aisle and ignores the world around her.

*cackles madly*

Around the time of Sizy's fifth--let's be honest, sixth--reading, a cardboard tube arrives in the post for her. Inside is a letter and a glossy poster.

Dear Valued Customer,

Thank you for your recent purchase of five or more copies of a Steamywind Cartel title. We hope you enjoy this limited edition poster to commemorate the latest chart-topping bestseller from Quillsy Inkspinner, The Sword of Oarwind, Volume One of the My You're a Tall One series.

Kind regards,
Erich L. Jenkins
Public Relations
Steamywind Cartel

The poster is a riveting depiction of Oarwind wearing nothing but a loincloth, fighting a rabid bear with his bare hands.

A squee of delight echoes through the small gnome's workshop. The poster in her grease covered hands unfurls as she runs over to the wall of half-completed schematics and plans where her partially covered poster of McSteamygear in his medical robes resides. She pulls out thumbtacks, abandoned schematics fluttering to the floor, to hang her new pride and joy. With a quick step up onto her latest completed invention, the StompLift, Sizy stomps her foot activating the lifting device so she can make sure the dreamy Oarwind is hung visibly from her workshop desk top.

After she's hung her new poster with great care and a few attempted cleaning swipes from her oil rag to remove her grease fingerprints, she swoons, nearly falling from her lift. She steadies herself and stomps the StompLift to activate it's drop mechanic and decides an arm rail might be a useful add on with Oarwind around. No matter how many times she breaks her goggles invention for her friend Khromie, today is a good day.

Staring at the poster while reading the book for the thirteenth time, Sizy looks up from the busted goggle frames. Excitement boiled under her skin and in her blood. Khromie would understand after she saw the poster, wouldn't she? Sizy hopped on Pippo's back, book in hand. She yelled for the bear to take her to the bar to find and pick up Khromie. Then she opened the book for read number fourteen and a satisfied sigh.

Orwyn walked into the off-duty room just in time to hear Chambliss say in an unusually high falsetto voice, "My....you're a tall one." A few hushed snickers quickly tailed off as Orwyn looked over to the group of officers clustered around a table. A bit of coughing and studious concentration on parts of the room not in the direction of Orwyn ensued.

Orwyn stared pointedly at Chambliss and asked, "anything to report, Corporal?"

Turning slightly red, Chambliss leaped to his feet and saluted. "Just going over some new intel with the men sir!"

Orwyn gave Chambliss "the look," and was about to say something, when his communicator went off. He paused to listen, then sighed heavily at the conclusion of the message. "I've been summoned back to the keep." Orwyn frowned. "Be sure to share that information with Lieutenant Masser, Corporal. She'll need to be aware of any new developments."

Chambliss' eyes glazed over as he stared fixedly at a point slightly above Orwyn's head. "Yes, sir!"

Orwyn gave the assembly one final collective frown, then turned and walked out the door. As he left he thought her heard someone say, "didn't the Commander seem a bit overdressed?" followed by some sniggering, but he couldn't take the time to investigate and miss his meeting. It probably wasn't important, anyway.

It was a slow afternoon at the Blue. Khromie was lying on the bar-top, Van Winkle the yeti by her side, reading aloud from "the most importantest book of all time ever", The Sword of Oarwind. Khromie wasn't exactly sure why her friends were laughing so much at such an emotionally charged and tender story of love, but she was enjoying the tale too much--for the seventh time--to dwell on it.

"As the Tauren warrior tore through the trees, Oarwind realized that he had just one weapon left to defend himself with. Oarwind ripped off his loincloth and grabbed a stone from the ground. He swung the makeshift slingshot high over his head and let out a battle cry that sent his blood pumping with excitement. 'For the Alliance!' Oarwind shouted as he fired a shot at the oncoming enemy."

One of the serving girls made cat-calls from the kitchen while another fanned herself with a dish towel. Van Winkle purred as Khromie read on.

"Oarwind's loincloth shot true. The Tauren was smacked square in the face by the stone and fell to the ground with a thud. The gnomish maiden, Esmeralda, who had been looking on with fear now cheered. 'Oh, Oarwind,' she said, 'I knew you could defeat that scary Tauren! Your greatest weapon has been with you all along!'

