Wildfire Riders

... is simply another way of saying the task is impossible.

((OOC note: Following is an unedited MSN RP between Dravir and myself.))

Part 1, in which Adel makes a big mistake.

Falkala says:
Adel paced about the room she and Josanne shared, ignoring the death knight in the corner who was already pretending to be asleep. She just laid there, eyes open, unmoving, and it was downright /creepy./

Nonetheless, the problem sat on the desk in front of her. The dials were all set, all she needed to do was hit a button.
Falkala says:
Her rabbit groomed itself on the table idly, little nose and tail wiggling, completely oblivious to his master's inner argument.
She wasn't sure it was a good idea.
But Adel was always far more curious than careful.
With a click, a crackle, and another twist of a dial, a specialized frequency sent out.
"... Hello? Psst, Dravir?"
Tryston says:
Snaga was enjoying choco-late. It was almost as good as fresh bloody meat, but it also made him want to talk really loud and go hit things a lot.
Even more than usual. His bunnies were romping around his tent, gleefully nibbling carrots and hopping happily. He liked bunnies.
Suddenly, the box world spoke. It was Bunny-Lady.
"HI BUNNY LADY!"
Falkala says:
Adel pulled the box away from her head with a wince. The feedback squawked and echoed through the dim room.
Josanne didn't budge.
"... Hi Snaga." Adel said, inwardly trying to work up some bunny-related reason why Snaga should give the box to someone else.
Tryston says:
"Snaga like chocolate! And gots lotta bunnies now!"
Falkala says:
"That's great." Adel tried to sound enthused. "Do you think anyone else with you wants a bunny too?"
Tryston says:
"Uhh... Snaga t'ink everyone should have bunny. Bunnies great."
Falkala says:
"Bunnies are great!" Adel said, kicking back in the chair with her boots crossed over on desk. Her bunny nibbled on the rubber on the bottom of her feet. "You should give bunnies to the human! Along with the box, so I can talk to the bunnies."
Tryston says:
"Snaga t'ink dis good idea. But human not here. Odurd make go 'way somewheres. Oh! Snaga give Odurd more bunnies!"
Falkala says:
Adel silently cursed, then put on her happy-tone again. "I'm sure he'd love bunnies!"
Tryston says:
The sounds of orcish stomping echoed over the link, mixed with bunny chirps and squeaks. Loud, high pitched goblin snores soon joined them. "ODURDS! SNAGA BRING BUNNIES! WAKES UP!
Falkala says:
Adel hid giggling, one hand on her mouth. She listened to the box, waiting for the chaos to ensue.
Tryston says:
A raging goblin shriek rose, followed quickly by goblin curses and the sound of thrown objects. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!" yelled the orc, beating a hasty retreat from the inexplicably angry boss, leaving behind a flock of bunnies and a crackling buzzbox.
Falkala says:
Adel slowly composed herself, sitting up, taking silent breaths. She pushed down her giggles, trying to sound confused as she spoke. "Uh, Hello?"
Tryston says:
Odurd glared at the buzzbox with bloodshot eyes. He'd been up for days studying and memorizing the details of a ritual he had only heard about, which could feasibly kill him, the other four warlocks involved (not so bad if they died) and then unleash a demon of monstrous power to roam free as a lark on the immediate vicinity. He was tired.
He was hungry.
He was swamped in bunnies that were going to shit in his tent.
Falkala says:
Adel tapped the box a few times with a nearby charchol chunk. Tap... tap... tap
Tryston says:
Growling, he took the buzzbox to hand, and quickly recorded the settings of the unique frequency of the unit transmitting to him. "Hello."
Falkala says:
"Ah, there is someone on the other line." Adel said, spinning about in her chair and pulling out a paper zepplen from the desk to send flying.
Tryston says:
"May I ask what you want?" Odurd set the box in the goblin made extension cradle.
Falkala says:
"I wanted to talk to you about the human you recently aquired the contracts of... perhaps possible buisness if you will." Adel said, watching the zepplen float about the room before it landed by the bunny.
Who began chewing that too.
Tryston says:
"Oh? You're contacting me on a foreign 'box, and you want to speak to me about business? Do go on, human." With a careful click, he set the cradle in gear. The crystals began cycling the energy.
Falkala says:
"I'm afraid without your name, I simply cannot find you." Adel said, pushing the bunny away from the paper. "But nonetheless, I want to discuss the depth of Dravir's debt, and the possiblity of a third party paying it off."
Tryston says:
Odurd couldn't help it. He started laughing over the link. "Depth of debt is not an issue. You can't pay what he owes."
Falkala says:
"As I heard it, he owes gold, which he is repaying with time sweat and blood." Adel countered, wincing at the high pitched laughter. "If it is not gold, then what does he owe you?"
Tryston says:
Odurd immediately stopped laughing. "That is none of your concern. In addition, I believe you had best do your research before you come to do business, Adel Ashawe."
Falkala says:
Adel jolted up, hoping the chair squeak didn't give her posture away- he knew her name. She spoke carefully, picking her words. "I suppose my research leads me here, most people seem to have no -clue- just what you do, Odurd."
Tryston says:
"Yes, because I am an intelligent businessman. If I want you knowing what I do, I will tell you. Your relationship with my employee aside, unless you have serious business to discuss, please use the public frequency that Bittertongue's company if you have any other questions."
Tryston says:
"The human will serve his contract. I have need of efficient workers and it is rather inconvenient for me to have you even suggest I would give him up for something as trivial as gold, which I know you cannot provide to me in sums even resembling the amount owed."
Falkala says:
Adel toyed with a loose thread of hair, speaking coolly. "I see. I will contact you on the public frequentcy then, provided your orc is not drooling onto the box at that time. I do think there is buisness to be done come time of the Netherwing Open."
And with that, she flipped the dial to click off, static still spewing from the box and chatter from time to time across the Rider's public frequency. Adel frowned. Well, that didn't go as planned.
Tryston says:
Odurd sighed, massaging his temples. Time to call the lawgitators in the Bay, and make sure that his contracts were, indeed, adamantine clad.

