I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or World of Warcraft.

Gold, gold, gold. That was the only thought that plagued. Ulo's mind. Not an odd occurrence for a goblin, to constantly think of gold. Hell, it's considered abnormal not to think of gold. But for Ulo, he didn't think of gold due to his own lust but the lust of a few nitty-picky debt collectors.

At that thought he heard a loud knock on his front door, followed by a series of creaks as nearly a dozen locks strained to keep the door shut. He bolted up in bed, all the while maintaining a cautious silence. Slowly, he moved his hand to the blunderbuss underneath his pillow. A second knocked echoed through the rotting wood. Ulo snatched the single pellet that stat stop his headboard and slid it into his rifle, cocking it loudly.

Silence followed. Gruff voices could be heard in the port town below as a Horde galleon dropped anchor. The waves whispered in a short series of claps along the shore, the sea breeze weak in the morning.

There was the sound of scuffling at the door, paper against wood, and boots moving downhill. Ulo remained where he was, rifle in his lap and the barrel mouthing at the door with and ugly grin. In a robotic manner the cock fell into a relaxed position and the pellet onto the light spot atop the headboard. Ulo replaced his weapon with a light wrench, grinding it between his yellow teeth as he crawled towards the door.

Rested between the seventh and eighth lock was a letter, hastily sealed with cheap wax that reeked of too much peppermint. He sniffed it with his bell-curved nose, but he could not pierce that thick aroma. Dropping the wrench into one hand, he rose to his full height (a good stump and a half) and pinched the envelope with his free hand. Between his fingers was not the ounce and a half of gunpowder he'd expected, but a single piece of paper. Sighing, he withdrew the letter and ripped it open with his teeth.

There was no explosion, no razorblade hidden under the seal, just a…leaf? Ulo removed the purple little piece of matter and was surprised to find finely written script on it. In golden, curved words it said,

"Dear Ulo Goldtongue,

We would like to formally thank you for your services and the donations you have made to the children of Shattrah. The children truly love the toys you have made for them, especially the Snowmaster 9000 (however, I must complain about the sudden increase in slush we have been having). Since the war ended, we have been able to find more homes for the children as well as funding from a number of organizations. One of them, G.E.T.A., jumped at the mention of your name and asked that we extend to you an offer to—"

Ulo immediately flipped the envelope over, discovering that the wax seal held the imprint of a gear with leafy teeth, the symbol of G.E.T.A. Crumbling up the letter and throwing it into the corner, Ulo spat disdainfully out his window. He did not need to finish reading the accursed leaf to know what remained.

When the Dark Portal re-opened and trade flowed into the lost world of Outland, the young engineer found himself among thousands of individuals rushing through the mystical threshold for a chance at newfound riches. He started out as a mercenary for the Horde but found himself earning far more gold as an explosive expert (and while every goblin is an "explosive expert", Ulo has the word "Boom" inscribed in his DNA). It was he who was sent across enemy lines to sabotage any Alliance plans to rally an early morning assault on Thrallmar or strap a few thermo charges to the kneecaps of one wandering Fel Reaver.

That little escapade led him into a growing army of crystallized golems. They weren't exactly the friendliest bunch, and after a handful of failed "diplomatic summits" he resorted to asking the Cenarion Expedition for help. A battalion of druids and a garage full of makeshift explosives later the army of crystallized giants was nothing more than a mountain of glass when he was through with them.

Not a day later he was promoted to official Horde Ambassador to the Cenarion Expedition. This let to a further pay raise, and he was led deeper into Outland. He spent nearly six months in Zangermarsh hunting naga; not a hard task being that they were swarming all over the place. At that time a few of the goblins who'd joined him in the Expedition were influenced by their tree-hugging, kitten-petting allies to form a little club of their own. This was G.E.T.A.

Now, Ulo may be a natural when handling explosives, but he has a special love for the more natural sciences. Being exposed to the Druid's "Save the Earth" attitude only furthered his passion, and when G.E.T.A. formed he became an expert at terraforming. Again, another pay raise.

He never became a true member of G.E.T.A., just like he never became a true member of the Horde or Cenarion Expedition. He was more of a liaison. Thus, he was more than capable at negotiating between factions, which would explain why G.E.T.A. wanted him to join them in Northrend. But anyways, these little turn of events finally led this little mortal to the City of Lights, Shattrah.

He was no longer this goblin behind the curtain explosive expert but a diplomatic researched. He set up shop in the Lower City, managing a small repair shop while he worked with the Ethereal on developing a reliable form of terraforming technology. Other than that his life was very peaceful, other than the fact that the world around him was at war. But business was good and that was enough for the young engineer.

