Hey potential readers. This is my first fanfic for WoW, so please be gentle - basically, I'm writing these first few chapters in anticipation of Cataclysm's release, after which I'm going to be starting a goblin warrior as my new main, and possibly my first rp character. As Cataclysm obviously hasn't yet been released, I'm taking the opportunity to provide a few chapters of backstory to introduce my character's life before Kezan is destroyed. The first few chapters, therefore, might be a bit slow and atypical of adventure fics, but please bear with me. I promise things will get pretty intense.
Of course, I do not own World of Warcraft, Cataclysm, or anything cool. I do own a beat-up Subaru. That's about it.
Chapter 1.
It was just going to be one of those days, Krexxle could already tell. Stock in the Modified Aqualung Model X78E had apparently plunged by 60% overnight, according to the stupid smug newspaper sitting on the table before him. Some unexpected lab explosion was listed as the cause (typical!), and all this after Krexxle had just got badgered into buying fifty shares of the garbage yesterday. "Stupid smug motherff—grrgh!" he grumbled, struggling with his new chain boots. Just another one of those days.
"Sweetie pooh, I need you to run a quick errand for me before you head off to work, mm'kay?" Midge Coinswindle sauntered into the sitting-room, curlers haphazardly stuck in her brown, wiry hair as she absentmindedly bounced a toddler on her hip.
"Ma, for the last time, don't call me baby names!" Krexxle brought the chain boot down with a thud, finally squeezing his foot inside. "I'm twenty years old, it sounds stupid."
"Yeah, yeah." Midge halfheartedly thumbed through the newspaper. "Listen, you remember that your sister's party is tonight, right?"
"Eh? What's this?"
"Hitza's party! You know, as a congratulations on scoring that cushy new job!" Midge fixed her son with a stern gaze.
"I don't recall getting a party when I got my job," Krexxle muttered under his breath.
"Well all your brothers and sisters are going to be there, and so are you," she continued, oblivious. "And, just my luck, the kitchen slave ran off again last night."
"Again? Did you check the closet upstairs?" Krexxle busied himself with the other boot.
"T'uh! No such luck." She paused, looking at the struggling Krexxle, and sighed. "I don't have time to run around trying to find that wench. Can you stop by the slave pens before you go to work and pick me up a new one?"
As Krexxle opened his mouth to protest, he was interrupted by a small green hand tugging on the sleeve of his mother's bathrobe. Midge peered down. "Mommy, can I have two gold coins if I clean up my room, pleeeeasie-please?" wheedled six-year-old Gree.
"Sugar, Mommy's talking business. You know better than to interrupt someone when they're talking business, baby," Midge replied, patting the girl's head dismissively.
"I'm running late for work, Ma. I'll get one for you on the way home, 'k?" Krexxle hurriedly stood, clipping his scabbard to his belt.
"No, no, no! I'm not going to half-ass it for Hitza's party, I need a new slave by this afternoon!" Midge glared sternly at him. He sighed, the reluctantly nodded. "Good good. And don't be a cheapskate, get one that looks healthy!" she called after Krexxle as he shut the door behind him.
Krexxle stepped out the door into the streets of Undermine, only to immediately fling himself back flat against the wall as a skittering rocket ship tore past, inches from clipping off the end of his long green nose. "Watch it, asshole!" he shrieked as the aircraft zipped by, shaking his fist. It sputtered around a corner at the end of the row, spurting out billowing clouds of yellow smoke – Krexxle heard a loud crash from around the bend, followed by a cacophony of street vendors screeching and cursing. He shook his head in annoyance, stepping down onto the busy street.
Undermine, as ever, was a bustle of activity. Makeshift motorcycles and go-karts skidded along the smooth obsidian floor, carved by lava flows over a century before Krexxle's time. The tunnel was lit by swinging overhead lamps, occasionally blinking and shooting out showers of sparks: the ceiling, a maze of tangled electrical wires. Lumbering, purple-skinned hobgoblins waddled to and fro, their faces frozen in identical looks of perpetual confusion. And, as always, street vendors loitered about, some with carts and some with booths, each wheedling loudly to every passerby. Along the walls lay numerous brightly-colored doors to businesses and residences. It was a goblin's paradise.
"Care for some shiny new jewels, buddy? A new earring would have the gals all over ya, eh!"
"Scrap metal, fresh from the mines this morning! Nice and malleable, perfect for any tinker!"
"Cheap dental work, done on-site!"
"Hey friend!" shouted a yellowish goblin waddling after Krexxle. "Best deals anywhere! Hey! Hold up!" The frazzle-haired goblin chasing him down was laden down with two large bins full of trinkets and junk, each clipped to a sloppily-crafted body harness he wore. Entwined around the contraption was a wire hung with brightly colored lights.
