[STORY] Tales of the Furious Fishmongers: The War Within (Parts 1-3)

Lore Role-playing
1

We are the Furious Fishmongers!

After many years of angling together, with a fair amount of idiocy and mishap along the way, we are generally open for recruitment on Defias Brotherhood again.

We welcome chatty, friendly and social people to our close-knit, foolhardy fishing crew. We follow the roleplaying realm guidelines. New recruits are usually interviewed in-game. You can apply through the guild finder tool or come and chat with one of us.

For a flavour of what we are about, please read on:

CONTAINS MILD SPOILERS FOR THE WAR WITHIN

TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

ONE: LANDFALL.

In the lee of a storm locked mountain, five anglers of varying height were lined up along a tranquil shore. They were sporting a good collection of fur, horns, pointed ears and tusks between them. All of them were wearing the same red and black tabard.

Nobody seemed to be catching anything.

“Water’s too shallow here,” rumbled the largest of the crew, a Tauren warrior. Part angler, part walking armoury, his fishing pole was strapped to a large axe.

“You’re right Tunril,” said one of the monks, a portly male Pandaren, “This has started poorly, reminding me of our failed venture in the Dragon Isles!”

“Don’t blame me, Zhugan!” said the third angler indignantly, “How was I supposed to know the local Tuskarr had the entire fish market covered?” He was a green-skinned goblin, clad in a set of black leather armour, his features obscured by a jaunty pirate hat.

“It was your information we were acting on, Dacomos” said the second monk, another Pandaren, this one a female. She was wearing a robe which had been drawn in at her furry brown ankles to allow her to wade out into the water.

“Are you questioning my methods of gathering information?” demanded Dacomos.

“No,” said the final angler, a colourfully tattooed, warty blue troll, whose white hair was escaping from beneath the broad brim of his crimson hat. “We are questioning ya’ actual intelligence!”

“Pah!” said Dacomos, wandering off to sulk. I’ll show you Mudija, he thought. Stupid old troll ‘Fishmaster’. One day soon, this whole operation is going to be mine.

“Pretty peaceful here, mind you,” Mudija said, thoughtfully. “You two scouted pretty good again. How did you find this place, Sidh?”

“Visions of light aside, let’s just agree that we Pandaren make far better sailors than the dreadful combined navies of the Horde and the Alliance.” replied the female monk, “Every other year they seem to miss another island!”

“Once our first catches come in, we should have the market to ourselves,” said Mudija. “Long as nobody else beats us to it!”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence as the assembled fisherfolk contemplated past failures. Then that silence was replaced by a deep sense of unease. They all felt it at the same moment, a shift in reality around them. Something big and magical was happening.

The guild looked up as one and a city materialised in the sky above them. This was Dalaran, the airborne home of the Kirin Tor sorcerers, wielders of the violet eye.

“Great,” snarled Mudija, “Every time!”

There was a peal of magical thunder and a large group of people appeared on the rocky shore behind them, enveloped in a hemisphere of violet energy.

“Look, Mudi!” said Dacomos gleefully, “Customers!”

The energy field vanished with a pop. They turned to look at the newcomers, who looked exhausted and scared. There were representatives of every race of Azeroth. They were grim faced and exhausted. Some of them simply collapsed on the ground as soon as the barrier was down.

“Something is wrong,” said Sidh, her voice radiating concern.

They looked up again, in search of more information. There appeared to be a number of dark creatures circling the floating city, were they bats?

The entire city was shaking and its famous floating islands were dropping towards the ocean, as if they had lost their magical anchors.

“Drop your gear,” shouted Mudija, “Get to cover!”

The guild did as they were told and dived behind some rocks.

A vast globe of void energy expanded to swallow the city from its core. There was a moment of silence before the entire city simply imploded, sending chunks of Dalaran plunging to the world below, ripping new leylines up into the shore. Fires were smouldering, smoke was rising. Sections of fallen masonry and shards of stained glass littered the coast. Arcane golems roamed around the scattered remnants of the city, attempting to patrol a city that was no longer there.

“Look at all this shiny stuff! Think of the resale value!” said Dacomos, inspecting the smoking debris, “Ooh, a wizard’s cloak!”

“Never mind that!” said Sidh, “There’s someone trapped under the rubble on the beach. We have to help them, come on!”