Until he met the orphans. He was returning in his turbo-charged flying machine from a visit to Netherstorm, flying slow with the weight of the supplies he was carrying. As he passed over a small naga encampment — with great stealth, of course — he spotted a squad of serpentine warriors chasing a small blue spot. Against his better judgment, he decided to investigate. Apparently that blue spot was a little Draenei child (little by average height standards). Ulo may not be a kind-hearted individual but he's no scoundrel. Dropping into a nosedive, the goblin withdrew his trusty blunderbuss and began to unload round after round into the scaly beasts. The serpents scattered swiftly, unable to fight back, and with a clear path Ulo down alongside the child, scooping her up into the cockpit.

Her name was Dornaa ad she was a biter. Ulo received one nasty scar along his wrist when he tried to secure the child into her seat. He quickly began to regret saving the girl as the remains of his trip back were spent trying to decipher the musical language of her race. By the time he'd reached Shattrath he learned ten different ways to insult Goblins in Draenei, six ways to say "kick butt", and that Dornaa had lost her parents to the Naga.

Upon landing, Ulo immediately rushed the girl to the orphanage, threw a handful of silver at the Matron, and shouted, "She's your problem now!" before hightailing it out of there. After that day he found himself thinking about things other than gold. He though of Dornaa's wrists, the gnarled skin that marked where the iron chains had bound her. He thought of her puffy cheeks, the jagged scars where whips had cracked. He though of her eyes, big and golden with a bitter rage that veiled a spiraling blue sadness.

He drank more, drank a lot. He fought in bars, fought in the streets, fought in his own home. It was not uncommon to see him beaten by the Sha'tar guards, bloody clubs banging against thick, muddy skin. But after every fight he found himself shambling past the orphanage to his house, even if he had to go the long way. Every time he counted the number of empty eyed youths, and every time the number grew.

Eventually alcohol did nothing for him and he was trapped alone in his garage with his thoughts. He would look at the broken machines, failed inventions, incomplete riches, and wonder. Finally, he picked up his wrench and began to build again.

He sent the first shipment after a week of tireless work. He hired an ogre who'd fallen on hard times to help him carry it, and in return that ogre also received a piece of the shipment. Children crowded around them whey they laid the steel crate on the ground, hands held in fists and lips tightly sealed. But when Ulo unveiled the first package those hands were open to the sky and lips were wide in awe.

Ulo returned every two weeks with new toys for the orphans, as well as food, clothing, medicine, and silver. The ogre — Bubba as he is now named — became his official partner. Soon, others began to join them on their trips. An Ethereal named Altos, an Arakkoa named Fliffy, and a Sporeling named Gulsa were the first, and many more followed.

But Ulo was the only one to bring a secret gift. While his friends distributed the presents, he would slip away to find a little Draenei girl he once knew. He would sit with her and talk — well, he would talk. She usually sat there, pouting. He would talk about his travels, his work in Hellfire and Zangermarsh, the inventions he was working on. And at the end of each meeting he'd leave a different colored gem on the girl's bed, brought from a different part of Outland.

It was a month before she responded, and that was only to ask for juice. Given the time she steadily opened up. She talked about her friends, the games they played, her brother who was serving as a jewelcrafting apprentice, and the random questions that kept her up at night. She never once mentioned her parents and he never asked.

It was another year and a half before he decided that he no longer had any business in Outland. He was rich, filthy rich, swimming in gold, and Outland is no place for a rich man. He left his business to Bubba and the rest, his blueprints and unfinished inventions to G.E.T.A., and a little less than half his riches to the Lower City. Oh, and all his prized gems to Dornaa.

The first time he used the Dark Portal he was left with a nasty taste in his mouth. So, for the trip back he scripted a mage to teleport him. His farewell was quite massive. The Cenarion Expedition, G.E.T.A., half the Lower City, and his few friends from Thrallmar saw him off. And so, after a hug form Dornaa and a promise to send letters, he flew his gold-heavy flying machine through the portal. That's where it all went wrong.

He was halfway between worlds when it struck him. A random bolt of magic sparked through the Twisting Nether, shredding his machine till just the nuts and bolts remaining. A golden shower cycloned around him as he tumbled the remaining way, half charred and bleeding into his old home.

He left home with a pocket full of dreams and a head full of ideas. He returned with a head full of nightmares and a, well, empty pockets. He was lucky he had stuffed a few coins in his sleeves before leaving. That helped him get a loan and start up some left over ideas, but nothing came of it all. Nothing but an army of debt collectors and a garage full of busted machines.