((Snaga makes me miss Furgle. XD))

In Outland, there had been a relative peace for months. The remnants of Illidan Stormrage's armies still held the Black Temple, the Horde remained in its scattered stronghold amongst the Mag'har, the Alliance courted the Kurenai, and in Shattrath the Aldor and Scryers sneered at one another from their respective terraces. Relative peace, with everyone staying inside their dominions and throwing mostly insults and dark glares. Kael'thas Sunstrider was gone, Illdian was gone, and good riddance to both. Time to get back to old hatreds and feuds.

But in the Netherstorm, something different was happening.

It had begun some months ago. Outside the mysterious Area 52, dozens of indentured workers had commenced construction, erecting stands and boxes for an unprecedented crowd. Magi had carefully aligned scrying crystals, mammoth in size, to be visible no matter where one might stand in the growing arena. Teams of brave goblins darted about in flying machines, setting beacons that could be seen even in the most damning and darkest storms all across the blighted rock fields. From above, and in the shadowy caves of the broken cliffs, the denziens of the Netherstorm watched with great interest at the ants nest of activity. The hustle and bustle spoke of more tasty beings to pick off, more lifeforce to consume.

And then architects of this event showed themselves, and the denziens went back to their cold holes, knowing that there would be little easy prey. In ones and twos, and then in gangs and mobs, goblins began to arrive, their zepplins and strange flying machines swamping the landing field of the remote outpost. Overnight, a tent city of crime lords and Cartel officers ringed the launch center, while money and information changes hands as the last of the work was finished, the slaves then hustled out of sight. Still the crowd grew, selected and wealthy individuals arriving from either side of the Old War, all wishing to see lives risked and gold taken from others. As what passed for dawn glared over the edge of the horizon, the last piece was burned into the ground by an exhauseted mage; a long, checkered line.

Odurd stood atop the low wall of Area 52, and breathed in deep of the scent that only a goblin truly appreciated: money. Loads and loads of money to be made. Fortunes were already being tossed in the bets, and the racers hadn't even arrived to qualify yet. The stench of machine oil and rocket fuel warred with the rank smell of a dozen different species of flying creatures and their feed of choice, the burnt ozone of the Netherstorm undercutting it all. Above the Storm crackled an angry purple-pink, chaotic energies cutting loose in flashes of sheet lightning, the wind already twisting in a dozen crosscurrents. It would be a bloody race, but nothing got the crowd going and the gold flowing like a bit of blood on the rocks.

