Ta'lim eyed one of the pumpkin ribbons that was going up over the auction house, tilting his head one way and then the other. He took a few steps back, eyes narrowed and then pointed toward the right orc who was holding it in place. "Move it up jus' a hair." He paused, waiting until the man finished. Then the banner went through the same scrutiny as before. "Ah s'pose it be lookin' good, yeh? Make su'a it don' slip none while ya tack it in place."

While the one orc obediently hammered in a few nails, the one on the other side reached toward her belt with one hand and stopped. "Sir, I forgot my supplies."

"Dammit…" Ta'lim held his hands up toward her. "Don' be movin' now. Don' need dat banna slippin'." He looked around, picking up a few nails and then glanced over the waxing and waning bustle of the streets. A young elven lad was inspecting the preparations with boredom. Holding a finger up to the orcess, Ta'lim walked over to the elf. "'Ey, mon."

"Hello…" The elf straightened up a little.

"Dat be a crossbow?"

The elf glanced over his shoulder and then pulled the weapon in front of him, nodding.

"Can Ah see dat, jus' a sec? Ah nah gonna break it a nuttin'." The elf seemed puzzled, but handed it over with slight suspicion. As soon as it was in his hands, Ta'lim whirled around and fired at the banner. The orcess stilled with a deer-in-the-headlights look as Ta'lim lowered the weapon, eyes narrowed. He called up to her. "Let it go now?" When she jerked herself away from it, nearly toppling from the ladder, he looked it over, nodding slowly. "Dat works. Try ta rememba ya stuff next time, yeh?" He handed the elf back his crossbow.

As the orcess scurried down her ladder and hurriedly gathered her supplies so that she wouldn't be shot at again, Ta'lim let his gaze wander around the rest of the area. Overall, things were coming along nicely. He'd had to beg and plead with so many people just to be in charge of this year's event, and he intended to show the world that he was more than just a courier. He wanted to give back to the community he loved so. After calling out a few positive comments to the workers, he began down the Drag, looking over the different shops and the like as they donned their decorations as well. Things were definitely looking festive.

However, when he continued along the road toward the Valley of Wisdom, he picked up his pace. None of the decorations were up. Hell, it didn't look like anyone had even started on it yet. Searching the area, he honed in on one of the trolls working for him, and he jogged over. "Wat de hell be goin' on hea?"

"We ain't got nuttin' ta put up," the troll shrugged. He paused, brow furrowing. "Ah still be getting' paid fa dis, yeh? 'Cause Ah be waitin' fa ya ta give meh sumtin'."

Ta'lim ground his teeth slowly, half wanting to kick the troll's tusks out. "Don' be movin'. Ah see wat happen." Whirling around, he hurried to the tailoring shop, where the benevolent owner had allowed them to store their decorations until everything could be put in place. They'd considered working out of Whisper's Vials, but hadn't wanted Timmons or Enlyhn to tip any potions onto something again. They'd done that the year before and now Enlyhn had a pet jack-o-lantern that could actually uproot itself and follow after him, like some warped pet. There would be no sinister squashlings this year. Not on Ta'lim's watch.

The owner greeted him warmly, and Ta'lim tried to hide his anxiety with a smile that was a bit too wide. "Ah don' mean ta be a botha a nothin', but ya seen de boxes supposed ta go ta de Valleh a Wisdom?"

Thinking back, the owner looked through what was left and then stopped near a few boxes. "Here they are."

Relieved, Ta'lim trotted over, though his smile vanished when he counted the boxes. "…Ah t'aught dea supposed ta be twelve a dese, nah eleven."

"One of your men came by and picked up the first one. He said he'd be back for the rest, but he hasn't shown up yet." The owner shrugged.

Puzzled, Ta'lim thought back to the lazily idiots in the valley and then the other areas he'd been supervising. He hadn't seen any extra supplies and surely someone would have noticed if there was something in the wrong place. Surely he'd have noticed. "Don' suppose ya rememba who dis guy was who came by?"

"Some troll."