That's where he went, his wrench wrapped tightly between his fingers. The room looked like a hurricane had struck it. Wires, bolts, and shrapnel layered the floor. Along the walls were the skeletons of rusted generators and disemboweled robots, piled to the roof of the mechanized tomb. In the center sat a greasy workbench catering to every tool an engineer would need.

But beside it sat what would catch any wandering eye. At either end there was a massive gear like tire with a thick rubber based wrapped around it. Wood and steel encased them, shining with pristine quality. The front attached to the body with a steel bar and red plated head, beholding a single golden eye. The body was a cushioned saddle-like frame atop a complex generator of fine wires and tubes. Jutting out to the side was a box, framed in steel bone. A single tire lifted it up, smaller than the others. Its insides were cushioned, not comfortably but not painfully either.

It was perfect, a lovely piece of machinery. If only it worked. He couldn't find a suitable means of powering it. He heard that the elementals of Northrend could provide the materials, however that would require he see G.E.T.A. again. Their constant badgering of him to join them was influential in his desire to leave Outland, and he didn't feel like going through that experience again.

No. He'd survived on mad world and crazy war, and he was not sure his heart longed for another. As far as he knew he would either blow himself up or grow old in his garage.

Reka was right; he should have stayed away from the coast. Xarunaku flapped his wings furiously against the evening winds, twisting his body to escape the spidery lightning bolts. He was in a pincer hold; he could not drop too low lest the waves swallow him whole nor too high or the winds would tear him apart.

He should have foreseen this. The morning was dry and quiet; the waves low on the shore. The perfect setting for a storm.

Once the port was in sight, the nether drake released a sigh of relief and threw himself towards the peaks of the outlying mountains. Using these curving spires as a defense against the wind, he settled down along a smooth patch of grass. From there he continued South at a much slower pace, silently brooding over his plan to capture Ulo's interest in the dragon's mad scheme.

He knew the Goblin was bitter about the wars in Outland, and knew even more about his unlucky business expenses he'd had. However, Xarunaku had an ace up his sleeve, an offer Ulo could not refuse.

The little genius's house sat in the mountains overlooking Ratchet, only accessible via a steep, stony path. It was basically a rickety old shack of rotting redwood, lined with deep lacerations that jutted through to the bones of the structure. The intermittent rain had bled the paint from the wounds, leaving them gnarled and coagulated with postulated mushroom nodules. The roof tiled inward on the South side, the foundations of the beams eroded. Only the garage was intact, a stone building encased by ivy bushes.

Xarunaku found this odd, as he had never met a Goblin who hadn't blown up their garage once or twice. He slithered around tot eh front door, his body growing smaller and smaller with each step. When he knocked on the door he did it not with a scaly talon but a large ruby ring wrapped around a sleek leather glove.

The door creaked open only an inch, revealing an assortment of different chains that held it closed. Somewhere in the dimly lit house a series of tools clattered against the floor. Silence, quick footsteps scraping the floor, muffled voices, then a loud cocking sound.

The dragon didn't even care. With a wave of his hand a bolt of magic tore the chains from the wood. The door fell out of place, and in two steps he had one hand around Ulo's throat and the other around the throat of a rifle that was now aimed at his own throat.

They stood there staring at each other for a long minute. The certainty of death did not seem to loosen their resolves; rather they tightened their grips. Ulo breathed slowly and, eyes closed, pulled his trigger back.

"You know that won't kill me, right?"

Ulo blinked at the massive, well-dressed Orc clutching his throat. His skin was more of a translucent shade than the natural green akin to his race, shifting from ark to light in a blink. The clothes he wore were finely weaved pieces of cloth that shimmered with arcane energy, something maybe even a mage or warlock would were, but he'd never met a spellcaster with such a powerfully body. Then he saw it.

Tic-tock. Tic-tock. Tick-tock went the gold clock that sat tucked away in the intruder's front pocket. The hands of the device spun systematically backwards around a bronze U. when he next looked at the intruder, he found a large grin running the length of his face. They released each other from Death's wandering eye, dropping their arms to their sides. However, Ulo found himself withdrawing his wrench from behind his back, and with a loud yell, he slammed it into Xarunaku's knee. This, of course, only caused him to grunt instinctively.

"Xarunaku! What the hell do you think you're doing? I thought you were another one of those damn debt collectors!"

The dragon only chuckled in response. "You've been getting visits from lot of them, haven't you?"

"Bah! You wouldn't imagine how many come knocking at my door! I'm thinking of killing the next one that comes around and hanging his corpse up along the road!"

"But then you'll have to deal with scavengers."

"They'll make good dinner!" The goblin had the dragon by the tail there. He slid his hand back through his deep mahogany hair, scratching his scalp mildly. "So what you doing here, Xarunaku? Last I heard you were in Northrend."