This was his brainchild, this Netherwing Open. And it was not only going to save his ass financially, it would rocket him further up the ladders of the Cartel. What could possibly go wrong?

Behind the optimistic goblin, Dravir stared with dismay at the pockets of crackling, boiling clouds. In the deep mists, things swam and roared, seeking to make a breakfast of the unwary. He feared for Bitterongue, for Adel, and for Tif- well, maybe not so much for Tiforis. The man was a bloated asshole.
But even someone as cocky as the mechanical murderer would be hard pressed to fly well in this mess. And that was without the other racers 'cheating.' Cheating was only a crime if you were caught, after all. Otherwise it was just good business tactics.
Money was already flowing like water amongst the gathering crowd, everyone smelling a last chance to dig up a little more revenue before the big quarterly. If Odurd did well, he'd be set for the rest of the year on the house's take, and Dravir would have to put up with the miserable tiny bastard being smug for just as long.
Grumbling, he went back towards the stables, where his Netherdrake waited to be saddled. Bittertongue's plan was supposed to start here, but he had no idea how. So instead, he resolved simply to fly well, and not die.
Simple enough.

Four Months Ago...

"How much are you making me take to Booty Bay?" The goblin asked Bricu.

"Its a small fortune in gems, relics an' gold Obaden. Yer gonna need money t'back up yer wits."

"Really? And how am I getting it?" Obaden's voice changed slightly--more nasal and high pitched than before--and Bricu

"Penn'll get yeh some, Bryant will bring down more, an I've set up some o'the gold through me own connections up here. Yeh seem...strewth yeh seem too calm 'bout this."

"Of course I'm calm. What use would there be in anxiety? If I could fool the Dragonmaw and the Betrayer's servants, I can fool my cousin in the Bay."

"This ain't a costume competition. Yer gonna need t'show off how gobbo yeh are. Yer gonna need t'get as high as yeh can in their fuckin' organziation."

"PShawh. Stop fretting like and old dwarven woman. This is what I can do. Your money and goods will be good enough to make me a capo. My wits can make me a prince."

Bricu shook his head. "S'fuckin' hubris Obaden. Yeh fuck up its not just yer arse, its Dravir's too."

"He's a slave. I'm not a fan of that form of servitude. I will make no mistake my friend. Now, how many times did I shift?"

"Shift what?"

"I changed shape seven times in front of you. Seven different goblins stood argued with you and your methods. You didn't notice?"

"I picked out one."

Obaden smiled, showing sharp, pearly white teeth. "Good. I will send you messages when I am ready to begin."

Two Months Ago

Bittertongue's Burden hadn't lifted. The Bastard Paladin had him on working--buying and selling spices--but the timing was awful. The best of spices were not due in for weeks. The Bay itself was crowded with goblins from across the seas. Bryant heard rumors of some grand event, but the rumors were hard to pin down. Sometimes the events were to occur in the the Bay itself. Some said Outland. Some even wanted to push far north...

Bryant sat and nursed grog after grog. He spent Bricu's work allowance on the finest of drinks. For added measure, he bought rounds for sailors--pirate, privateer, horde, alliance or merchant--and bragged about how he knew all of Bricu's devious plans. Few were interested, but he told the lot everything.

"He's even opened a line of credit in the Bank. Fucking "tahssar!"

Night after night, he told his tale: How Bricu cheated him out of his home, his social life and his job, and how he even broke his promise to restore his family company. But if the paladin was stupid enough to give him slack on his leash, Bryant would enjoy almost every possible freedom. Unlike before, he only watched the women. Slack or no, the leash was real...

Word got out to everyone and anyone in the bay: Bricu Bittertongue was as clever as a goblin with the morals of a demon. He was not to be trusted.

The day before the open.

Tiforis looked the letter over and sighed. It had taken him the better part of an hour to compose something that sounded honest.

He wasn't very good at this.