Krexxle grinned broadly. "Brilliant! I like your setup, pal."
"Thanks! You've got an eye for deals, friend!" The peddler dug through the pile of trinkets and produced what looked like a small metal prawn. The contraption let out an alarming hissing sound. "This baby is a brand-new product! Guaranteed to clean and trim your toenails perfectly each time! Only 74 gold a pop." In response, the prawn hissed again ominously. "Erm, I think this one's busted…hang on," he wheedled as a thin stream of ink squirted out of its side.
"I'll be back this way later tonight pal, hang on to those deals for me," Krexxle called back as he hurried away in the direction of the slave pens.
Krexxle could always tell he was entering a questionable neighborhood when the number of non-peddler loiterers spiked. He shuffled through the crowds of vagrants and beggars as he made his way up to the slave auctioneer who was standing atop a cardboard box so his squeaking voice could carry over the crowd. "Hey hey, any of you good at kitchen work? Any aspiring chefs? Eh?" Krexxle called softly into a nearby cage, rapping his knuckles lightly against the bars. "I'm offering a cushy home, nice and fair treatment, whaddya say?"
His only response was a breathy cough from an apathetic goblin woman inside. "Don't listen to her! She's senile!" cried a toothless, elderly goblin from the back of the cage.
"Looking to buy, sir?" grinned the auctioneer. "I've got some great deals today!"
"What's the cheapest you're offering?" Krexxle murmured, rummaging through his coin-purse.
"Eh…" The auctioneer peered into the cage, squinting. "I'll let you take Piz off my hands for 20 gold. Been trying to get rid of that bugger for a while now." Krexxle followed his gaze and jumped back with a start. Piz, a cleft-lipped young goblin with glazed-over blue eyes had silently moved up behind Krexxle and was staring at him, unspeaking, his forehead pressed to the bars.
"Yeeek! Erm…I guess he'll do," Krexxle said hesitantly, handing over a fistful of gold coins.
"Heh heh! Glad I could help!" the auctioneer beamed. "Now, if you could just sign your name and address here and here…yeah, we'll have him shipped over to your place by the end of the hour." He thumbed over the gold coins, quickly counting. "Pleasure doing business with ya!"
Already late, Krexxle slipped into the cramped lobby of Garzip's Big-Ass Loans, wincing. Ma, if I get fined for stealing company time, you're going to owe me big-time, he thought to himself with a grimace. The receptionist, Eunice, a middle-aged goblin woman with a tall beehive hairdo and bright orange horn-rimmed glasses peered at Krexxle over a teetering stack of papers. "Can I help you?" she croaked sullenly.
"Just heading back to Garzip's office for my assignment," Krexxle said meekly, hoping she wouldn't recognize he was clearly late.
"You're new here, eh?" She picked at her teeth with a long, manicured fingernail.
"Eh…no…been working here a year and a half, Eunice," Krexxle frowned. She shrugged apathetically in response and turned back to her paperwork. With a sigh, he made his way down the hallway. Sometimes being completely unremarkable had its upsides, he thought, trying to be optimistic.
"Hey, buddy, I didn't know you were working today," coughed the boss as Krexxle slipped in. Garzip, though he fancied himself a shrewd businessman, was no trade prince. Lounging in his tattered armchair, the overweight goblin puffing on a cigar, dressed in a purple velvet blazer two sizes too small was far from an impressive sight. Yet the goblin was one of the more ruthless loan sharks in Undermine, employing wet-behind-the-ears young whelps like Krexxle to enforce his policies on uncooperative customers. "Forgot I scheduled you. Well, there's always work to be done, debts to be collected, lucky for you, heh heh!" He paused, flipping through a list of files. Krexxle grinned broadly despite himself; he was off the hook, somehow.
"Aha. Here's one for ya." Garzip handed him a thin file folder, covered in grease stains. "This jerk-off hasn't been meeting his scheduled payments for a few months now. Now, this guy—" Garzip hooked both thumbs back, pointing at himself, "—this guy's no idiot, I don't hand out gold for free, pal! Anyone'll tell you the same! Seems this joker didn't get the memo. It's called a loan! Tch!" Done ranting, Garzip leaned back in his chair, scratching at his stubbly double-chin. "All the info's in the folder. I need you to, eh, re-appropriate the disclosed amount for me. You know the drill, right? You're allowed to rough him up a bit, break a finger or two, eh? Just nothing too severe."
Krexxle nodded enthusiastically, flipping through the folder as he left.
Alright, you can do this, Krexxle thought with a twinge of apprehension as he approached the address indicated by the file. Though by now he fancied himself a pro, over a year had passed without a promotion from Garzip. Before each job, Krexxle had to prepare himself for the possibility that it could be the big one - the score that would bump him up the metaphorical ladder, or that would at least get the boss to remember his name or work schedule. After taking a few deep breaths and shaking out his arms, Krexxle raised his right first and pounded on the door of #3482 Rust Row. "Mr. Gearspattle! You'd better open the door, pal, I'm representing Garzip," he boomed, feeling confident in the resulting level of intimidation his deep voice had achieved.