An armoured figure was partially buried under some heavy stone debris. A pointed golden plate helm with a white skull motif lay nearby on the beach, possibly having fallen off during the destruction of the city.

“Tun” called Sidh, “Help us! You’re the best of us at throwing heavy stone objects. We can’t free this one without you!”

Tunril duly waded into the water and lifted the required stones with a grunt.

“I think it’s an elf,” exclaimed Sidh, “but he isn’t breathing!”

The pale skinned elf had a pair of blue shining eyes that started to glow as he recovered.

“Death Knight, my love,” said Zhugan, “Probably doesn’t need to.”

The ground around them was rumbling with increasing ferocity. This felt wrong. The city was already down. Now what?

A multitude of huge insectoid creatures erupted out of the earth, reinforcing those that were already circling above. They towered over people, with multiple eyes and mandibles, their numbers exacerbated by the sheer number of limbs that they brought to the fray. Arachnoid creatures of all sizes and shapes, casters wearing hoods that almost looked humanoid and some bulky warriors in heavy chitin armour, they all looked ready for battle.

“Nerubians.” muttered Tunril, swinging two great axes to literally cut an advancing hulk off at the knees. It flapped its remaining limbs in the air before falling in front of him, and he crushed its head with a firm stomp of his leading hoof.

“I hate Nerubians!” Mudija shouted, as he summoned raw electrical energy to shield himself from them.

“And Elves!” said Dacomos, who was using his daggers to carve up an overconfident nerubian soldier, who had strayed too far from the vanguard.

“And Paladins!” chipped in Zhugan, who was twirling an iron staff to keep his foes at bay.

“You hate everybody!” said Sidh, temporarily stowing her maces while she and Zhugan helped the elven Death Knight to his feet.

“Thank you for freeing me.” said the Death Knight politely. His hollow tones didn’t really clarify his true degree of gratitude. He retrieved a long metallic polearm from the shore, before gesturing towards the nerubian forces that surrounded the rocky beachhead. “Allow me to assist you with this rabble.”

Amongst the survivors from Dalaran was an Orcish veteran, sizing up the advancing forces in the sights of his long gun. When he spotted Mudija amongst those gathered on the shore, he pushed his way over to him.

“The Furious Fishmongers!” exclaimed the new arrival, clearly recognising the black crawfish motif on the old troll’s tabard, “I didn’t notice you in the city, are you here to help?”

The hunter frowned as he peered beyond the anglers and noticed a large iron platform of some kind, wedged into the rocks. Broken crates and untidy fishing nets were bobbing around it in the surf.

“You were already here,” he muttered. “Why is it you Fishmonkeys are never where you’re supposed to be?”

“Shut your yapping, Angorr!” barked Mudija, blasting a nerubian in its chittering face with a torrent of hot conjured lava, “You know we’re only here for the fish!”

Just as a gigantic tank of a stagshell was pushing the gathered defenders backwards, a sortie of stormrooks descended on the archipelago, their squat armoured riders blasting the monstrosity with volleys of azure lightning.

“Ooh, that was handy!” said Dacomos, admiring the excessive use of firepower.

The tide was quickly turned and the battle decided. The nerubians retreated back under the ground, to wherever they had come from.

“Let’s hope they stay down there,” said Tunril, looking uneasy, “We stay here, where we can see some sky!”

“Yeah,” said Mudija, “The last thing we need is to end up fighting in some desperate last stand, deep within Azeroth, fighting against an army of freaks who got too many legs!”

The five furious fishmongers stood together, mostly enjoying the calm after the battle, although Tunril looked more like he was sulking, now that it was all over.

The recently rescued death knight stood alongside them. Behind his skull mask, his icy blue eyes glowed fiercely, analysing the site of their victory.

Unbeknownst to those present, a second elf was magically watching the proceedings from many leagues away, beyond the Maelstrom, in the Broken Isles.

A much older male with long platinum hair, his flawless dark skin marked him as one of an ancient race, known as the Nightborne.

His fine golden robes were made from an expensive fabric, accented in red. He was sipping arcwine from a slender goblet - an exclusive blend that didn’t leave the confines of his opulent estate within Suramar City.

The elder placed his cup down, took hold of his scrying orb with both hands and trained his clear white eyes upon the visions within, attempting to view everything that his agent could see.

