The dry sand billowed up past Furaxes as he rode through the vast savannah known as the Northern Barrens. He was an orc with long, thin tusks and of above average height, so he towered over the tallest human, and was about the same height as an average tauren. He had been forcibly recruited from his farm on the outskirts of the Valley of Trials where he had lived with his ageing parents. His father had been a notable shaman in Orgrimmar before he resigned from his post as adviser to Thrall when Garrosh stepped up to the mantle.
The wind rushed past him as he made his way down to the town of Ratchet on the coast of the Northern Barrens. Someone at the Crossroads had passed him a note saying that a goblin hunter was looking for paid help to drive out the Theramore troops near the town.
As Furaxes neared the town center, he pulled the reins on his wolf, Fenir, to slow him down to a gentle trot. He pulled the note out of a pouch on his belt and read it again,
"Meet Gazri at the inn at Ratchet."
Furaxes dismounted and led Fenir to the inn that sat on a rise near the front of the small town. As he looked around, the buildings were ramshackle and there was an open stand near the center that supplied banking services. A blacksmith's store was right next to the inn and flightmaster's wyverns could be seen circling above a wharf where a shipped docked, which would take passengers to Stranglethorn Vale in the Eastern Kingdoms for free. Which was relatively unheard of for a goblin-run town. After tying Fenir to a post outside the inn, Furaxes shouldered aside the threadbare curtains and stomped into the inn, looking for the goblin. However as he quickly cast his eyes around, he didn't notice any green, short ugly looking creature, so he took a seat at a table across from a drunk human carousing with other human companions in varying stages of alcoholic intoxication. The bright shine of a medallion caught Furaxes' eye and he squinted, picking out the livery of Theramore.
Suddenly, a loud voice echoed from the front of the inn, asking for a flagon of bourbon. As the owner of the voice walked in, Furaxes realized it must be Gazri. How fitting that the smallest goblin in history would have the loudest voice. Even if the small goblin stood up on a chair, he wouldn't be up to Furaxes' shoulder height. But the raptor that followed him in was bigger than any other he had seen. The oversized lizard looked around, it's long, sharp claws clicking against the stone floor of the inn, it's intelligent eyes darting around, registering its surroundings. As Gazri made his way into the depths of the inn, he accidentally bumped into the drunk human with the Theramore medallion, slamming the poor man's face into his mug of beer. The man whirled around in anger and glared at the goblin, but the smaller goblin simply smirked and walked off nonchalantly. Gazri settled himself in a table opposite the drunk human, and Furaxes was about to stand up and go over when the drunk human struggled to his feet and lurched over to Gazri, shouting,
"Do you have a problem, goblin?"
Gazri shrugged with a disgusted look on his face, and replied,
"Not really, but I bet your mother did when she pulled you out."
The innkeeper chuckled and even the raptor gave a toothy smile.
The human, however, was not amused, lunging forward with a dirk in hand.
The events unfolded in slow motion as the human flew through the air, aiming for Gazri's head. The goblin, with a sly smile on his face, leaned back in his chair as if he was on the beach in Tanaris, and pulled out a long-barrelled revolver with an enormous cylinder from a holster at his hip and fired a shot. The bullet traveled through the man's left eye and made an enormous, bloody hole in the back of his head, just as Gazri jumped off his falling chair and landed neatly on the floor. The room was silent, except for the innkeeper, who was rolling on the floor laughing. The two human companions drew their swords, just as Furaxes stood up, jumped on his table and leapt off of it, drawing his enormous double-bladed axe in midair. His first, effortless stroke literally disarmed one companion, and his second stroke cleaved the surprised man's head in half. Years of training in the Valley of Trials as a young orc had prepared him for battle, and the months dealing with humans in the ruins of Tiragarde Keep taught him how humans ticked. Ducking to avoid the sword swing aimed at his head, Furaxes swept his axe upwards, slicing the man clean down the middle. Furaxes sheathed his axe and turned towards the surprised hunter while the innkeeper struggled for air and reached for a broom.
"You are Gazri?" Furaxes asked.
"Um. Yes. And who might you be? Can you clean this mess up please?"
"An axe for hire." Furaxes replied, completely ignoring the question.
The goblin perked up.
"For hire, you say?"
"Yes, for the last bloody time." Furaxes replied, exasperated.
"Great! You're hired. Just sign these papers," with that he pulled an enormous sheaf of papers out of his diminutive backpack and slammed it on the table, "and clean up this-"
The goblin didn't finish the sentence before a hand-axe was jammed into his throat.
"I will not clean up your damn mess," Furaxes hissed.
The goblin gulped as a trickle of bright crimson ran down his neck. The innkeeper burst out in another fit of laughter when he saw the show of violence. Furaxes made a mental reminder to ask him forcibly why he was laughing later.
"Just sign the papers then," he said with a sheepish smile.
Furaxes pricked his thumb with the head of the axe and stamped down on the top paper.
"Done, where to?" Furaxes growled.
The goblin looked up with another one of his mischievously sly smiles.
"To the Merchant's Coast."