Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
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Note: This fic has spoilers for the Uldum zone, as it takes place after the Schnottz quest chain has concluded.
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Salvage Operation, Chapter 1: The Pitch
by silverr
There were a lot of things Vaska liked about Everlook. Innkeeper Vizzie provided a bunk and meals in exchange for guarding the inn at night and filling the freezer with meat every month or two. Qia had taught her to use the comm device in the bank to take messages from the other Cartel outposts. Kilram and Lilith were old friends who understood the value of silent companionship, Izzy kept his Coppergrabby hands to himself, and the only other elf in town was actually a dragon.
It was almost the perfect setup: just enough people around to supply basic needs, and every one of them generally willing to mind their own business and leave her completely alone.
Most of the time. "I said I'm not interested, Kil," she snapped.
The troll shook his head, shrugged, then ambled out of the bank and across the courtyard, returning a few minutes later with a small cauldron of stew from the inn. Vizzie followed behind with a ladle and a stack of bowls.
"Jes' don' stay hidin' forever, Vaska," Kilram said very quietly as he stretched tall to hand a bowl of stew up to where she sat on the comm platform. "You do dat, dey win."
He apparently had forgotten how sharp goblin hearing was, for Vizzie then asked, "Aw, someone break your heart, sweetie?"
"No," Vaska said, glaring at the troll. "But I'm going to break someone's face in a minute."
"Violence accomplishes nothing," Lilith said in her gravelly voice as she brought down her mace on a cockroach.
"Neither does honesty or skill," Vaska said bitterly, immediately angry with herself for breaking her vow not to make any references to certain lessons she'd learned recently. "Only money and politics."
"Pishbo," Kilram said, sopping his stew with a piece of bread. "You one of da fastest blades I ever see. You gonna land on your feet and be rich and famous some day. You see. Den dat Melior and all dem dark rangers goin' come beggin' at your door. Make you dey queen."
"He's right," Lilith rasped, and Vaska snorted, but she smiled a little as well. "All right, I'll go to Gadgetzan and meet with this Belloc. But there's no guarantee I'll take the job."
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Theoretically, she had plenty of time to think about her situation on the flight south but she chose not to, instead noting changes to the landscape. Water in places that had been dry, big fiery angry cracks in the earth – how had she missed all this? Oh, that's right. She'd been in a prison cell thanks to her her back-stabbing mentor.
So much for not thinking about it.
Gadgetzan had changed as well. It had a shipyard and a port, flight masters inside the walls. More gnomes and cannons.
The inn hadn't changed though: the same well worn tables, the same smell of hyena stew and cheap ale. There was only one customer, seated at a table in the back corner. Elf. Male, dressed in an expensive white suit and brimmed hat pulled low to hide his face. Gold jewelry glinted at his throat and wrists. If she'd seen him in Silvermoon she would have dismissed him as a generic toy, empty-headed, narcissistic, out to trade his pretty for expensive gifts ... but here, in this ramshackle corner of the desert, he was probably her contact, and that suggested he might be a whole 'nother type. One she also knew quite well. The type that would count on his looks and charm to deceive people into underestimating him, who would spin lies and flattery as easily as water poured from a cup. A schemer who would never allow his hands to get dirty, but who'd be as ruthlessly vindictive as a naga if crossed or denied. Yeah, she knew the type: she'd trained under one for years.
She almost turned and left right away, but then her common sense kicked in. This stranger wasn't Melior, and after coming all this way if she didn't at least find out what the job was Vilram would tsk his tusks off at her when she got back to Winterspring. Then too, even if the job was messy or far beneath her skills the gold should be good.
"Belloc?"
"Who?" he said, then looked up from under the brim of his hat. She noted that the first things his unnaturally green eyes took in were the daggers at her hips and the tattoo on her hand: after that, he looked up at her face – he got points for not flinching at the scars – and said smoothly, "Yes, I'm Belloc. I didn't expect the Cartel to send such an attractive wisp of a girl as a go-between."
Wisp? Vaska almost laughed. Melior had always told clients she was a panther, calling her his little shadowmaw, requiring her wear to leathers carefully tailored to accentuate her muscles. "I'm a duskwalker," she said simply.
Belloc coughed nervously. "Ah … well, yes. Yes, more than enough for what I need. Please sit down. Would you like a drink? I've, er, never worked with a – Forsaken. Or do you prefer to be called a dark elf? Or dark rogue?" He stopped – as if he knew she wasn't going to tolerate much of his fluttering – and asked more firmly, "So what shall I call you? Why don't you sit down and have – er, would you like a drink?"
"Vaska. No. What's the job?" Decorative or not, he was filling up her boredom and irritation barrels pretty fast: she hoped he'd get to the details before she was full.
He folded his hands and said in a low voice, "I was recently hired as archeological consultant to an expedition excavating certain ancient ruins in Uldum. Our group came under attack, and in the confusion a colleague got reckless and was captured. I want you to retrieve certain items we discovered." After a moment he added with a tight, false smile, "And my colleague, of course."
"Why didn't your group get him out? Vaska asked. "Or you?" Let me guess – you were too busy running away.
"Unfortunately, most of our group had already been killed," Belloc said. "And – well, I wanted to stay, but my associate was adamant. If we were both captured there would have been no one to go for help."
"I see." Vaska shrugged. "All right, I'll do it. Let's go."
"Oh," he said, holding up a hand. "I'm going to need time to recover from my ordeal before I throw myself back into the lion's jaws. Perhaps two or three days?"
"Two or three days from now? Your associate's corpse will be buried by the dunes by then. And your artifacts will have disappeared."
"Oh dear." He sounded politely distressed.
Vaska knew what the weasel wanted her to say next, and normally she would have made him squirm, but she wanted to wrap the contract and get away from his shiny, perfect smile before she was tempted to break his shiny, perfect teeth. "Draw me a map."
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Belloc talked as he sketched, explaining that the artifacts – and his colleague – were likely being held in northwest Uldum near something called the Plaza of the Moon.
"Plaza? Sounds like an easy fly-and-grab."
"Impossible," Belloc said, shaking his head. "There's far too much ground and air surveillance for such a simple solution."
Vaska realized right then that not only was Belloc lying to her, he didn't mind if she knew it. She decided to play. "Surveillance? For a few crates of stolen artifacts? Odd. Who are these guys anyhow?"
Belloc was evasive. "Some cult."
Her instinct told her that there was potential for hidden profit in this job: maybe a lot, depending on how well she played her role and handled her opportunities. "All right, you're the expert. I'll stealth in." She tapped her finger on the map. "The northern approach looks good – come in from Silithus, skirt the oasis at Vir-sar, then though this temple and out onto the plaza."
"Well," Belloc propped his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his mouth in a ridiculously transparent tell, "I'd recommend coming in from the south, actually. Follow the river from Ramkahen."
"Why?" Vaska asked. "That'll take longer, and I'll have to cross the aqueduct that borders the plaza – is it deep?"
"I don't recall it being very deep."
Yeah, right. Because when you're handling water in the desert, shallow containers are ideal. "All right. I'll fly into Ramkahen and go northwest from there."
"A wise choice," Belloc said. "Although …" He looked down at the table, deliberately hiding his eyes with his hat's brim, "it might be best if you didn't mention my name."
"Oh?"
"The Ramkahen tol'vir don't like me much. They seem to sense that I'm more of a dog person."
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~ To be continued~
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Initial versions of each chapter were posted at the Warcraft kinkmeme on LiveJournal.
Additional author's notes are posted in my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth (URL in profile).
(10) 1 January 2014