Beyond the immediate shore, to the north east, he could make out a massive stone tower that had been built atop a cliff, topped off with a huge tree. In the far distance, there were many grey mountains that appeared to have been rounded off somehow, as if they had been designed that way, rather than gone through the natural processes of erosion.

“So this is Khaz Algar,” said the elven mage, addressing his emissary in a voice that only he could hear, “Follow these Fishmongers, Xalaen. Represent the House Archonnoir.”

The Isle of Dorn, how interesting, he thought, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his armchair. I wonder what will happen next?

Feel free to dig around across the EU forums for older tales - they’re probably around somewhere!

Thanks to the usual suspects for the flagrant abuse of their characters.

This tale is dedicated to Marmot, long time friend and occasional member of the guild.

May your adventures long be associated with the smell of fish.

Mudi.

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TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

TWO: FOREGROUNDS

Dornogal was a wide grey quarry of a city, situated high in the northern mountains that dominated the Isle of Dorn. Undoubtedly ancient, the settlement appeared to have been excavated with consideration for its natural surroundings. Pre-existing rock formations had been incorporated into its original construction. Any trees that had needed replanting had been given pride of place, lending the entire site an aura of verdant beauty.

Gigantic chains and pulleys were at work throughout the place, lit red from the perpetual forging levels that ran below them. A metallic cacophony of industrial noise echoed out across its many bridges and plazas. The warm glow of its many hearthfires boosted the flow of thermal energy that spread from the city’s squat stone buildings and strong geometric towers. These were clear dwarven architectural influences here - or perhaps it was the other way around?

The stone-skinned native inhabitants were collectively known as the Earthen, and they could be found throughout their city of wonders. Some were crafters and others were soldiers, depending on their programming. Oathsworn and Unbound, they were all mingling freely with a contingent of visitors that had survived the recent fall of Dalaran.

These newcomers were busying themselves around the mezzanine level known as The Foregrounds, gathering supplies and quests with which to curry favour with the locals. There were stalls here that catered to all kinds of professionals, including Fishmongers.

Mudija, Tunril, Dacomos, Zhugan and Sidh, along with their elven guest Xalaen, were sat together under a high stone portico that was serving as a lounge bar. They were engaged in conversation with Kornd, an Earthen bartender who was working a section of flat stone tables, serving up a variety of drinks in heavy goblets and tankards.

“There’s hardly any smoke!” complained Dacomos, staring at a distant forge, “It ain’t natural!”

“Why would there be any?” asked Kornd, whose low cadence made the whining goblin think of caves and grottos, “Our work is tempered by our respect for the environment.”

Kornd stood a head taller than the average dwarf, although he looked much like one, under his full fiery beard. The bright amber gems that occasionally protruded through his smart purple tunic gave away his true nature, as did his slate blue skin. His eyes were clear and bright, like fire opals. They probably were fire opals, Dacomos thought.

“We are finalising our attempts to open up the Coreway,” continued Kornd, “It is good that the advance forces from both your Horde and Alliance will be working together to help us.”

Dacomos looked over to the table opposite, where a regular-sized dwarf sat, looking a little uncomfortable as the locals loomed over him from every direction. A passing Night Elf glared at their party, whilst a broad Kul Tiran merchant sneered in their general direction.

The Furious Fishmongers exchanged straight-faced glances, before Mudija grinned under his tusks and looked away. Dacomos snickered.

“Why is there no food?” complained Zhugan, ignoring the tension in the air with the practised calm of a true monk, “What do they eat here? Moss and rocks?”

“Actually, yes.” said Kornd, serving up a few pebbles for Zhugan’s other half, Sidh.

“Be polite, dear,” said Sidh, mischievously sliding her unwanted plate over to her mate with a swift prod from her paw.

Zhugan gave the food a snuffle, momentarily confused as to the nature of the offering.

“What about drinks?” he asked, keen to change the subject.

“We already looked into that,” said Mudija. Both he and Tunril were already cradling a pair of large stoneware flagons, whose contents appeared to be bubbling with fire. “Priorities, right?”

Tunril nodded happily, his long horns reflecting the light that seemed to flare up from within their drinks.

“You mean our Cindermead?” Kornd asked, with a trace of pride, “One of the greatest treasures of Khaz Algar!”

“I have my concerns,” said Mudija, eyeing his drink with suspicion. The old troll got the distinct impression that the reason his tankard was made of stone was that it might be the only material capable of safely containing its contents.