"I returned about a month ago. The Horde offered me a job watching over Orgrimmar. I wanted a warmer climate so I took it," He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, a shiver running over him. "Got anything to drink? I just went for a swim and haven't had a chance to dry off."

"Sure. I keep it in the garage."

Ulo lead him there and immediately began lifted a small, square bottle of a dark colored liquid from the bottom shelf of his work bench, but his friend was interested in other things. Xarunaku was hunched over before his machine, tapping the engine with his fingertips.

"This is…beautiful. What do you call it?"

"Mechano-hog. It's designed to transport one or two passengers over hard-terrain at speeds three times anything any normal animal can manage."

"Titanium frame, cobalt bolts, an elementium-plated exhaust pipe —is that arctic fur?"

"Yep. A few of those Nesingway Safari skinners brought back a catch of leather when they were passing through and I was able to procure a few pieces from them."

"Probably cost you quite a pretty piece of copper."

"Never said it cost me anything," Ulo muttered as he took a sip from the bottle before passing it to Xarunaku. "So, you never said why you were here."

The dragon drank silently, his eyes staring at the Mechano-hog's generator. "Well, stop me if you've heard this story before…"

Xarunaku was beginning to get really tired of repeating the same story over and over again. Ulo, on the other hand, was quite intrigued by it. Every so often he would stop him to ask a question.

"Was it just one voice or many?"

"One. No! Many, but like one."

"How big we the eggs? I mean, compared to one of your eggs."

"Small. You could hold one in your hand."

"And this mage. Did you recognize him?"

"Nope, and the magic around him was…different than the arcane. It was more like he was a druid."

After he'd exhausted all questions, Ulo began wobbling around the garage. Xarunaku sat in the Mechano-hog's passenger seat, the bottle hanging from his fingertips. He tried to climb out but found his arms quit, well, drunk.

"So, I can assume you're here to recruit me for this mission of yours?"

"You can assume."

"Just us?"

"Nope. Got an Orc by the name of Reka picking up a few old friends of mine, and I was hoping you could go pick up Kajah."

Xarunaku heard a loud crash in the corner of the garage and a few curses in Goblin.

"Kajah? What makes you think I know where to find him?"

"You know those arctic furs I asked about? I figured out how you paid for them. Kajah's daggers are quite sharp and deadly."

"Touché," Ulo tried to say, but it came out like, "Tushaay."

"My guess is he'll only go if you do too. So, how bout it? Up for another adventure?"

Ulo was silent for a long time after that. Xarunaku almost began to think he'd fallen asleep but every so often the little green man let out a hiccup. Eventually, he himself dosed off into the darkness of the mind.

Ulo stumbled out of the garage, blowing out the candles with a repugnant breath so his friend could sleep peacefully (not that he need any help with that). He then headed to his room, but not before wavering in the entrance hall, staring at the dark corner. Sighing, he wavered towards it and snatched up the crumpled letter.

He fell asleep reading the last of it.

"One of them, G.E.T.A., jumped at the mention of your name and asked that we extend to you an offer to join their Northrend branch. They have apparently started up an alliance with a group of Druids and are currently setting up a base camp in Borean Tundra. If you are interested in working with them, you should head there.

I would like to bring to your attention the matter of Dornaa. She has sent you many letters and you have yet to reply. You made a promise before you left to contact her and I find it extremely irresponsible that you would not keep said promise. I understand that extenuating circumstances may have befallen you during your time however unless you reply we will have no way of knowing.

I await a response.

Orphan Matron Mercy"

Xarunaku awoke with a groan and massive headache. He didn't dare try and get up; rather, he pulled sluggishly and weakly on his magic. He let it course through him, filtering out the alcohol and revitalizing his muscles. After nearly a minute of this he had to go to the bathroom he slid out the back door and found an appropriate bush.

When he returned, he found Ulo rifling through his extensive supply of batteries, clearly unaffected by the late night binge.

"Glad to see you're awake," Ulo chirped and then pointed to the other side of the room. "Go look over there."

"What exactly am I looking for?"

"Anything that looks like one of those battery cells I used during the war. The ones that glow green."

"You mean the fel batteries?" Xarunaku said with a sigh. "You really think those will work?"

"I've tried everything else."

"So I guess this means that you're going with me?"

"If you can help me get the mechano-hog running, I will go with you. But only if you get the hunk of junk running!"

