(AN: Welcome back yet again! Instead of working on any of the number of stories I've started and haven't finished, I decided to do a short [ten chapters or less] story about what's been happening in Azeroth for our favorite characters.)
(I won't throw everyone into the story, since some of them will be introduced properly in time, but there may be some unfamiliar faces to those who have been reading since Beacon of Hope. As usual, World of Warcraft and Battle for Azeroth are the property of Blizzard, I'm just the unoriginal guy making fics about it.)
A Deal with Danger
The Salty Sailor Tavern. Most adventures for Randalmar Cross had begun in this very alehouse. It was in this tavern where he had been press-ganged into the Bloodsail Pirates while most of the heroes of the Alliance and Horde had gone off through the Dark Portal again (he never could quite wrap his head around it, even after he had heard the full story). Mathias Shaw had called in a favor from him to serve beneath Jorach Ravenholt in the Coven of the Uncrowned; though he had little understanding of how he could have been use any use to him. Aside from the Horde, with whom they were not openly at war with - despite their betrayal on the Broken Shore - neither the Burning Legion nor their allies in Suramar could be assuaged by a simple pirate and an ex-soldier, even with a ship and a crew of his own.
Therefore it was that, while the great ones, the leaders of their own secretive and exclusive orders, had gone off to Argus, that mysterious object in the sky that was now nothing more than a bright glowing speck no bigger than a star, everyone else remained behind. Randalmar Cross was just such an 'everyone else', a thoroughly average fellow. He had only a nominal loyalty to the Alliance: the Horde had destroyed his beloved Stormwind during the First War, so they served to keep the monsters at bay (the only good they did, in his opinion). As the Light hadn't kept the Orcs from burning Stormwind to the ground, his god was money: it was the only thing that united both the Horde and the Alliance, their love of gold. Sometimes he wondered how the savages knew the value of it; perhaps the goblins - part-time allies of the Horde and the movers and shakers in seedy towns like Booty Bay - had taught them the value of coin.
Clandestinely he reached down to the small bag that hung upon the belt of his trousers and felt the coins within. There was enough there for a few rounds more, a night's rest in the inn, maybe a few golden minutes with a salty wench if he was lucky and the goblins didn't try to fleece him. Then again, he might merely go sleep on the ship instead. He had grown accustomed to sleeping on the tossing, turning waves of the Great Sea, and though he looked forward to sleeping on solid, unmovable ground tonight, he could deny himself that small comfort (and others); his reasoning being that he might be able to send a few pieces to someone else who worked for Shaw. He sighed in regret: how could he ever hope to explain himself to Florenica? He hadn't seen her since Northrend, and after what had happened at Venture Bay, he doubted that she would have a warm welcome for him, despite their history together.
He reached for his mug and drained it, then looked around for the barmaid to ask for another round. While he was looking about with his one good eye, he spotted a strange sight this side of Kalimdor. Two Night Elven women had entered the tavern and made their way over to a dark corner of the common room. This was quite curious: Night Elves were rarely seen outside of their forests far in the west, and almost never seen in the Eastern Kingdoms, if the stories could be believed. He hadn't met many in his travels, and certainly he hadn't seen any out here. This piqued his curiosity: the Salty Sailor had a not-too-sweet reputation among the underworlds of both factions, and if someone needed to do a backdoor deal with little knowledge from the leaders of either the Horde or the Alliance, they might come here. Perhaps there was something to be learned here, something that could be sold to someone for a hefty profit.
With ears pricked and eye open, he watched the two Night Elves slink into their table in the corner, practically blending into the shadows. The two women were as tall as he was, if not taller, but he couldn't make out many great features. They wore hoods and cloaks that disguised them after a fashion, but he could see the long, green eyebrows peaking out from the corners of the hood of one of them that gave away that she was a Night Elf. From beneath the hoods, he could catch a gleam of glowing eyes, which also gave away their race: they were too slender to be Worgen, too short to be Draenei, too tall to be Elves from Quel'Thalas - high elf, blood elf, dark elf, he couldn't keep up with all their names - or any of the Horde races who also had glowing eyes, therefore they must be Night Elves. One had silver eyes, but the other one he couldn't guess what color her eyes were, though a cold shiver ran down his spine if he looked too long at that one, cloaked and hooded in black.
Randalmar tried to listen to what they were saying, but he could not understand what they spoke. Perhaps they were speaking in their Elvish language, which he knew not and hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. But while he was watching them, his eyes failed to notice another figure approaching his table until he heard the thump. Turning around he saw a tankard being placed on the opposite side of the table, just in front of him.
"I drink alone," Randalmar replied. "So unless you're lookin' for a fight, you can piss off."
"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" the stranger replied. Randalmar looked up and saw the short, auburn-haired and mustached visage of none other than the Master of Spies himself.
"What brings you down here, Shaw?" Randalmar asked. "I thought you'd be in Kalimdor, after that big sword got stuck in the desert."
"I'm on the King's business, Cross," Mathias returned, using Randalmar's last name. "Unofficially, that is."
"Unofficially, eh?" Randalmar asked. "So the big-wigs up in Stormwind don't know you've come here?"
"And neither does the Horde," Mathias added. "And that's exactly how it must be. I have a job for you, old man."