“You are largely advised to sip your Cindermead,” Kornd stated flatly.

Tunril snorted and took a big gulp.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Tunril sat motionless, his expression unreadable. Steam appeared to be curling out of his ears.

Mudija carefully put his drink down and moved it to one side.

“What’s the local currency? demanded Dacomos, “how are we supposed to trade for anything here?”

“Perhaps you can utilise the gilded exchange?” suggested Kornd.

Dacomos’s green pointy ears pricked up.

“Gold was that?” he asked, before he rudely ran off to investigate.

“Once the Coreway is clear,” continued Kornd, “we will need your help to go below into the Ringing Deeps and assist our brethren, the machine speakers.”

“Below?” slurred Tunril suspiciously. He seemed to be struggling to sit upright. “Ain’t going under no ground!” The big Tauren listed slightly to one side, before slumping off his bench and rolling onto the flagstone floor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a drunken Tauren!” exclaimed Zhugan, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Apparently these machine speakers are experiencing some problems with Kobolds,” said Xalaen, ignoring the stricken Tunril, “Since we are both allied with The Horde, it would make sense for us to travel together. For now.”

“You won’t believe it,” said Dacomos, “They have an auction house! I’m…I mean we are gonna make so much gold!”

Nobody had heard him return - his soft steps had made no sound on the rocky pavement.

“Oh yeah, by the way, the Coreway is open now!” he mentioned, as an aside.

“Not sure we want to head off down into the depths without a plan,” mused Mudija, “How we even gonna get down there anyway?”

They peered over to where numerous adventurers were launching themselves up into the air on a grand assortment of flying mounts, heading West over the city. The alliance table was amongst their number.

“Do we really want to do this? We could use some backup,” pondered Mudija, absent-mindedly stroking one of his long bony tusks, “Maybe Vexo and Zumba will come over, once the Horde fleet gets here.”

“Yes, because what this situation really needs is two more trolls!” said Sidh, rolling her eyes at the idea.

“I know lots of people!” said Zhugan, as he apprehensively attempted to nibble on some moss.

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” Sidh said, “We can’t leave poor Tun here, we might need him later.”

“If we have to go underground, he’d probably rather stay behind.” said Zhugan.

“How’re we going to move him?” asked Dacomos, “It’s not like we can just strap him to a dragon and push him down there?”

The Fishmongers all looked at one another.

“It will take all of us to get him up again,” mused Zhugan, swifty changing the subject, “unless another solution presents itself.”

The broad Pandaren found himself eyeing up a hooded Oathsworn, who was sitting atop a heavy iron cart that was being pulled by a strong pair of rams. Moss grew along their stony flanks and they bore enormous curled horns that were unique to their breed. The cart driver frowned at the party as she steered her mighty charges past them.

“Ey, stoneface,” said Mudija, bluntly addressing Kornd, “There much water down in those Ringy Deeps?”

“There are many rivers and streams,” he replied, “we draw much of our power from the Waterworks there, generated from our main facility at Gundergaz.”

“Water means fish….” began Zhugan.

“…and fish means profit!” interrupted Dacomos.

“Let’s go, ya ‘mongers!” ordered Mudija, and the guild sprang into action.

Dacomos quickly powered up an oversized mechanical suit, the rockets in its boots propelling him upwards at speed.

Mudija strapped his shield to his back and jumped onto a haggard looking Pterodactyl. The blue and gold leathery skinned creature had a huge wingspan, which it used to drift cautiously off the ground, in pursuit of the eager goblin.

Sidh and Zhugan stayed behind to look after Tunril. They watched Xalaen as he reluctantly summoned up a demonic grey horse and rode it into the sky, its dark hooves leaving a trail of amethyst fire in its wake.

Everybody was headed in the direction of the Coreway, a massive lift mechanism that had once served as the city’s main transport into the deeps. It was largely in disrepair, its huge chains broken and smashed. It was clearly going to take years to restore the facility to full working order.

Dacomos, Mudija and Xalaen landed to one side and peered into the board passageway.

A faint trail of warm air was emanating from within. It was a straight drop, hundreds of feet down.

“Pretty deep!” said Dacomos, whistling in awe.

Dozens of fliers from both factions were now launching themselves en masse down into the Coreway. Mudija recognised the veteran Angorr, who had previously accosted him on the tranquil shore. The Orcish hunter didn’t see him this time, as he was fully focused on guiding a wide scaly drake high into the air before diving gracefully down into the newly cleared tunnel.