Oarwind looked at her, confused. 'Fair Esmeralda, do you mean my loincloth slingshot?' Esmeralda shook her head, giggling, her pigtails bouncing. 'No, Oarwind, I mean that great big sword you were born with..." Esmeralda's gaze began to drift down from Oarwind's eyes ..."

Joachim Brenlow wiped a tear from his eye. His stomach ached from laughing so much. He slid a tankard of fresh mead to Khromie, on the house. "What happens next? You can't stop there, lass!"

Just as Khromie turned the page, she felt a faint rumbling of the earth as something big approached at a fast run. From the door, she heard a roar almost as bestial and ferocious as Oarwind's battle cry. "Pippo? Yay! Pippo's here!"

Khromie hopped off the bartop, waving both arms as she ran towards the bear bearing Sizy. "Pippo! Sizy! Hi!" Van Winkle followed suit but gave the bear a wide berth.

Meanwhile, on the mean streets of Stormwind, the City Watch may have encountered an increase in minor infractions committed by fans of Sir Oarwind hoping to meet their hero in the flesh. Opportunists were starting to cash in by leading guided tours to the guardhouses and popular hangouts of the soldiers. The Watch would have their hands full, mostly with loud, squeaky, gnomish schoolgirls and housewives. One guardsman in particular was gathering quite a following of his own, a mysterious Mister Llama, thanks to a rumor that he frequently shared a shower with Sir Oarwind.

The forward momentum and sudden stop of Pippo's bumbling speed launched Sizy from her seat through the air. He lurched upward to catch her on his snout and guide her to the ground into Khromie's waiting arms with the practiced patience of regular affairs. Both gnomes squealed at each other in excited ramble and neither could really make out what the other was saying before Pippo roared again to get them to quiet. He then eye'd Sizy to indicate that she should let her friend speak first, but Khromie acquiesced. Before she knew it, Sizy's words tumbled from her mouth and devolved into a burst of "Oh my sprockets, oh my sprockets, oh my sprockets."

She stopped herself, inhaled deep in a comical fashion that puffed her chest out and rolled her shoulders back before exclamation.

"OhmysprocketsIgotalimitedposterfromSteamywindCartelofSirOarwindthatyoujusthavetoseeeeeeeeee!"

Tugging the squealing Khromie by her hand, she motioned for Pippo to drop to one knee to assist Khromie in climbing up his fur, but she stopped. Over her shoulder she noticed a dwarf with a bit too much alcohol in his system (when are they not she thought) causing it to rain shards of ice all around a bewildered elf who was trying to read her book and covering the pages with her head and sleeve to prevent it from ruin. Her shiny hair almost looked like the sweet Esmerelda from the cover. Then she noticed what book it was; a copy of the greatest book ever. The dwarf laughed, rolled over and fell off the table in his drunken bullying stupor. Sizy felt compelled to aid a fellow lover of great literature when a thought hit her and she asked Khromie about it.

"Do we help her with the idiot or do we call the guard and see if Sir Oarwind comes to her aid? I feel bad letting her suffer, but Sir Oarwind is so dreamy..."

Symmber sat in the Booty Bay Tavern sipping away at a tall glass of water. She had been assigned to the area and had spent the whole day working. Ignoring the chatter going on around her (or at least trying her best to because it was in her nature to listen) she pulled a book out of her bag. She had made the purchase from the local book store just before. Usually she wouldn’t read a book such as this; in fact, she only read it when her aunt’s books were the only thing available to read. But she was tired and didn’t care what she bought, so long as she could get out of there and relax. She had said as much to the worker. The worker, a young gnome with vibrant pink hair had immediately squealed and shoved this book in her hands positively gushing about it. Symmber had shrugged and bought it without even looking at the description.

Taking another sip, she finally started reading the excerpt from the book, just to know what exactly she was about to read as the title wasn’t quite clear. It took all her effort not to burst out laughing in the middle of the tavern and she was thankful she hadn’t been drinking at the time. Clearly amused, Symmber took drink and the book up to the room she was renting and spent the night reading it.

The next morning (or afternoon as it were) Symmber got up and ready for the day. She headed out, but before leaving the town she posted a letter and the book with the AAMS.

“Dear Aunt Masser,

How are you doing? I’m well. I bought this book the other day, and I thought you’d like it, I already finished it. I know what you are thinking. “Symmber? Sending me a book like this? What is wrong with her?” But really, It’s a great book and I highly recommend you read it immediately. So don’t put this off, trust me, you won’t regret it. Say hi to the family for me!

