"Long live Marcus Moonbrook."

That was the first time they called me king. It seems Stoutmantel and Ebonlocke made their decision.

I rose my palm into the air. "Sheath your swords. We did not come here to spill blood today."

I waited for the sound of steel returning to its sheathe. "You abandoned us, left your own countrymen to rot. By all means that should be enough for war."

I looked to the soldiers of Stormwind, finding hesitation in their eyes.

"Yet we come here with good will. For years you recieved no taxes, no wealth from Westfall, or Duskwood. No coin to push towards your war with the Horde."

I let the implication sink in for a moment. "But perhaps, through trade, we may all benefit."

"We have need of weapons, food, and supplies, and now possess all too much coin to pay for it."

I grinned. "The people call out to Stormwind once again for aid."

I looked to Varian Wrynn

"Will it answer?"

He nodded. "It seems we have much to discuss, King Marcus." The nobles whispered amongst themselves at the acknowledgement.

"Indeed. Unfortunately I am no master of matters of State, and in my anger I may say something I regret."

I looked over to Stoutmantel and Ebonlocke. "My advisers will discuss the particulars with you and yours. In the meantime I will be looking around the city."

Without dismissal or leave I strode outside of the meeting.

Five men accompanied me outside the keep.

It was true. My lives as Rick or Felendren gave me little experience in negotiation. I had established myself as a political entity, and now I was hoping to avoid establishing myself as someone to be exploited.

With the two lords of Westfall and Duskwood's loyalty confirmed I saw no reason not to leave the rest up to them.

I needed to establish a shared rule with them if I didn't want the whole country to collapse every time I decided to go on a trip.

My first stop was the mage quarter, where all magic users native to Stormwind plied their trade. It was as beautiful and well kept as anything else within the city.

I traveled down paved roads and got a look at the finest architecture human hands could manage. At a city guards suggestion I found a shop known as Alchemy needs.

On the outside it was a establishment of brick and mortar just like any other building in the city. I left the guards outside.

Interestingly enough the interior of the place was of Elven design, and and at the front counter a night elf looked over a ledger, dipping down to reveal a wonderful amount of cleavage.

She had pale blue skin, and rich green locks of hair fell gently around her shoulders.

"Hello."

She looked up for a moment, surprised. "A customer. Good. Did you want to look around or did you have something in mind?"

I did, in fact. "Trolls blood Elixer."

She nodded, moving towards the back of the store. "How much where you looking for?"

"All of it." A delicate brow rose. "For a personal project."

"I have roughly thirty vials in stock, I had been planning to provide them for the war effort..."

I smiled at her as charmingly as I could. "I'll buy all of them, and If you are willing to have them delivered, I'll take as many as you can send my way."

She frowned. "The ingredients are hard to come by, and they come in several different kinds of potion. Are you su-"

"I'll pay you half again the price for the ones you deliver to me, so long as they arrive intact at Moonbrook in Westfall." Silence greeted me.

I leaned forward, speaking in Darnassian "Do we have a deal?" She looked at me, wide eyed.

I had just offered to buy several months worth of her sales, and for more in the future at a larger price.

"I-it can be arranged." I could practically see the dollar signs in her eyes.

"Good, now then, do you have any books on your craft?"

I walked out of the store a very satisfied customer, carrying a bag with a lot of vials of Trolls blood elixir, and several tomes on various levels of Alchemy.

I motioned the guards to follow me as I made my way further into the mage quarter. This was probably the only time inside the city I wouldn't be heavily watched.

I probably had people following me, but at least the people themselves didn't know me.

I was shown with considerably more reluctance to the Slaughtered Lamb. It was an abandoned tavern, with a local sect of Warlocks underneath it.

The people knew about the place, and accepted the warlocks, so long as the practiced their art in private.

It was also the only place with access to fel magic that I knew of within the Eastern kingdoms.

The Slaughtered Lamb was an imposing, dark building, with broken glass windows and an ominously carved welcome sign.

I left my guards outside once more, this time assuring them I would be fine, and that I was looking for a more acceptable form of magic. In a way it was.

Necromancers almost exclusively served the Scourge, but warlocks existed in sects of varying loyalty all over the world.

So long as they proved themselves useful, they were allowed among the civilized folk.

Especially recently, with the battles in Outland reaching new heights, and experts on demons became more and more of a commodity.

Still, walking inside in broad daylight got me some strange looks.

The bar itself was surprisingly well kept, with clean floors and nice tables for whomever decided to drink there. Probably the warlocks come to think of it.

It was empty with the exception of the barkeep. A gruff, bearded man, covered in scars. I walked across the tavern, before sitting down. "Wine. Elven if you have any."

Old habits die hard. The man passed me over a high-borne vintage surprisingly enough "Eversong Wine" was fancily embroidered on the side.

I waited until I finished my glass before I spoke.

"I'm looking to talk with the warlocks." The man grunted. "Downstairs."

I tossed him a couple of silver coins for his time, before moving on my way.

When I stepped down the stairs, the air grew colder, and the relatively homely interior of the tavern faded as I descended into the cellars below.

Shadows seemed to dance off the walls of the cellar, and I got a look at several dark robbed individuals working around a brazier.

Alchemy tables filled with sizzling liquids and scattered notes littered the area. A tall figure approached me, his hood shadowing his face.

"We've been expecting you Marcus."