Ta'lim stilled. "Ya rememba wat he look like?"

With a shrug that hinted his growing irritation, the shopkeeper frowned. "I didn't really pay attention." He thought back and then his face lightened. "I remember thinking he was bigger than most trolls."

"'N greena den mos' Da'kspea?"

"Now that you mention it, yes."

Ta'lim closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself not to scream. When he finally opened his eyes again, he smiled at the shopkeeper. "Tanks, mon. Ah gonna send a few people ta come get dis stuff now. If dat firs' troll show up, tell him we don' be needin' his help fa now." Though the orc seemed puzzled, he nodded and went back to his business as Ta'lim hurried back to get things on track.

When the workers were on their way to pick up the supplies, Ta'lim slipped out of sight and pulled out his guild stone.

Haa'aji, you prick. Tell me you didn't steal festival supplies.

At first there was no reply, and so he tried Liila, asking if she'd seen the troll in question. When she replied, he felt even more lost.

He's stealing a lot of things lately. I'll try to get your decorations back.

Ta'lim offered her a word of thanks and then looked around the area again, offering a quick prayer to the loa that nothing else would go wrong.

~"~

Renza'shi sat on the porch-like area of one of the inns, watching the preparations for the festivities with glazed over eyes. He'd considered trying to help out, but a few members of his old guild had gotten involved—no doubt they were trying to repair the relationships with the rest of the Horde that had been so decimated under Garrosh's orders—and he had felt it would be too awkward to work with them. As it was, he bumped into old guild members everywhere, and they always gave him that same disapproving look. Embry had tried to talk him into coming back, saying that everyone knew he was loyal to the Horde and that his actions could be overlooked.

Like he'd done something wrong. Guilds were fucking optional. If he wanted to be guildless, then that was his choice. He oughtn't have to stick around with a group of people he didn't like, just because.

While he'd been adamant that he stood by his decision, in truth, he was having his doubts. Had leaving the only guild he'd ever really felt a part of been a good idea?

Since he'd left Blood and Honor, he'd felt lost. He'd considered trying out for a new guild, but then, he didn't want to have to explain why he'd left his old one. Everything seemed to connect just enough to make sure that he was caged in, like an animal, with the only way out one that he himself had locked shut.

He'd sat down the day before to have an ale to calm his nerves, and he had yet to go home. At this point, the only reason he kept ordering drinks was because he had the vaguest notion that he couldn't get a hangover if he never sobered up.

The way the world was beginning to twirl around him made him wonder that, if he drank enough, would he wake up in another place altogether. Maybe he'd open his eyes to a world where he hadn't trapped himself yet.

As he stared blankly out into the street, something shifted beside him, and he heard someone plop down. Turning his head slightly, he frowned when he saw Cinder sitting beside him. Great. Someone from the other guild he couldn't seem to escape.

She had two drinks, one which she was already sipping from and one held out to him. He took it with as much grace as he could muster and took a long sip. Gagging, he spit up most of the drink.

"De hell, mon?"

"I figured you could use a tonic. It's not healthy to drink so much," Cinder grinned at him as she looked him over. She took another sip from her own mug. "So. I hear you left Blood and Honor."

"Ah don' wanna talk about it."

Cinder pursed her lips and leaned her elbows on her knees. "Fair enough."

Renza'shi leaned forward as well, sighing and condemning himself to headaches as he managed to stomach most of the tonic in a single gulp. Like removing arrows, it was always best for him if it was done quickly. Sure enough, any clarity that might have been brought on by the drink was instantly overshadowed with a painful throb in his head. As he ran his fingers through his hair, he felt the soft brush of magic over him. He shivered, looking to see a green glow fading out around Cinder's hands.

"Ya realleh waste ya magic on hangovas?"

"My guildies tend to need that sort of healing a lot," Cinder shrugged. "With all we go through, they somehow don't tend to handle stress well. Bunch of babies."

"Wat do ya go t'rough, exactleh?"