Your niece,

Symmber Skyriver"

Khromie looked between Pippo and the night elf damsel in distress. The drunken dwarf belched loudly into the night elf's face. The answer was obvious!

"Sizy, we must ask ourselves: what would Sir Oarwind do?"

Van Winkle the yeti motioned ripping off one's clothes. Khromie giggled but shook her head. "No, Van! We gotta help the pretty lady! Sizy, Pippo, Van! For the Alliance!"

But just as Khromie began to march into battle against the drunken dwarf, the night elf damsel in distress let out a great sigh and stood up. She closed her eyes and began to draw complex signs into the air. The space before the night elf began to shimmer until a greenish purple swirl around a pitch black hole materialized.

Khromie halted her march and turned to Sizy, whispering, "Is that ... Is that a portal?!"

The night elf stood aside as the drunken dwarf made a beeline for the portal. The dwarf shouted, "And what are ya plannin' on doing wit' this you shiny-eyed tree-climber? Ya ever make love to a real man in a pocket between dimensions? When we're done 'ere, I got me a room in Goldshire!"

Khromie watched, mouth agape, as the night elf simply stuck out her foot, tripping the dwarf straight into the portal. As he toppled in with a stream of unimaginable curses, the night elf closed the portal behind him with the flick of her wrist. With a satisfied sigh, she settled back down and picked up her book once more. Noticing the gnomes, the yeti, and the bear watching her, the night elf smiled at them and waved.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" she said.

Khromie laughed nervously and nodded. She turned back to Sizy. "So. Um. Can we go see your poster now? Yes?"

Her few months in Stormwind had taught her that nine times out of ten, pretty damsels in the city knew how to take care of themselves. But she'd never seen one send a man through space and time before!

Pippo bounded alongside the canal walls towards the workshop with Khromie & Sizy strapped above his shoulders. Each foot fall shook the canal waters below and fishermen they passed cursed the disturbance. Sizy made sure Khromie was strapped in the main seat since she wasn’t sure she would be used to the jostling from the ride. Her face was probably a good indication that she wasn’t. It gave Sizy time to think about the transdimensional transponder that woman used to get rid of the dwarf. Her movements were so elegant and fluid that Sizy didn’t even see the device being activated. If she could build that fluidity into her own contraptions then maybe they would sell better. So far only Joachim at the Blue Recluse wanted to invest in the KickStep, a kick activated step attached to the bottom of the chairs for easy climbing use now with a spring launch platform. It made it hard to keep with her dress purchases and dry cleaning bills, especially with all the material purchases she made for each invention.

The approaching building in front interrupted her thoughts as Pippo slowed before Sizy’s workshop near the Deeprun Tram entrance. She unfastened Khromie whose green face squealed in delight once her feet touched the cobblestone below. ‘Ah, the green face of overwhelming joy,’ she thought as she grabbed Khromie’s hand and led her into the shop.
First impressions are everything and inside this workshop the first impression is someone loosed a paper bomb followed by an oil flood. Everything was covered and coated. Each slightly raised table was covered in an array of parts and unfinished inventions. Many of which never worked. Like the Ginormous Bandage Launcher and the Carbonated Rocket Fuel Drink Mixer (how did those smelly Goblins make the blasted Kaja Cola?).

Sizy jumped in front of her friend with unrealistic glee and strapped on her goggles of superior observation, now with three dimensional rendering and strawberry perfumer. “You have to put yours on before I show you the poster.” And Khromie did.

Then she was led over to the poster where Sir Oarwind fought a Stranglethorn Bengal while Esmerelda watched helplessly from a set of caged bars in the background. Sir Oarwind was so real, even in the hyper-stylized poster where he was thrusting at the tiger’s underbelly, and that’s when Khromie saw how big Sir Oarwind’s sword really was.

The workshop reverberated under the explosion of the loudest ‘TROLLS BALLS!’ ever muttered.

It'd been a few days since Derscha last checked in on the main offices at Booty Bay; AAMS business had preoccupied her time. It seemed a little quieter than usual. She found Arrayah seated at a table, bent over an open binder. She was studiously reading, her hand occasionally making a note on a page.