The parchment itself was a mess of lines and omitted words, with nothing but two sentences actually legible. It wasn't actually going to Adel, at any rate, so he really had nothing to worry about. He dropped it next to a stack of actual post, turning his head to look at the elven waitress who wanted to take his order. Tif obliged before leaving for a moment to clean up, Ink was only one step above oil in how much it added to a meal.

He had been gone for all of three minutes, to the credit of the staff, his table had been neatly cleaned in preparation for dinner. What was slightly more alarming was that the letters were gone, which meant MOLL-E had taken the letters to be delivered as he was programmed to do, except that it took the one that he didn't mean to send to Adel. This was very fucking bad.

His cape was ridiculous. It still fit--despite the rich Dalaran recipes, Bricu still worked hard enough to keep weight off--but the style left much to be desired. The Skyguard were one part form to two parts fashion. Their fashion, however, was at least a season behind. Two years ago, it was the height of Shattrath fashion, a sight to inspire cooperation between the Alliance and the Horde. There wasn't a burst of pride putting it on. It was just another part of the ruse.


The Flight from Shattrath was boring. The new Gryphon from the Wildhammers was a quiet bird, and the two drakes flying ahead were too far away to actually talk to. The weather was more peaceful than he was used to. The winds were not the biting cold of Northrend. There were gusts and swells, but nothing like the Fjords or Icecrown. At least, not until the Netherstorm.

Bricu had never seen it churn and swirl this much. The clouds crackled with lighting, and he could hear the winds from here. Argent, his Nether Ray, rushed forward. Bricu had to pull back on the reigns to keep him from flying into the stormfront. Bricu flew as high as he could, but all he could see were storms.

This is where Odrud wanted to have his race. Bricu relaxed on the reigns and let Argent fly forward. Better to get ready than to let the plan rot away.

I want to create science with you.

Adel stared at the parchment, not sure if she was supposed to be baffled or horrified. Half of the letter had been scribbled out or burned away, only a few legible sentences forming the strange... note. Love letter. Whatever it was Adel felt sort of awkward about the whole thing. Tiforis had stopped his advances, they'd talked about this. It wasn't a thing anymore.

Then what the hell was the letter she'd opened up? And above all, did Tif really think that the line "I want to create science with you" was going to win women over? She ran her hand down her face with a groan, displacing her goggles. This was only made worse by the situation Dravir and she were in.

It couldn't matter, not right now. The Open was going to begin in a few hours... and Odurd was on his way.

Falkala says:
Adel was off the path, in a rented space, corded off loosely. She had been disassembling something of paticular value on the engine, not because it needed it, but it allowed her to set all the parts out on a nearby workbench for others to see. She took great pains to make her work look more like an upgrade, and not at all like a repair job.

She angled herself so she could keep an eye on the door through the reflection on the side of her goggles.
Tryston says:
Odurd ambled out, his silk and cloth-of-platinum robes shining like an ugly pastel beacon in the lurid light of the Storm. A gaggle of hangers-on and acquaintances followed at a respectable distance, while this Crew Boss took in the smell of Money. His eyes tracked with distaste along the stabled beasts, each attended to by a greasy non-gobbo racer... but there, there something shone.
It was sleek metal planes and curves, sharp surfaces to cut through the wind. It was silver and bronze and the oily hue of adamantite.
It was beautiful.
Falkala says:
Adel turned, lifting the wrench out of the compartment on the front that she had open. Even grounded, she'd made an effort to set it in a way that allowed an observer to appreciate the sleek design and polished, shining blades that hung down from the back.