"How'd you lose your tusks?" Cinder countered. When he just stared at her blankly, she shrugged. "You tell me a story, and I might tell you one back."

"Ah tink ya hopin' Ah still be drunk, 'cause dat ain't no deal Ah'd strike."

"Fine. I will tell you a story, but you have to go first. Happy?"

"Su'a, t'ough it ain't dat interestin'," Renza'shi shifted around a little on the ledge, getting comfortable. "Back befoa Ah was even in Blood 'n Hona, Ah been roaming de contested areas jus' ta see what trouble Ah could get mahself in." He smiled slightly, thinking back. "This one day, Ah got mahself in too deep. Ah go afta dis liila mage, tinkin' he all alone. Tu'ns out it was jus' him 'n fifteen close friends. They been comin' up in some pinca move a sumtin'."

"Damn."

"Yeh," Renza'shi shrugged, rubbing his jaw near where his tusks had once been. "Neway, Ah realize dere ain't no runnin', so Ah buckle down fa a fight, figurin' Ah take out as maneh as Ah can 'n maybe people call mah dead ass brave instead a dumb. Ah got about four a dem down when dey got de betta of meh. So Ah be on de ground, yeh? 'n dis elf decides he gonna bash meh brains in. But Ah roll jus' in time so dat he just splintas mah left tusk." Renza'shi tapped his cheek and grinned at Cinder's wide-eyed expression.

"Dat pissed meh off, mon. Ah figua Ah gonna die, but dey gotta make meh ugleh first? Ah not be havin' none a dat." He shook his head and pounded his fist into his other palm. "So Ah got dat mace from dat elf and bashed him in. Den Ah get a few a his friends, yeh? But dey still out numba meh, so Ah fall again. 'n dis time, dey don' wanna jus' kill meh, dey wanna make meh suffa, 'cause Ah hurt dea friends. So dey hold meh down, and one a dem dwarf rogues gouge out meh otha tusk." He paused and held his cheek out a little so that Cinder could see the scars lining the inside of it and on his jaw where his tusk had been removed.

"How'd you get away?"

Renza'shi paused, his hand dropping back to his lap. "Takna been watchin' mah fool ass, yeh? He t'aught at first dat Ah jus' be some dumb nobodeh, so he was gonna let meh die. Den he sees meh comin' up swingin' again 'n changed his mind. Fifteen ta one 'n Ah took out nine a dem." He nodded to himself. The memory was more bitter than sweet, now that he'd left the guild. "Neway, dat been how Ah lost mah tusks."

"So you just had what was left of the left one removed?"

"Yeh. It been cracked all de way ta meh jaw bone, neway. It was just gonna be infected all de time if Ah kept it."

"Why didn't one of your healers just fix it?"

"Damn, wooman," Renza'shi arched his brow. "Ya lot be wastin' magic all ova de place, yeh? Most healas ain't gonna expend all kinds a magic ta fix sumtin' mostleh cosmetic when dea be a simple hack 'n slash solution." He shrugged. "Besides, dis be betta fa balance. Mah tusks been huge, so Ah'd a always had mah head tilted ta de side wit' jus' one."

Cinder nodded slowly, absentmindedly wondering if she were to use a strong enough spell, if she could actually re-grow the troll's tusks. However, before she could consider what she would have to test that on, Renza'shi nudged her with his elbow. "So, den. What be ya storeh, eh?"

"Huh?" Even as Renza'shi frowned, Cinder groaned and ran her fingers down her face. "Gods, I did tell you that I'd tell you something in exchange, didn't I?" As she paused again, it occurred to Renza'shi that he wasn't the only drunken redhead sitting on that stoop. With a sigh, Cinder shook her head. "We have too many love shapes in our guild."

"De fuk be dat?"

"You heard of love triangles?" When Renza'shi's expression deadpanned, she rolled her eyes. "We've got love squares and love circles and love hexagons and love stars and all sorts of crap. Like half of the guild is depressed because someone either doesn't like them or they like the wrong someone else and just bleh. And some of them are all mopey and depressed and it's like, try growing up without an actual race to call your own and see how much you really have to be sad about, you know?" Cinder's eyes widened a little, and she looked at Renza'shi. "Shit, did I say that out loud?"