"Good evening! Anything interesting I miss while I was out?" Dercha expertly climbed up on the table and leaned over to look at the upside-down writing in the binder. The wide brim of her white hat threatened to poke the Horde Manager's eyes. She twitched her nose; she hadn't quite gotten the knack of reading Orcish upside down. The book, however, was in Common.

"Well, there is something… Have you seen this book?" Arrayah picked it up and handed it to the gnome to peruse properly.

"Book? No, haven't done much reading lately." She examined the cover with a raised eyebrow and flipped through the first few pages. "Sir Oarwind?"

Arrayah simply shrugged as Derscha continued to skim the pages, breaking out in giggles every few paragraphs. "Seem, um, very…. entertaining."

"If you really think so, why don't you read it to them?" Arrayah grinned mischievously. "The Horde couriers keep bothering me to tell them what all the fuss is."

"Your Orcish is so much better than mine!"

"Perhaps, but as the original author seems to be a gnome, you would be better equipped to explain anything they don't understand or doesn't translate well."

"Oh, but a proper translation and localization requires the translator to be familiar with the target culture…." Derscha insisted. "Which is Horde. And you."

"But the book target culture is Alliance, and it is popular among gnomes. I might not understand references to be able to translate it adequately."

"Well, the original target. But a localization, as I said, takes a familiarity with the new target!" Derscha waved the book excitedly. "They're not going to really appreciate the, um, subtle artful nuances if it's all couched in Gnomish culture. You need to find appropriate Horde equivalents for them!"

"This isn't for the author though, this is horde workers wishing to hear the story that has their alliance coworkers so ah.. preoccupied. And I can't find horde equivalents if I can't understand the gnome ones. Perhaps you could spare a gnome translator for a company reading."

"Well, I'm rather busy, touring offices and all… Oh! Idea! What if I assign Spriggel to teach you Gnomish culture?"

"I'd prefer if you'd just assign Spriggel to read the book."

The gnome CEO looked disappointed. "But she doesn't have your depth of experience."

"Only one way to get experience," Arrayah responded dryly.

"Oh, well, I'll consider the options. Probably should contact the publisher, anyway. They may already have an Orcish translation in the works."

"Perhaps, but theres no trouble among workers reading each other books surely?"

"Yes, but," the gnome CEO smiled brightly, "imagine the cross-cultural understanding we could spread if we could do a wide distribution among the Horde... not the mention the extra business!"

"Well, let me know how that talk goes."

Much later that evening, Derscha finally got her hands on her own copy of "My, You're a Tall One," which seemed to be sold out at the first three bookshops she tried. She copied down the publisher's information and dispatched a courier with a letter.

To our esteemed colleagues in literature,

On behalf of the clients of the Anytime, Anywhere Messenger Service, I am inquiring as to the availability of your recent release, "My, You're a Tall One," by Quillsy Inkspinner in translated editions. We have received multiple requests for Orcish localizations. The AAMS would be happy to enter into a partnership to ship copies to areas that may lie outside your current distribution network.

We are also willing to provide translation services if you do not have an in-house foreign localization team. Please feel free to contact our offices if you are interested.

Respectfully,

Derscha Kettlebomb
AAMS CEO
"Anytime, Anywhere!"

Khromie had never felt so at home in Stormwind as she did in Sizy's laboratory. "Rickety rockets, this is just like my dad's work-hole! Except with less fire! You have to show me everything--after the poster, of course!"

Khromie dutifully put on her Monocle of Awesome before viewing the poster, and indeed, her exclamations that followed witnessing Sir Oarwind rendered in 3-D would have appalled some of her more genteel friends in the Iron Dagger Fun Club.

"Well just tie me to a Tauren's tail and slap his !@# 'cause I can die happy now!"

Obviously Khromie had to spend the night to discuss Sizy's exquisite poster in great detail. They made a drinking game of it, taking a shot every time one of them thought of a new way to compliment Sir Oarwind's glorious birthday suit. At some point, Sizy had to switch to tea while Khromie stuck with bourbon spiked with dollops of rocket fuel. By the time the gnomes fell asleep using Ginormous Bandages as blankets, it was nearing dawn.

In the precious hours when the city was still and near silent, a lone tranquil mechanical yeti stood by the fountain in the Dwarven District, checking an eternium pocketwatch. By all appearances, the yeti was a standard model, except for the impatient way he tapped his foot and the sharpness to his dark gaze.

