Potion Panic!
It was another exciting day at the racetrack on the shimmering flats of Thousand Needles. The crowds were cheering, the bookmakers were raking in the gold, the rocket cars were crashing spectacularly, and somewhere amongst the throngs of people crowding the side of the track Varley was sighing in despair. The raceway was not living up to his expectations generated by its advertisements that were littering the streets of Stormwind, which showed a lot in the way of beautiful women whose love of rocket cars was matched only by their passion for revealing clothes, but neglected to depict even a single angry goblin loanshark or their hired muscle ogre bodyguards.
Before him stood one such goblin, though the casual observer might have mistaken him for a small mobile armoury instead. His tiny body was completely laden down with all manner of disproportionately sized axes, swords, various guns and explosives and bandoliers filled with large thorium slugs. Indeed, were it not for the greedy eyes glaring at him from under a nest of daggers which were inexplicably taped to his head and the large nametag from the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency that read "Hi! My name is Fixxle! Ask about our amazing new soul mortgage offers!" stuck to one of the outsized explosives on his chest Varley might of thought he was some sort of new gnomish walking battle tank himself.
Fixxle's ogre companion was lightly equipped by comparison (Though, Varley mused, the entire army of Stormwind would be lightly equipped compared to the goblin personification of war in front of him), only armed with the traditional ogre weapon of a large stick with a nail in it. But then again, when you're strong enough to do cool party tricks like bending steel bars into the shape of animals and crushing dice with your bare hands, you don't need much more then a piece of wood to look intimidating. A glazed, faraway expression on both of the ogres two heads completed the "Big, strong and stupid" stereotype. Either this ogre was secretly deciphering the mysteries of the universe or it was taking all the combined brainpower it could muster just to remember to keep breathing.
"Varley" Fixxle began, his voice somehow both squeaky and menacing at the same time. "You withdrew a loan of one hundred gold pieces from the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency, correct?"
Varley sighed. He had hastily taken a loan, but the race he was betting on seemed like a sure thing! How could a car fashioned entirely from explosives not win? He blamed those sneaky gnomes for sabotaging the noble goblin race car, leaving him with no winnings and an awful debt to a company that made it necessary for a special broken kneecap ward to be opened in the Gadgetzan hospital. Still, there was a slim chance that he still might be able to talk himself out of this situation.
"Uh, yes I did, but in a way, don't we all owe the goblin society a debt for all the great works they've done for us?"
Fixxle narrowed his eyes. He had a temper shorter then a legless dwarf, and the heat of the desert was not helping.
"Everyone's debts to the goblins not withstanding, its time for you to return the money you borrowed. If you find yourself unable to pay us back…" Fixxle grinned, and indicated to his drooling companion. "My friend Smashur here will be happy to discuss alternative payment methods with you. We also accept all major organs, as well as souls." Fixxle finished, tapping the tag on his chest proudly.
"Smashur? Wow, how authentic, how do they come up with these names?" Muttered Varley, before raising his voice. "Uh, I don't want to sound greedy, but I'd like to keep both of my kidneys for the time being. Now, I do have the gold to pay you, but uh… I… left it out in the middle of the desert for safekeeping! Yes, that sounds plausible! Tell you what, I'll meet you back here in an hour or so, and happily pay you! How does that sound?"
Fixxle rubbed his chin, almost losing several fingers on the blades attached to it.
"Very well!" He squeaked. "But I warn you human, if you're not back here on the hour exactly, you'll find out just why they call them a-point-ments."
For a moment, time seemed to slow down as the universe struggled to process the sheer terribleness of the goblins joke, only the sounds of crickets chirping in the background breaking the embarrassing silence. Varley blinked as a tumbleweed slowly bounced between them.
"Uh, okay then... I uh, guess I'll see you soon then." He said, slowly backing away from the two.
Fixxle watched the human disappear into the distance, before turning to face his companion, who was eyeing at him with pity.