She pulled her gloves off, hands almost just as greasy, and flashed a knowing grin towards the goblin eying her handiwork. "Like what you see?"
Tryston says:
Odurd waddled up, squinting at the shining mass of metal. "It's a piece of work, I'll say that, girly. Where'd ya get a beauty like this?"
The turning of gears in his mind was almost audible, as he stared at the smooth control surfaces.
Falkala says:
"Built her by my own hand." Adel said, just a bit of pride leaking into her voice. "She's my personal machine, my racer is setting up for the qualifiers." She patted the side affectionately, just above the decal that displayed the name.
Tryston says:
Odurd took a moment to take in the human female, noting her slim, dexterous hands, and the toolbelt slung low on her hips. Her skin was splattered with a thin sheen of some sort of oil; a trademark of an engineer if he had ever seen one. "Mmm, so you're a builder, eh? Mind if I take a closer look?"
He put on his most trustworthy, comforting smile, spreading his hands before him. "I promise... not to touch."
Falkala says:
"Look all you like." Adel said, "But of course, hands off." She added with a wink that might have been -slightly- sultry. She kept a keen eye on Odurd, goggles still settled across her nose and providing her with a nice, tinted view of what Odurd was doing.
Tryston says:
The wink implied that if he bargained well, he might be able to sit in the cockpit later. He was sure of it. Humans were strange dealers, alright, but it was such a pretty machine....
Being a goblin had advantages, the chief one being he could walk right under the suspended fuselage and into the engine housing. He had no idea what he was looking at, of course, but he made a good show, the occasional "Mmmhmm" and "Aaah, I see." while he looked into the lubricated mass of metal.
Falkala says:
Adel watched him, having the advantage of knowing how clueless and useless he was with machines. She did her best not to look smug. "She cuts through the air like a knife, sturdy and easy to fly. Could take you from here to Halaa without needing to fuel up, if you flew her nice." Adel leaned on the nose, trying to do her best not to look directly down onto Odurd.
Tryston says:
Stepping out from under the fuselage, Odurd looked up at her, his hand just barely suspended over the metal. "Hmm, you in the business of selling such fine pieces of work, girly?"
The Open was going to make him a bit of extra money, after the dues were paid. Maybe just enough, and he did need a new flying machine...
Falkala says:
"I've got four more back in my shop, various models. They're prepped and ready to sell, three of them are bomber models, even. Without arms, mind you. Need to acquire an arms dealer license for that." Adel continued to pet her machine lovingly.
Tryston says:
Behind Odurd, those who enjoyed human females were quite distracted. The little goblin, however, had other things on his mind. "Mmm, that's a tempting idea. What's your name, human? I've a mind that we might be able to do some business. I like what you have on display."
Falkala says:
"Adel Ashawe, my shop is based out of Stormwind." She pulled out a card, holding it out to him. The card was simple, had her name and a buzzbox line, set to the background of her metal-wing symbol tattooed on her arm. "If you want to see what my machines can do when really tricked out, the racer flying my bird is Tiforis."
Tryston says:
He frowned as he took the card, the name setting a few bells warning. "Ah. You're the girl who tried to buy my lucky paladin."
Falkala says:
"I think he's out of my price range." Adel said with the humor still in her tone. "But that doesn't stop us from doing business when the Open is over, afterall. I more than welcome trade for rare goods the Cartel brings in... and your reputation says you can acquire a lot of 'rare' goods."
Tryston says:
Odurd offered his business smile this time, which contained 40% more teeth. "Rare goods are my specialty, little lady. Alright, I'll keep an eye on your racer. If he's any good, maybe I'll put some more thought into your business."
Falkala says:
Adel nodded, pulling her gloves on. "Perfect. I imagine I'll be hearing from you soon, then. My racer is bound to impress you." She glanced briefly at the sky, inwardly hoping Tif would keep his cool long enough to pull this off...
Tryston says:
Odurd smirked, and then waddled away, a snap of the fingers shaking his mob out of any boob-induced trances. "Right then. We gotta race ta get started!"
Falkala says:
Adel turned back to her machine, slowly reassembling the parts she had taken out to catch attention. She stole a glance back, briefly trying to catch a glimpse of Dravir among the crowd
Tryston says:
Dravir was, in fact, not in the crowd. He was instead staring at an elf and a dwarf, both of them with nearly matching grins of less than pure intent.
Sugnar spat on the ground, and licked his lips, before letting the dread words pass his lips with the greatest joy Dravir had ever heard him utter.
"Pretty lad. Dinnae cack yer brecks, yeh spindly human shite, but Odurd says ye race. Yeh qualify in a turn o tha sands."
For Dravir, this was turning out to be a not so swell day.
Tryston says:
Behind him, his Netherdrake belched and cooed in its sleep.