“You sure you want to go first, boss?” Dacomos asked, “You know you’re not exactly the best skyrider amongst us.”

“Yeah, well…,” said Mudija, cautiously nudging his reluctant steed over the Coreway’s edge, “…shaddap!”

With unfortunate timing, a local engineer had chosen that exact moment to attempt some further maintenance in a hovering mechanical construct. The troll on his dinosaur and the Earthen in his flying lifter became hopelessly entangled. The top of Mudija’s shield clanged against a girder on the way down, briefly causing the jumble of riders and mounts to strike a wall. There was an awkward lurch before they plummeted downwards before disappearing through an archway far below.

“We’ll see you down there, boss!” called Dacomos.

This one is for Daco, our resident goblin master of all things financial.

Your guidance throughout The War Within has been very much appreciated.

The Furious Fishmongers wouldn’t be the same without you.

Mudi.

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TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

THREE: DESCENT

The Coreway was a deep underground tunnel that had been designed to accommodate and transport a regular supply of goods and passengers. Any adventurers that chose to descend its many hundreds of stone steps would quickly see the error of their ways, as a steady stream of flying travellers swooped past them high up under the rocky ceilings overhead.

Regardless of the nature of their chosen vehicle, these pilots would need to make eight corkscrew turns to navigate the passageway - clockwise to descend, or anti-clockwise to return to the surface city of Dornogal.

The founding engineers of the Coreway had designed everything to be big and functional, yet geometrically pleasing in style. The natural darkness of the traverse was countered occasionally by a variety of light sources. There were bright amber gemstones ensconced between cracks in the walls and flickering lanterns suspended from long iron chains. Fiery stone braziers and heated iron vents glowed red and steamed along the way down, providing a background hiss to the workings of the machinery that ran here. Giant gear wheels could be seen turning behind wide metallic guards.

At the very bottom of the Coreway was an abandoned cargo of cindermead, its hazardous cargo pooling over the stony floor, along with an overturned shipment of blue jewels, whose light lent an eerie azure hue to the rubble.

Beyond this, there was an opening that led out into the busy workings of Ironhaul Station. Stout purple banners, reinforced with iron frames marked this area as the forward position of the machine speakers, representing the Assembly of the Deeps.

A small army of high cranes bore heavy loads and long iron viaducts spread their tracks out in numerous directions, suspended high above the operations below.

The caretakers that worked here treated their duties as more of a faith than a vocation, using a wide variety of digging and mining machines, some of which were airborne. They ensured that the natural resources of the deeps made their way into the hands of the Earthen rather than the ratty grasp of the local Kobolds.

The sounds of industry echoed here unbound, some close and some from miles away, carrying throughout the vast cavern network beyond and giving it its name - The Ringing Deeps.

The whole place felt elemental, the fires of its great forges blasting heat and light out from the North, before giving way to an enormous natural grotto.

High daylight holes allowed low levels of natural light to make it down to these depths. Long trailing plants that showed decades of growth trailed unbound through the cracks in the rocks above.

Centuries of erosion had created a vast array of flowstones, stalagmites and stalactites here. Even now there was an audible supply of water at play here, some of it funnelled through pipes, whilst the remainder trickled away more naturally, flowing between the banks of the Cataract River, before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

In the heart of this subterranean region was the settlement of Gundergaz.

Essentially a huge processing station that had been constructed between the natural rocks, Its thick pipes and chimneys towered for hundreds of feet above the recessed homesteads and paved courtyards that stood in their shadow.

Today this was a hub of activity with swarms of visiting adventurers bewildering the locals, who were doing their best to point them in the directions of their quests.

The Earthen weren’t the only people that went about their business here. There were Kobolds present too. Curious creatures that were part humanoid and part rodent, their lean bodies commonly and unadvisedly decorated with lit wax candles.

One of the kobolds was running a booth that seemed to have been recently constructed. Waxed candles were hanging precariously from every part of their wooden stall. This questionable method of decoration continued onto the stallholder himself. Half a dozen further candles were loaded on to his backpack and smock with little regard for fire safety. Pink-skinned and grey-haired, with buck teeth protruding from under his long snout, his scaly tail flicked agitatedly as he discussed his wares with an elven death knight and a troll shaman.