"Salutations, Lord Van Winkle." A cloaked woman approached the yeti. She knelt before the yeti and pulled back the hood of her cloak. She was a sweet-faced human in her forties, brunette with a smattering of freckles across her heart-shaped face. "My apologies for being late, but this is rather early."

Van Winkle nodded at the human woman. "Greetings, Holly." He cleared his throat and paused, as if unaccustomed to speech. He said slowly, "I'm afraid we will always have to meet at odd hours when the little one is occupied or asleep." His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone, fitting for a far larger creature, and much too refined for a yeti.

Holly sighed, and settled as comfortably as she could on the pavement. She looked around to make sure that the square was still abandoned. "You could just tell her, you know."

Van Winkle shook his head. "This subject is not up for discussion."

Holly opened her mouth as if she intended to argue, but frowned instead. "I understand... But, how do you intend on hiding all of this from her?"

"I have managed so far," said the yeti.

"Well, it's about to get even bigger. Steamywind's just gotten a letter from the CEO of AAMS. They want Horde distribution rights for Sir Oarwind."

Van Winkle chuckled, thinking of Khromie's unique name for the Anytime, Anywhere Messenger Service. He wondered if 'Desky Kettlecorn' had enjoyed The Sword of Oarwind.

"Lord Van Winkle? Are you listening? This is huge! The last Steamywind title to cross factions was ... Gosh, I don't think it's happened since Warble Babbleton's Little People, Not Food! Quillsy Inkspinner's not going to be able to hide out in the shadows anymore--you won't be able to hide out anymore! They're going to start asking questions. People are going to want readings, interviews ..."

"You have been able to keep the tide at bay so far, Holly."
"But this is a whole new level!"

Van Winkle shrugged. "We will manage. Go ahead with this Horde distribution. I care not who reads my work."

"What is all this for? You say you are hiding in this form but you keep writing this fodder--no offense--like you want to draw attention to yourself." Holly studied the yeti, unable to read his bizarre expression.

"It is too fun to stop. All of this. The little one, she is full of ideas. Her way with words amuses me greatly. And the people in this city, they amuse me, too. Perhaps I shall do the translation myself. It has been a while since I practiced my Orcish. I shall contact you when the manuscript is ready."

"As you wish, Lord Van Winkle."

A few weeks after the dawn meeting with Lord Van Winkle, Holly Overspark was on the tram to Ironforge, deep in thought. In her hands was the Orcish translation of The Sword of Oarwind, masterfully done by the author himself.

An Overspark by marriage, Holly was fond of her niece Khromie, but there were many, many nieces and nephews to keep track of in a gnomish family. Holly had been surprised to hear that the girl, completely inept at engineering, had managed to build herself a tranquil mechanical yeti, but had chalked it up to a miracle of the Light without dwelling on it.

That is until Khromie's yeti showed up at her office one day, by himself. He was bearing a slightly jam-stained letter and a package containing one of Khromie's custom-made dresses, but behind closed doors, the yeti introduced himself as Lord Thadius Van Winkle and handed her the manuscript that sparked the McSteamygear series.

Holly was one of the most sought-after literary agents in Azeroth. She knew a jackpot when she saw one. It was Holly who had come up with the Quillsy Inkspinner persona on the spot and offered the yeti a contract then and there.

She had a lot of questions for the yeti, but for some reason she always forgot to ask them all when she was in his presence. For one thing, she wondered what the yeti did with his royalties. She herself had been able to take her husband on vacations all over the world with her cut of the profits. She would be a fool to discourage Van Winkle from Horde distribution, even if it meant that there would be more inquiring minds asking questions about Quillsy Inkspinner.

As soon as she got to her office, she penned a response to the AAMS CEO.

Dear Ms. Kettlebomb,

Thank you for your interest in the Horde distribution rights to The Sword of Oarwind. An in-house translator has produced an Orcish manuscript. We are quite keen to work with AAMS for distribution.

I am attaching a detailed proposal. Please let me know if our terms are suitable.

Warm regards,
Holly Overspark
Overspark Literary Agency

Holly sighed and looked over her letter and sealed it into an envelope with a standard distribution rights contract. Now, it would only be a matter of days before the Horde had access to The Sword of Oarwind. Light help them.