"Hey, they can't all be classics!" He said angrily, and sat down to await Varley's return, almost setting off several of his bombs in the process.
Varley ran a hand through his hair nervously. Not surprisingly, he had no hidden cache of gold in the desert, and escape was not an option. The Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency always got their man in the end, usually in uncomfortable and painful ways that would make a dreadlord blush. No, what he needed was a genius plan, something that could make him one hundred gold in an hour.
"Think Varley, think!" He said to himself. "You'll need to come up with the mother of all zany schemes to pull this one off…"
His thoughts occupied with the mental image of being mounted on the wall above a goblin's fireplace rather then where he was going, Varley neglected to pay attention to his surroundings and walked right in to a bin containing all of the empty bottles of the various drink products consumed by the raceway patrons.
"Ow! Lousy bottles…" He cursed, as they spilt around him and he lay dazed in the sand. "Wait a minute! This gives me an idea! I'll be temporarily debt free in no time!" Chuckling happily to himself, he collected up the discarded bottles, and set off to find a prime location near the crowds at the raceway.
"Step right up folks, and witness a new dynasty in potion making excellence!" Cried Varley. He was sitting behind an old wooden box, a hastily made sign reading "Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions!" to one side, a crate filled with bottles on the other. The people scattered around the stands waiting for the next race looked at him curiously, and some even began to crowd around. After all, it wasn't every day that you got to witness a new dynasty in potion making excellence.
"Hi, I'm Varley, professional gambler, CEO of Varley Industries and all around lovable rogue, and I'm here today to talk to you about Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions! When you want a smooth, refreshing, semi-alcoholic beverage, you want a Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potion" Varley said, beaming happily at the assorted throng gathering around his box.
"I'm a busy guy, so when I'm suffering from repeated stab wounds, mass blunt trauma to the head and the flaming magic death that's all too common in everyday life, I need to have confidence that my healing potions will work first time, every time. So whenever I'm at the brink of death, I put my faith in a product I trust, Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions"
Some members of the crowd began to mutter amongst themselves. There was a lot of death around these days. Why, you couldn't even talk a walk through the woods without being assaulted by all manner of crazed wildlife bent on your destruction. Varley smiled, and pulled out a largely indecipherable chart, covered in a random assortment of letters and numbers, and pie charts.
"As you can see from this scientific nutrition and ingredients chart, not only do Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions taste good, they have everything growing children need, making them the ideal supplement for any diet!" He proclaimed, hurriedly putting away the chart before any awkward questions like "What does that say?" could be asked.
The crowd had almost doubled in size, and Varley's smile widened even more, before he launched into his next fiery promotion.
"Now, for all you ladies out there, Varley Industries realises that the only thing worse then bleeding to death from a gaping hole where your stomach used to be is gaining weight and not being able to fit in the latest in cutting edge revealing armour fashion! That's why Varley Industries good old fashioned healing potions are all 100 fat free!" Proudly stated Varley, before lowering his voice and quickly adding "Note: potions may or may not be comprised entirely of water. Any healing effects purely coincidental. Consult your priest, druid or paladin before consumption."
"Now, you may not be able to put a price on good health, but we here at Varley Industries sure can! I'm selling these amazing inventions for the low, low price of only ten gold a bottle! Hurry, while stocks last!" Said Varley, before being swamped by a wave of customers desperately throwing money at him. He grinned, and started selling his wares.
"So… Lovely weather we've been having lately." Said Fixxle to Smashur, who just stared at him blankly. Fixxle sighed. "Well, this is grand. Who would have thought waiting in the middle of the desert with nothing but an ogre with a single digit IQ who can only understand his name and ends up destroying everything in sight when someone calls him would be so boring. When we get back to headquarters I'm going to have a word to those paper-pushers. "Go to the desert Fixxle!" they said. "The sun will be good for you!" they said. "Argh, whenever you come close your weapons cut up my desk and my body!" They said. Bah!"