The elf was mainly outfitted in regal crimson and gold, paired with a smart grey doublet and matching cowl. A long jagged sword was strapped to his back, its haft glowing ruby red with magic.

The troll was also clad in red, his shoulders protected by stout wooden boards that had been fashioned into the shape of primal masks. His white hair was bound up in a tail, under a hat that appeared to have been recently dented.

“I don’ want to know what’s in ya candles, Janky.” said Mudija, the light from the overloaded stall reflecting warmly from his bony tusks.

“Ohhh, old troll picky!” said Janky, scratching his whiskers, “Why you and your furious mongrels here then?”

“We just be here for the fish,” said Mudija, causing the elf at his side to raise a long blond eyebrow.

“You say that a lot,” said Xalaen, his electric blue eyes trailling magical light as he spoke, “I think to convince yourself as much as anybody else.”

Mudija grunted, keeping his cards close to his chest.

“You want to know where I get my wax from?” asked Janky, absent-mindely picking his hairy ears, “One trader to another?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know!” interrupted Dacomos the goblin, who had snuck up undetected and was now tallying up some numbers on a chart. “That being said, the wax here can be pretty valuable. The stuff of kings, apparently. I reckon there’s some profit to be had here.”

“I don’t want to be gettin’ into no other trade, Daco” said Mudija warily, “You didn’t buy any, did you?”

Dacomos looked a little awkward, trying not to glance behind him, where an angry looking Tauren was hauling a wide cart that was loaded up with giant candles.

“Of course not!” said Dacomos, desperately trying to keep his Fishmaster’s attention on the matter in hand.

“We’ll leave ya to it, Waxmonger” said Mudija, waving Janky aside, before walking away.

Dacomos and Xalaen followed him, making space for some new customers to occupy the merchant’s attention.

“Speaking of which, I think it is time for us to part ways,” said Xalaen.

“Ya got better things to do, ya mean?” asked Mudija.

“I am heading off in search of more…advanced company,” said Xalaen, glancing back over at Janky, who was attempting to palm some more wax off onto an unsuspecting gnome.

“My ride’s here,” said Xalaen, indicating a flying vessel that was approaching soundlessly from the northwest.

The simple skiff would have been unremarkable, had it not been for the fact that it was gliding through the air. Strapped neatly to a dirigible and carrying four passengers, it was being guided expertly into dock by the local flightmaster.

“Well, that looks safe,” said Dacomos, adjusting the brim of his black hat to get a better view.

“Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.” said Xalaen, exchanging a nod with Mudija before ascending some steps up to the sky platform.

A couple of golden cloaked humans got out of the transport first.

“Arathi,” muttered Mudija, recognising some of the new arrivals, “Just what a troll loves to see.”

The remaining passengers were a pair of familiar looking Pandaren monks. Sidh and Zhugan bowed to Xalaen in recognition as they exchanged places, before hurrying over to see Mudija.

“Boss, you aren’t going to believe this,” reported Sidh, adjusting her thick black ponytail, “there’s another network of caverns deeper down!”

“The locals say there’s a whole ocean down there!” added Zhugan, “I heard they need the help of some fish people…or maybe that was with some fish people?”

Mudija grinned a little at this, his interest piqued. “Well you know what that means.”

“Drowning?” asked Zhugan, stroking the furry braids of his beard.

“Swimming!” suggested Sidh.

“Fishing!” said Dacomos, “Woohoo!”

“Fine, let’s wrap things up here, everybody get ya anglin’ gear together. Best fetch Tun as well. Just don’t tell him where we’re going.”

“Is he still mad at being underground?” asked Sidh.

A distant crash could be heard, as though a heavy cart had just been purposefully dropped to the ground.

“What do you think?” asked Mudija.

The monks headed off to the market to gather their supplies.

“Oh and Daco,” Mudija asked.

“Yes boss?”

“Make sure ya put all of the candles back.”

Dacomos struggled to conceal the disappointment on his green face, whilst Mudija looked back over to the market area.

Zhugan had now reached Janky’s candle stall and was engaging in conversation with him.

“Don’t let him ask,” warned Mudija.

Dacomos raced over to intercept Zhugan, waving his arms frantically, but he was too far away.

“So, where is it that you get the wax?” Zhugan asked.

When Janky told him, Zhugan’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

Happy 20 Years of WoW everybody!

Mudi