The bar doors were locked, the tables wiped free of crumbs and spittle, the floors mopped of ale spilled in merriment, the dishes washed of green bean casserole crust, and sheets turrned down on the empty rooms upstairs. Dolingen sighed and heaved the massive bag of trash and headed out to the dump outside. The fresh sea air filled her nostrils with the warm smell of salt, a welcome reprieve from the foul odor emanating from the wood. The smell, a mixture of blood, bile, and beer, rotted in the wood and she wore her fingers to the bone scrubbing the floors and walls each night to kill it. It was her personal war for her friends and fellow employees while they worked missions for the highest bidder with the right conscience. She didn't regret being left behind. She preferred it after her fights, but there were small things she missed and the fresh smell of life was one of them.

She dumped the bag of trash into a cart for the Goblins to remove from the harbor and picked up a copy of the Stranglethorn Ledger, warm from the press as the sun began its morning glow. A smile spread across her lips and extended into her scars.

Inside the tavern again, Dolingen sank into a chair with a single candle lit and a glass of wine in hand to read the paper. The Stranglethorn Ledger covered all the news fit for both sides of any war and had tidbits on the status of troll resentment for Garrosh to updates on Anduin in Pandaria. Each article was read carefully, but she stopped when she got to the book review by Splotchy Inkplate and set her wine glass down to enjoy it even more.

My... You're a Tall One by Quillsy Inkspinner

To call this book a masterpiece of this century is an understatement that needs correcting immediately. This book is one of the greatest works of fiction ever recorded in any language on any planet. I've contacted Naaru sources to get verification of my beliefs and when they respond I'm sure that the evidence will support my claim. Quillsy latest romantic romp through the dangers of modern day life while covering the sometimes taboo nature of interracial couples is equal parts erotic and action-packed. There were times where I only put the book down to find my husband...

Dolingen seethed as she read and crumpled the paper, tossing it into the trash. That no good Quillsy had stolen another of her ideas and she still couldn't figure out who this person was. She'd read the My... You're a Tall One and thought it read more like fan fiction for some Twilight Cult Trilogy series written by a hapless, budding writer. But Dolingen's own writing under the pen name Nibbins Spotprint never saw the light of day. Her ideas did, but never her work. She gulped the rest of her wine, seething a little more while the tiny tendrils of thought pulled in a fantastic variety of directions. Forming an idea and a plan to unmask this hack, Quillsy Inkspinner.

The prototype was a success. It only destroyed a book 2 out of the 5 times she tried it and that was pretty good by her standards. Sizy blamed the weak binding for the destroyed books. It made more sense to her that the printers would be less concerned with quality than she would and that there was no possible way her PageTurner device could destroy a book because it was overpowered. Nope. Not at all.

Excitedly, she packed a small box with the spider-like contraption that would hold open a book at any angle and flip pages for the reader with a note. Then dropped it off at her local AAMS branch for the Steamywind Cartel.

Dear Awesome People Who Make Sir Oarwind & McSteamygear Books.

I love you. I love all the books that you make so much that I buy multiple copies but I noticed a problem I had while flipping through the pages. My greasy fingers would always cover the pages with a thick black film that I could never wipe away or read through so I invented this little device that should be sold alongside all copies of your books. It's a PageTurner. It keeps messy fingers from tinkerers like myself to cooks in the kitchen from ruining the pages of the book while enjoying it.

I also am working on an attachment that you might be interested in as well. I call it the VerbalVocalizer. It flips through the pages and reads them out to you through a bell shaped device. It sounds a little robotic and tinny, but I think I might be able to adjust it to a more normal vocal range like Mekkatorque's holographic table by the end of the week.

Please, tell me you'll consider my offer to make your books awesome for all persons. Tall or small.

Love,
Sizzspring Polyspan Brightspark

The coffers of The Steamywind Cartel were much too full for the gnomes upstairs to touch an unsolicited offer. It was a lowly intern named Beetroot Pickles Sparklejar, his first day on the job, who opened Sizy's package.

He was so intrigued by the shiny contraptions that he forgot to read the accompanying letter first. Unfortunately, the PageTurner was not meant to be activated so close to one's face. Whirring to life, the PageTurner latched onto Beetroot' face and commenced its page-turning sequence; in other words, the nifty little gadget was trying to rip the gnome's face off.

"HEEEEEELLLLLLLP MEEEEEARRRRRRRARARRRARRGH!"