Xarunaku quietly hummed to himself as he wandered over to the machine. Slipping his hand into his robe, he withdrew a small rainbow colored gem. Translucent, it shone with a multitude of otherworldly colors, never carrying the same one twice. It was Eternal Might, a rare mixture of the four eternal elements. He'd picked it up off of an alchemist during his stay in Northrend and knew it would be useful at some point in his life.

With his nether magic he faded both his hand and the crystal. He slid it into the mechano-hog's engine, and with a hum matching the one he himself was using, the engine purred to life.

Ulo jumped up from where he was standing with a yelp and turned to face the machine with a mask of fear.

"What the hell did you do?" He shouted as he ran over to the machine and began studying the engine.

"Oh, I just picked up a few elemental hearts over the years. Thought you might need them one day," The dragon sad as he picked pieces of dirt from his fingernails.

Ulo didn't even smile, so consumed was he with his work. An hour later they were taking apart the machine, replacing individual parts and testing new ones. Another hour and they were running diagnostics. Two more, and it was complete.

"Should I assume this trip is permanent?" Ulo asked as he dragged a large travel pack out from under his bed.

"Worst case scenario, yes. Pack light through. I want to be there in a month."

"Alright. Once I get Kajah where should we head? I don't assume that you have a map to this planet of yours."

"Meet me at the Dark Portal in a week."

"So Shattrath is our destination. Gonna get old grey beard to rip open space and time?"

"That's the plan. Hope he doesn't mind, but without him we have no chance of getting to Alagaesia. No one else knows more about magical portals than him."

They loaded Ulo's pack into the sidecar along with nearly five other small bags filled with every tool and explosive imaginable.

"So," Ulo began as he strapped on his riding goggles and hopped into the bike, "See you in a week?"

"In a week."

And with that they departed, one by air and one by land. The irony was they both ended up at the dock at the same time.

The wind whipped across his back as Tarol rose to the deck of The Bravery, eyes deadest on the storm ahead. He pushed himself to the edge of the ship, and his mind even farther. He rode the wind, the rising water splashing through him in waves. When the roof of the world shifted from light blue to deep grey, he called upon the elements, slowly intermixing his spirit with the chaotic forces. He did not say a word, did not weave spell. He showed them what he had see, what he had experienced, and they listened. When he returned to his body, the dark clouds were far to the south, the wind once again at his back but now a cool comfort.

The first mate took a step towards him, but stopped as if a wall separated them.

"We have seemed to have past eh storm, sir," The High Elf Waversinger informed him through a forced tone of respect, "And we will reach Auberdine in two nights."

Tarol nodded in response without a glance at the Elf before returning below deck. His room was in the deepest part of the ship, hidden to all who have never been there. He slid into the small compartment; his large frame cramped into it, and locked the door behind him. He'd learned his lesson the first time he'd stayed out too late on the ship. The Captain herself ordered him below deck, spite and fear intermixed in her voice. He complied of course, having no desire to create any unrest on his journey.

The entire crew was like this, afraid to be around the Gilnean and disgusted to accept his gold, but they did. Each of their races had lost many during the Third War and bore both an understandably but discriminative bitterness towards his people. The only ones who showed him any respect were the Night Elf Sentinels that guarded the ship, but they had no idea that their ancient blood and heritage demanded it of them.

He took a seat on his bed, silently happy that he only had to bare two more nights of his unsatisfactory company rather than the four he'd originally been told. Now, he quietly listed the new company he'd be gathering over the next month. Three faces came to mind: the deep sapphire of a valiant and lovely Paladin, the child-like pink of a wise Mage, and the light purple of a battle-hardened Demon Hunter. He would be the first. Maxril Nightstalker, a name he'd given himself during the Third War. Who or what he was known as before then was a mystery to all but a few, Tarol not one of them. This Night Elf alone would bless Tarol's journey. He alone would be the key to reaching this Alagaesia.

Sleep took Tarol quickly and he let it lead him to the viridian forest. Shadowtalon was there waiting for him, perched atop a large tree.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Tarol asked, his eyes set on the shifting shadows in front of him. He'd heard of numerous risks to enter the Emerald Dream. The whispers, the nightmares, the disappearances.

"The other has just crossed your path. He moves to the Plaguelands and will move to the Dark Portal in a matter of weeks."

"You could have sent a seagull to tell me that, but you bring me here?"

"Once you move through the Portal we will no longer be able to speak to you. Before that occurs, we would like to give you a gift, of sorts."

"And what would that be?" He was growing weary of Shadowtalons methods.

"That would be one last lesson, Tarol Bloodmane." A booming voice stated from above the treetops, strong in age and power. It's owner stepped forward, and Tarol gasped as the White Stag greeted him with a bow of his massive, horned head. "I have much to show you before you are beyond my voice, young one."