"Yeh, mon, ya did." Renza'shi reached out and patted her head, though she batted his hand away. "Ya eva t'aught ta look at it like instead a one race, ya got two?"

"People don't let you look at it that way. Some will, but so many…so, so many…" Cinder stared at her hands for a minute. "I think that's why I miss Nimlia so much. She didn't care what I was. She just liked me for me."

"Ah don' know who Nimlia be…"

"She was my lover, and she left me." Tears pricked Cinder's eyes. "And now I'm alone surrounded by people, and it's dumb, and I don't wanna be a love polygon." Her second sentence had been spoken in one long exhale before she burst into tears. Renza'shi stared at her, wide-eyed, half wondering if he could be held at fault for making her cry.

Reaching out tentatively, he patted her back. "It be okay. Dea be dat sayin' 'bout doors closing and flingin' open 'n getting' broken a sumtin', yeh? Ya find sum'n else."

Abruptly she'd stopped crying. "Where?"

"Uh, wat?"

Cinder eyed him. "Where in this world or any other am I going to find someone as perfect as Nimlia?"

Staring down at the wooden blanks between the two of them, Renza'shi found himself too tired to try to figure out how this conversation was moving along. Instead, he merely shrugged. "Ah dunno. Dea be a lot a people at de bars dis time a day. Maybeh try dea?"

"Would you be my wing man?"

"Don' ya got a whole guild fa dat?"

"Um, were you not listening? They're all, like, emotionally stunted and stuff." She paused, face growing serious. "Like, all of them."

"Dat be good, den. Dey make ya look good." He chose not to point out that she would fit in well with what she was describing.

Cinder stared at him, her chin stuck out so that her small tusks stuck out more than usual. "Is there a real reason that it can't be you? I mean, is staring at the street really that important to you?"

Renza'shi ran his hand down his face, closing his eyes. Finally, he gave in. "How dis be. Ah go wit' ya 'n we pretend break up? De guys be all ova ya—"

"I'm into women. Did you not hear me when I said 'she' left me? God. Talking to you is like talking to Timmons."

"'Nehone eva tell ya dat talkin' ta ya make somebodeh wanna slap ya?"

"All the time, actually," Cinder frowned. She paused when she noticed him look ready to inquire further. "They may want to, but they don't lay a hand on me." She smirked. "If you ever decide to try it, you'd better make that first hit count, because you won't get another shot. I'll kick your ass."

Renza'shi patted her head. "Ya be a ball a all kinds a feelin's right now, huh?" When her shoulders slumped, he laughed. "Ah tink maybeh ya hold off on lookin' fa anotha gu'l, yeh? Dem some deep wounds ya sportin', 'n onleh ting ta heal dem be time."

At first, he thought Cinder was going to blow him off, but instead, she considered his words and nodded slowly. As she hopped off the stoop, she looked back at him, dusting off her kilt. "Same to you, okay?"

Even as he started to object that he hadn't lost any lovers, she mouthed three words and he let out a small laugh and nodded, shooing her away with a motion.

Blood and Honor.

~"~

Mitchell slammed his palm against Timmons' chest and forced him to sit back on the fainting couch. He'd somehow managed to procure two of them and had taken over the top floor in Gregor's small hut. Gregor lay on the other fainting couch, legs crossed at the ankles and hands clasped over his stomach, a tired expression the only hint that if he thought he could make it outside without getting sheeped that he would be gone.

Timmons dug his nails into Mitchell's arm, hating that the undead mage could take more pain than he could. "I'm sure the guards have all been briefed on Gregor and my situation. If I want to go for a walk, I doubt it will hurt your precious experiment—"

"You won't come back. I'm not stupid," Mitchell snapped.

"That's debatable."