Flailing his arms in the air and screaming bloody murder, Beetroot ran through the office, knocking at least a dozen items off each desk. Gnomes tended to have cluttered desks. The commotion caused such a stir that even the gnomes upstairs were disturbed.

Eventually, Piechart Laserpoint, the personal assistant to the personal assistant of the CEO's personal assistant came downstairs, dressed to the nines in a crisply cut black tuxedo. Her eyes were hidden behind sleek rhinestone-studded sunglasses but her mouth was set into a hard line. She squeaked with her hands on her hips, "What the Charlie Dickens is going on here?"

The office fell silent, in awe of a suit from upstairs and her audacity to call upon the canonical gnomish author--all save for poor Beetroot whose pleas for help were growing more and more desperate.

"Well? Spit it out!" Rumor had it that Piechart Laserpoint had attended a goblin business school.

Without waiting for a response, Piechart Laserpoint marched to Beetroot and swung him up in the air by his ankles. Taking out her trusty laser pointer from the holster on her belt, Piechart clicked the small switch that turned on its turbo charge and gave the contraption attached to Beetroot's face a good zap.

The PageTurner shut down immediately and fell too the floor with a clink. Piechart dropped Beetroot without ceremony and picked up the PageTurner instead. Piechart studied the newfangled device, unfazed by the bits of skin and blood that speckled it. "Where did you get this? Speak up!"

Beetroot tried to respond, but could only stutter and point with a shaky finger at the package on his desk.

"Alrighty then. Back to work! All of you! Time is money!"

The next day, Sizy would find an express delivery via AAMS on her doorstep.

Dear Miss Brightspark,

Salutations. Your query came to my attention when one of your devices, specifically the PageTurner, nearly ripped off the faces of one of my interns. We are extremely interested in commissioning more PageTurners for immediate distribution. Please find the details of our offer attached. I think you will find our terms quite generous.

As for the VerbalVocalizer, while intriguing, needs work. Please send us a finished model at your earliest convenience. You may address it directly to my personal assistant, whose contact details I have included.

Regards,
Piechart Q. Laserpoint
Personal Assistant
to the Personal Assistant
to the Personal Assistant
of the CEO
Steamywind Cartel

Sizy set down the blowtorch and popped back her face shield with an audible phew that echoed through the room. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smiled at her latest contraption. A miniature Sir Oarwind sculpture from bits and pieces of scrap metal. A whirling bzzt, bop, bang come fluttering through the shop as Clock, her personal errand bot, approached with the mail.

On top was a letter from Steamywind Cartel's personal assistant to the personal assistant to the personal assistant to the CEO. She opened the letter and tossed it to Clock to see how well her VerbalVocalizer worked before she began sending them out. The voice that floated out of Clock was a near approximation of Sizy's best friend, Khromie after she plied the over eager gnome with mead with energy boosting Rocket Fuel (her mother's recipe). The device worked beautifully. It even grew in excitement as it read and the overzealous bot and Sizy were dancing around the office together clasped together and teetering dangerously close to disrupting the organized piles of mess.

After a few minutes she cleared her throat and set Clock to writing her response and sent a working VerbalVocalizer and another PageTurner with padded feet to prevent face ripping and instructions. By this time tomorrow, the PageTurner would be in production. The day after, in bookstores. Maybe sooner if AAMS took the delivery.

Dear Rustle Spreadsheet Lookbusy, personal assistant to the personal assistant to the personal assistant to the personal assistant of the CEO of Steamywind Cartel.

I've enclosed a working VerbalVocalizer and PageTurner as requested and reviewed the contract you've sent. I'd like to suggest a minor change in the terms of royalty payment. The contract says I'm only going to receive .25% per PageTurner sold with an upfront fee of 100g. This seems incredibly low so I'm going to hand this off to my agent to handle the negotiations. Please contact Finagle SharpTongue to discuss the details, but know that I agree to terms in good faith. I think we discussed increasing the fee and royalty by 1%.

All my sprockets,
Sizy, I mean Sizzspring Brightspark

((Grrrr... Forum ate my original post about Doli kicking in Splotchy's door and demanding that she provide information regarding the location of Steamywind Cartel or Quillsy's agent. Guess that's what I get for writing it on my tablet instead of in Notepad on the desktop.

Net outcome is Dolingen is tracking a letter through AAMS to Steamywind and bump.))