Smashur greeted this furious tirade with his signature slack jawed stare, and Fixxle gave up, and glanced at his clockwork pocket watch instead. Time was running out for Varley he saw, and smiled happily before sitting down to purposely sharpen some of the blades that coated him. He'd not even gotten through a quarter of them before he saw a certain rogue running towards the two at a high speed though, ruining his short lived good mood entirely.
Varley stumbled up to them, breathing heavily and glancing over his shoulder.
"Well, do you have it?" Asked Fixxle irritably
"Oh yes, it's all here!" Said Varley, taking out a sack filled with gold and tossing it at the goblin, relishing the look of surprise on his face. "What, you didn't think I was lying to you, did you?"
Fixxle gritted his pointy teeth in anger, as he counted the coins. Upon seeing it was all there, he sighed unhappily. It looked like he'd have to find some other way to work through his anger at his desert post.
"Very well. I hereby release you from your debt to the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency" he muttered grudgingly.
"Hurrah!" Cheered Varley. Now he could continue on his travels without having to worry about a walking pile of weapons and a surly ogre stalking his very moves. His joy was short-lived though, as at that moment a large and angry looking mob arrived on the scene.
"Hey! You!" Their leader said, pointing at Varley.
"Uh oh…" Sighed Varley.
"My friend tried one of your potions, and he turned green and passed out! I want a refund!" Yelled the leader, over the voices of the other members of the group who were also passionately demanding their money back.
"Uh, yeah…" Said Varley, scratching his head. "You see, the chances of a reaction similar to that is only one in six, and uh… I'm sure these fine representatives of my company will be happy to field all your claims." He said, pointing to a very confused looking Fixxle and Smashur. "I need to be off to a high powered board meeting, goodbye!"
And with that he made his daring escape, fleeing across the burning salt flats faster then any rocket car as the angry mob started ranting at Fixxle and Smashur, smiling as the distant sounds of the fiery debate reached his ears. Sure, eventually he'd come to regret putting his name on the potion bottles, and he'd have to do some fast talking in the days to come. But for now there was only the exhilaration of a daring escape, and the end of another epic adventure, and that was what Varley lived for most of all.
Later–much later- Fixxle and Smashur were sitting at the Goblin Legitimate Loan Agency headquarters, being chewed out by their boss, a cigar chomping, suspender wearing, file-on-desk-slamming stereotypical goblin chief.
"More dead bodies then the undercity? Multiple law suits from family members of the deceased that are bigger then my ex-wife? Claims that you're secretly double agents working for some sort of company called Varley Industries? I've had it with your renegade ways Fixxle! You're a lose cannon!"
Fixxle squirmed uncomfortably, his blades sawing through his chair and making it collapse, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor.
"But boss, I-"
"I don't want to hear it Fixxle! And the repair bills from all the furniture you ruin is through the roof! And you're clearly a bad influence on Smashur, look how surly he is!"
They both paused and looked at the placid Smashur, who was absently chewing on a pencil with one of his mouths. Fixxle's boss chomped on his cigar, and turned to face him again.
"For your punishment, I'm putting you on paper work duties for the next three months. That should hopefully at least cut down on the number of people you kill."
Fixxle thought of three whole months of doing nothing but filling out forms, and narrowed his eyes before muttering "Oh, I don't know about that."
"Get out of my sight Fixxle" Said his boss, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
Fixxle slowly got up and exited the room, his anger almost visibly seething into the room around him, his thoughts filled only with imaginative plans of how he would get his revenge on the rogue who had caused so much trouble.
"In three months time…" He remarked ominously to Smashur who had left the room with him. "I'm going to hunt down that rogue, and I'll have my revenge…"
Smashur sighed. It looked as though as long as Fixxle was his partner, he'd be spending an awful lot of time filling out paperwork.
"In three months time…" He remarked ominously to Smashur, who had left the room with him. "I'm going to hunt down that rogue, and I'll have my revenge…"
Smashur sighed. It looked as though as long as Fixxle was his partner, he'd be spending an awful lot of time filling out paperwork.