"Children, please," Gregor murmured. He'd draped an arm over his eyes. As Mitchell stared at him, he tilted his head. Gregor's chest rose and fell so naturally, as though he'd never not breathed.

After giving Timmons a suspicious once over, he sat back down in the chair he'd placed between the two of their couches. "Now then," he pulled out a clipboard with a list of questions on it. Under each were two boxes, one for Timmons and one for Gregor. "I have some questions to establish how the experiment has changed you. Maybe, after we talk a bit, I can figure out what exactly needs to be done to fix you."

Gregor sucked in a slow breath. "By 'fix', you mean restore completely to being human, yes?"

"Duh, I didn't make a cure for the plague just to fuck people up all over again."

"You might not, but I can easily see the Society doing it," Gregor muttered, the corners of his lips dipping down.

Mitchell watched the ease with which the muscles moved and jotted a quick note of it. "So then, I have a feeling that, at least for now, any potential problems will be seen in Timmons, rather than you, sir, since he's been breathing longer—"

"I'm right here," Timmons muttered. His arms were crossed across his chest, and he was sulking, but at least he wasn't trying to run off anymore.

"Anyway," Mitchell snapped, shooting a glare at the warlock before looking back to Gregor. "I'm mostly gonna just expect answers from him, but if you wanna chime in, please do."

"Tell me, is this the sort of thing you do to those humans you keep in cages?" Timmons asked, smirking slightly when Gregor straightened up, half off his fainting couch.

"You what?"

"I don't agree with the Society's housing methods for the test subjects, but I'm banned from the city, too, remember? I can't go fixing things for them." Mitchell glared at both of them and then tapped the clipboard against his lap. "So can I start? Or are you gonna keep being a dick so that I can never fix you?" The comment was addressed to Timmons, though he heard Gregor grunt something under his breath. When both of them had settled back down, he looked at his list. "Alright, then. Have either of you experienced any odd twitches?"

Gregor and Timmons exchanged a glance. Timmons leaned forward. "What?"

"My first success, Fluffy, has this odd tic in his face. I wasn't sure if I fixed that or not. So, any twitches? Maybe a toe that taps a bit too much? Or even a blood vessel? Maybe your arm itches a bit from a nerve ending throbbing? I need to know about this stuff now, because it could be a sign of an underlying problem."

"Like being dead?" Timmons asked, though as Mitchell scowled, Gregor sighed.

"I haven't felt anything like that."

Timmons rolled his eyes. "Neither have I."

Mitchell nodded, scribbling a few notes. "That's good. Now, have either of you gotten any injuries since your change? Anything. A papercut, maybe a bruise from catching a finger in a door…?"

Gregor shook his head and Timmons shrugged. "I scraped my arm up a bit when I was storming Stromgarde."

"Did it bleed at all?"

"Uh, I think so?" Timmons was tempted to see just how durable this body was and jump out the window. This was so annoying. Though, if he could be a living man again…

"So it clotted on its own?" When Timmons stared at him blankly, the mage slouched his shoulders, annoyed. "You need to pay attention to this stuff. That you haven't exsanguinated means the blood had to have stopped flowing. Was it because of clotting? Which part of your arm was hurt?" Mitchell leaned toward him, eyes wide enough that they could almost be seen around the edges of the straps crisscrossing his face.

Timmons held up his arm, rolling his sleeve back. His arm looked normal, but he traced a small circle over his skin. "Around here, I think."

Mitchell poked him with his boney finger. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes."

"And this?"

"Yes."

"And this—"

"I think it's safe to say I can feel my arm." Timmons caught Mitchell's hand before he could try again. "So drop it, okay?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you weren't regressing or something," Mitchell muttered, pulling his hand free and settling back into his chair. "Anyway, do you know if it healed on its own or if it wasn't until some outside force interacted with you, be it a healing potion or healing magic or life drain or something?"

Eye twitching, Timmons slipped his dagger out. Even as Gregor started up to get in between the two casters, Timmons ran the tip of the blade down part of his arm to make a small, shallow cut. When he was done, he shoved his dagger back into its holder on his hip. "There. Now we'll see what happens, won't we?"