From the other side of the door came the sound of loud crashing and the sharp whistling of machinery. "Erm, just a second! Hang on!" a distant voice pleaded from inside the residence. Krexxle knew a dodger when he heard one. Stepping back, Krexxle leaned back on his heels and then spun forward, using the resulting momentum to swing his foot up and connect flatly with the lock. With a snap, the lock crunched underneath him and the door burst open to reveal an overcrowded workshop hidden in billowing clouds of exhaust fumes. Smoke rolled from the room, stinging his eyes. He coughed sharply, batting the fumes away with his hands. "Get your ass out here, buddy, don't make me come in there after you!"
What emerged from the din was not, in fact, Mr. Gearspattle. "Ah, shit," Krexxle groaned as a makeshift robot teetered forth, long knives haphazardly taped onto the ends of its wildly waving arms. Rolling his eyes, he drew his rusted, dented short sword from his scabbard. The robot lurched forward, slashing wildly at the air above Krexxle's head as he deftly ducked and swung his body to the side, bringing his boot up to solidly kick the droid's stomach. As the metal foe staggered backward, unbalanced, Krexxle brought his blade crashing down into the exposed wire in the crook of its neck. A shower of sparks burst forth and the robot let out a garbling wail, spinning in confusion. While it whirled around, spitting out more orange sparks, Krexxle nonchalantly hooked a fingernail in a prominent wire on the robot's spine, snapping it easily with a light tug. With a soft whizzing noise, the robot powered down.
"Did you throw away Garzip's money on that piece of trash?" he mockingly called into the hazy workshop. He moved inside, kicking aside loose bits of glass and shutting the front door behind him. "I hope for your sake you didn't, buddy. I'm not leaving until I get back all you owe."
"Take it easy, take it easy, friend!" Gearspattle's high pitched voice whined. "Aw, jeez, I spent the last month perfecting that model…" Squinting through the dark, Krexxle could make out the goblin, crouched pitifully next to a large pillar-shaped engine in the center of the room which was steadily chugging out hefty puffs of smog. "Shut that fucker off!" Krexxle bellowed, and Gearspattle quickly acquiesced. "And open a damn window!"
A rare, soothing sea breeze rolled in from the outside as the fumes dispersed. Krexxle could now see the thin, balding goblin peering meekly forth amidst the large, teetering stacks of unfinished trinkets and inventions. Clad only in a work smock, dusty slacks and a massive pair of soot-streaked goggles, Gearspattle shrank before the sturdy, mail-clad enforcer (or so Krexxle fancied himself) that had muscled his way in. "Empty your pockets," Krexxle commanded bluntly, brandishing his shortsword. Stumblingly, the tinker dug out 200 gold coins and a handful of mothballs from his smock, and then quickly moved to a concealed safe in the corner, producing another 1,500 gold pieces and a few dented silvers. Krexxle eyed the amount, then fixed the cowering goblin with his fiercest glare. "Where's the last 300? Eh? Don't you cheat me, now."
Gearspattle cringed in response. "I – my – m-my latest project has set me back a bit financially, I admit, but the projected rate of return is almost two-hundred percent, if Garzip could just give me a few months' extension –"
"Your contract's up, buddy. I'm collecting now," Krexxle barked, cutting him off. Eyeing a nearby trinket, Krexxle scooped it up into his palm. "What's this thing?"
"Well, that, um, it's quite interesting in fact, uh…" Gearspattle trailed off as Krexxle apathetically pocketed the device.
"It should fetch maybe 100 gold," Krexxle grunted in explanation, turning to a larger contraption. "Is this what I think it is?"
"That's a rocket engine, yeah," Gearspattle quickly offered, "-but I'm under contract, I need finish modifications by next week or else – hey wait, please don't touch that –" He winced as Krexxle unhooked the engine from its stand and tossed it aside. Digging through another nearby pile of garbage, he produced a bronze tube and a thin, hammered sheet of thorium. "Hey, hang on, the engine itself is worth over 300 gold, that's more than enough!" Gearspattle pleaded, beside himself.
"Consider it a service charge," Krexxle smirked, collecting his pile of booty as he swiftly exited the residence. "Mr. Garzip thanks you for your business," he called back with a sneer as he slammed the door behind him.
Outside, Krexxle checked the time – the collection had only taken up 10 minutes. "You're getting better all the time, pal," he grinned to himself as he hailed a passing hobgoblin, motioning for him to carry the newly-appropriated goods. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad day after all.
Any reviews would be incredibly appreciated! Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think so far.