"Another job, eh?" Randalmar rolled his eyes. "Knowing how little I was used during this third war with the Burning Legion, I'm not so sure I'm interested in another one of your 'jobs.'"
"The pay is good," Mathias replied. "And you won't have to be dealing with demons; well, at least not those kinds of demons."
Randalmar chuckled. "Now then, Shaw, let's say I was interested in your little job. What would I be doin'?"
Mathias pulled up a chair and sat down across from Randalmar. From the bosom of his coat he pulled out a map, which he stretched on the table.
"I thought you'd be a little more discreet than this," said Randalmar, cocking one eye in suspicion.
"Trust me, I've taken the necessary measures in this matter," Mathias replied. "I've had to bribe the owner to keep out any Horde customers: that goblin charged a high price, but I paid him enough."
"Do you actually trust those floppy-eared gold-mongers?" Randalmar asked.
"I've worked with some of them in my time," Mathias returned. "I trust their greed, and for now, that will suffice." He then gestured for Randalmar to lean in and pointed on the map towards the western continent of Kalimdor.
"Perhaps you've heard about that mineral that's appeared in Silithus after 'that big sword' showed up," Mathias stated.
"I've heard enough," Randalmar replied. "I hear you and the Horde have been desperate to get your hands on it."
"That's correct," Mathias returned. "But, as you can see, there's a problem with this. Most of the mainland of Kalimdor has been under the Horde's control since Garrosh. Because of this, they have a significant advantage in acquiring this...azerite. For us, we usually have to claim the Seething Shore before we can transport any off-continent. After that, we run into even more problems; the Horde navy, pirates, storms, sea monsters."
"So why is this rock so important to you and His Majesty?" Randalmar asked.
"The Explorer's League and SI:7 believe that azerite has some...unique properties, which we wish to study further," Mathias evasively replied. "The main problem, as I said, is acquiring it."
"Can't you just send it north by sea to Darnassus?" Randalmar asked.
"No," Mathias sighed. "High Priestess Whisperwind and Arch-Druid Stormrage have insisted that we not use their city as a staging point for war or weapons of war. Also, it would be impractical to send azerite to Darnassus. For one thing, we'd have to cross the western shore of Kalimdor; Horde scouts on the mainland would see us coming miles away and mobilize their fleet either north or south. Another problem would be how to get it to Stormwind once it's reached the Night Elves' tree."
"You can't just teleport it from Darnassus?" Randalmar asked.
"The Night Elves' hatred of magic would prevent us from placing mages in Darnassus to move the azerite," Shaw continued. "Also, now that the Horde has both the Blood Elves and the Nightbourne, they have a much keener understanding of magic and would detect mass teleportation so near their own lands. Even if we managed to break free from Kalimdor, our ships would have to make it all the way back to Stormwind on their own. The North Sea is dangerous and many ships would be lost if we went around the southern coast of Northrend; going around the northern coast would take too long, and would place us in Horde waters once we approached Quel'thalas. The South Sea is not open to us either: pirates sail those waters, and the Shado-pan refuse to let our ships dock on Pandaria."
"Couldn't you use the goblin ships in these parts?" Randalmar asked, pointing to the eastern coast of Kalimdor. "There's still ships sailing out of Ratchet, right?"
"Yes," Mathias sighed. "But that also isn't very safe. Ratchet's too close to Orgrimmar to be shipping azerite through it; also Gazlowe still maintains strong ties with the Horde, despite his expressed neutrality. We also would be sailing directly into the Maelstrom, which would be suicide. And now that the Nightbourne are part of the Horde, Thalyssra will oppose any of our ships docking on the Broken Isles. No, what we need is someone who can operate outside of the Alliance; someone with a fast ship that knows the South Seas."
"I take it that's where I come in?" Randalmar asked.
"Precisely," Matthias replied.
"Well, as it turns out, I just happen to have a ship," Randalmar stated. "Now, obviously, there will be questions once we start loading this stuff up. And I can't be expected to keep them all quiet when they start asking questions: and believe me, they're gonna ask."
"Get to your point, pirate," Matthias grumbled, crossing his arms.
"I want double," Randalmar stated.
"Your compensation is not negotiable," Matthias returned.
"Come on, now," Randalmar retorted with a sly smirk. "Don't tell me the Explorer's League haven't plundered priceless relics from the Broken Isles: relics that would fetch more than a few gold coins, coins that have gone into King Anduin's pocket."
"Unofficially, I don't have the King's support in this matter," Matthias replied.
"I'm sure you can figure something out, Shaw, you're a clever man," Randalmar said. "You sure greased the palms of those goblins, didn't you?"
"Captain Cross..."
"Like I said," Randalmar replied. "It's all insurance. You know that I don't play favorites when it comes to my crew. Some of them have friends on the Horde, and some of those friends might be willing to pay them for news when we make port."
Matthias Shaw frowned, then let out a disgruntled sigh. "Very well. I'll double your fee. But if you try this sort of thing again, I'll make sure there won't be a safe port for you from here to Kalimdor. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, Shaw," Randalmar replied.
(AN: So I was working on music lately, and once that creative train ground back to a halt, I thought I'd come back here and do some more writing.)
(Next chapter, things get personal.)