Mitchell pulled out his stone and scribbled a few notes on it before sending out a message. Both Gregor and Timmons' stones chimed, and they pulled them out to see Mitchell's message had been broadcast to everyone.

Under no circumstances is anyone to heal the cut on Timmons' forearm. It's for science.

Gregor rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Are there many more of these questions?"

"I'm on number two of ninety."

Gregor looked as tired as Timmons felt. "This will really help?"

"Yes." Mitchell drummed his fingers against the clipboard in unison. When Gregor motioned for him to go on, he looked back down at the paper. "Okay…have you noticed the resurgence of any allergies you had while you were living? Like to food or…?"

"I haven't needed to eat," Gregor replied, sitting up. "That's a problem, right?"

"It might be," Mitchell murmured, writing something down.

"It has to be. I want to be a normal man. Not some…weird creature." Gregor looked desperate as he tried and failed to find the words for his fears.

"Okay, well, if neither of you are eating, that rules out a few questions, at least…" Mitchell scratched his pen across the paper. "Let's skip around a bit…" He flipped a few pages into his questionnaire. He paused, glancing at Gregor and then Timmons. "So have either of you had an erection since you started breathing again? If so, was it because of natural arousal or was it—"

"I'm out," Timmons swung his legs off the couch and started toward the stairs.

"I don't need details from your twisted mind, I just need to know if it happens. And, you know, if it's an appropriate response to stimulation you enjoy or, you know, if it's like Fluffy's twitch."

Timmons stopped on top of the stairs, flipping Mitchell the bird. "I don't have a twitch."

~"~

Sprocket trotted up to the nearest mailbox and peered inside, grinning when he saw a few weighted envelopes with his name on it. In Everlook, he'd always had his mail delivered directly to him and had often wondered about how people counted on the altruism of others to not tamper with their mail.

Now that he was in Orgrimmar, he knew. The envelopes were enchanted. If someone tried to lift one that didn't belong to them and held it for more than ten seconds, it would zap them with a soft warning spell. The longer they held it, the harsher the zap. While, sure, there were ways around it, most people weren't skilled enough to break into others' mail and so the system worked.

Sprocket loved how neat and organized the letters were, as well. They were inserted with such care near the top of the boxes, leaving anyone able to simply thumb through them. Taking the envelopes, he felt them in the hand, and—accounting for the miniscule weight of the paper of the envelope and the cut the auction house took—figured that he had roughly one thousand gold coming in to him. It wasn't as good as he was used to, but it was a start.

However, even as he idly flipped through the notes, checking which auctions were actually selling so that he would know which markets to focus on, a shadow loomed over him, and he stopped in his tracks. Looking up, he frowned when he realized that a surprisingly well-dressed orc stood in his path. A few others, many whose clothes hinted at affluence, stood behind him.

Sprocket crossed his arms, instinctively curling his hand around his envelope for a better grip on his new coin. "There a problem?"

"That depends," the orc replied, his words gruff and unfitting his fine garments. "Are you the goblin who's been undercutting everyone?"

With a slow, low laugh, Sprocket shook his head. "Friend, I don't undercut nobody. I buy low and sell high. Now if you've got a problem with me hikin' up the prices of a few items, talk ta me. Otherwise, I got places ta be and a business ta set up."

A few of the onlookers glanced at one another and murmured, though it was the orc who continued to address him, without a need to consult the rest of his posse. "If you really want to work the auction house, then we've got a few…unofficial rules to play by. Arrangements that ensure most of us go home happy. After all, there's no reason to start a price war that leaves all of us raking in coppers instead of gold, yes?"

Sprocket tilted his head way back so that he could peer down his nose at the creature towering over him. He'd been waiting to hear from this lot. "I take it ya guys are the United Bankers of Orgrimmar?"

"Indeed we are."

"Well then, let's hear these rules ya got."

~"~

Sprocket sauntered into his hut, his stride even, even as he grimaced at the sight of the barren hovel. He was going to need to upgrade and soon. At least he was if he wanted to live the way he had back in Everlook. He stared longingly at a box in the corner that held a few of his winter clothes. He missed that frozen hellhole. However, he'd already sent word that he was abandoning the cartel.

There was no going back now.

Drumming his fingers against his pocket with his gold in it, he walked up the central, winding walkway to the second floor of the hut and flashed a toothy grin when he saw that Tizzle was there, as well. The goblin priest had half a dozen documents spread out on the floor around him, and he was combing over them with excruciating attention, as though missing a single period would bring his whole world crashing down.

Considering it already had fallen to pieces, it was odd that he'd be so desperate.

"Heya, pal."

Tizzle jumped and looked up, peering at Sprocket. "Heya…" The goblins had all pitched in to buy this little house after looking at a few different ones, if only so that they wouldn't be shoved into tiny corners in their friends' abodes.

"So, ah, not to cross any lines here, but are ya the moron that's been undercutting everyone in the auction house lately?"

Tizzle sat upright, his back rigid and ears lowered. "I may have thrown a few things up there for cheap. Why?"

"By few, do ya mean four hundred seventy-three auctions?"

"Yeah. Like I said. A few." Tizzle murmured. Sprocket nodded slightly, considering that he had well over a thousand on the market at the moment. However, Tizzle had caught on that something was amiss. His whole body was tense. "How do ya know how many auctions I got up?"

"You're steppin' on toes, my friend. And makin' enemies. Fast."

Tizzle slouched down again, his gaze wandering over the different documents scattered around him. "Well, damn." He hesitated, picking at the corner of one of the pages. "I don't suppose ya could help a goblin out, hm?" When Sprocket narrowed his eyes, Tizzle shrugged a little. "Everythin' Wrach and I worked our asses off ta earn was in that tavern when it went up in smoke. I had decent insurance, but me declarin' ta be Horde nullified my claim." He stared off into space. "Nobody here wants ta listen to a sob story about financial losses. I'd a thought, what with all the adventurers comin' through my tavern, that the Sprogworks name would have carried at least a bit of weight, but no one gives a damn. It's bad enough that Wrach had ta pay my share of the house. Now… Wrach is so star struck with adventure she doesn't see it, but it's like Ma left us all over again. We got nothin'."

"Ya just tryin' ta get the capital to start up another tavern?" With a pointed look, Sprocket crossed his arms. "Look, just don't go crashin' the economy tryin' ta make a few gold, alright? Since we're guildies, I told the people lookin' for ya that it was an honest mistake and that ya wouldn't toss up any ridiculously low auctions anymore. Don't go makin' me a liar, Tizz."

"I won't," Tizzle replied quickly. He noticed a bit of a gleam in his fellow goblin's eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sprocket felt that he was getting his due, especially after the way he'd turned his back on Sprocket when he'd first come to them to warn them about the Alliance. "Ya know if they mind if I just keep up the current ones? Ta see if they sell?"

"Eh." Sprocket shrugged. He turned toward the stairs, heading off to peruse some different shops and see if he could make a few connections in the city. "Ya know, though. A lot of our guildies have at least a decent amount of gold. Ya could hit a few up ta help make the down payment and then just pay 'em back over time."

Tizzle merely grunted as he slumped down and went back to researching orcish permits laws and business standards. Sprocket considered telling the priest that he'd actually been coming home to cash in a most recent debt—to allay the other players of the auction house's fears, he'd paid them a lump sum of the difference between their wares and Tizzle's, so that the guild wouldn't get any backlash—but he decided to forgo that. After all, sometimes, it was good to just do something for someone, and there was no reason to kick a guildie while they were down.

Trotting out onto the street, he couldn't help but wonder if the feeling curling in his gut could be that warm, fuzzy feeling that people always rambled on about when they did good deeds. As he reached the door to the first shop on his planned route, he dismissed the idea, deciding instead to focus on how much money he was going to make after he had Orgrimmar eating out of his hands.