Seeking Patronage

[Irontoe]

To the Patriarch of House dej Dynastus:



It is with a heavy heart, yet with a great deal of optimism, that I write today. Having been summarily rejected from the Royal Apothecary Society because of the tense political atmosphere surrounding recent events in the Undercity, I must turn now to a private patron, a man of vision and taste.

That man-elf is you.

As an enlightened protagonist of this golden age of expansionism and power-grabbing, I trust you recognize the importance of cutting edge work in the field of poisons and disease. My pioneering insights into the world of killing Alliance slowly, yet painfully, would surely be of value to the war effort given adequate capital.

I require only the barest of stipends, mechanical supplies, and occasional free access to your female relatives. If possible, I would also deeply appreciate being allowed to follow you in combat and perform tests on any enemy casualties thus incurred. All terms are negotiable, of course.

I understand you are a busy mage; please send a messenger with your reply to my temporary camp southeast of Gadgetzan as soon as is convenient.


Signed,

Alfons Adolf von Schliebelgübben

"Googe"

[Lysimachus]

Lysimachus read the epistle with a piqued interest. "A Forsaken, hmm? Yeees... They do know FAR more about MANY things, than, say, an ORC, after all."

Carefully re-inspecting the letter a second time, he briefly cast an obligatory read-magic spell on it, revealing no traces of arcane meddling. "HELLING MAGISTER, get your slothful behind in here!"

Within thirty seconds, a tall, thin elf appeared in the Marquess' study. "Lysimachus?"

His employer glared at him disapprovingly for the lapse in etiquette, but disregarded it. "Here." He handed Nevitt the parchment. "I should like for you to see to any records available on this heller, and provided that they are agreeable, send a servant -- better yet, YOU shall go -- toward Gadgetzan for... negotiations."

Nevitt frowned. "But you had approved my request that tomorrow and-"

"WELL CONSIDER YOUR VACATION RESCINDED, this is FAR more important!"

"But my wife is undergoing surgery..."

The Marquess leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck quickly to one side. "And if you mean to PAY for that surgery, Helling MAGISTER," he smiled bitterly, "then you shall of COURSE be seeing yourself immediately toward the Undercity."

Nevitt stared at him a few moments, then nodded stiffly. "I shall be back within a fortnight."

(( OH DEAHR! Will the Undercity have any [available] records on Mr. von Schliebelgüben?! ))

[Irontoe]

While their search for the New Plague may seem random or haphazard, the Apothecarium houses meticulous records of all research across Azeroth. Somewhere between the towering stacks labeled "Faranell" and "Howling Fjord," a thin blood elf sat on the floor sorting through a pile of field notebooks written by the Forsaken called Googe.

The Tuskarr: Our Greatest Enemy We Never Knew About

Reanimation of Darnassian Ground Squirrels to Serve the Dark Lady

Diet of the Great Slime Worm

The last one had a note tucked inside the front cover. Nevitt reads: "Research not to be repeated -- involved drugging and feeding a rival colleague into the digestive tract of the Apothecarium worm. R.I.P. Junior Apothecary Stella."

Shaking his head, he put down the last volume. Clearly this von Schiebelgübben was not rejected from the Society for "political" considerations. Still, it seemed worthwhile to check personnel records...


GOOGE

Field: Mechanical Devices
Specialization: Reanimation pylons and alchemical paraphernalia

Performance: Exceptionally talented machinesmith. Creative use of the slime worm produced finest batch of ooze in years, but low supply of junior apothecaries limits wider practical application. Research appears aimless, as if begun anew every few months based on a whim. Recommend placement in Venomspite division for equipment production.

At all costs, avoid putting him in contact with adventurers.

A new section was added near the bottom of the page.


Reason for termination: Lechery and rambunctious conduct unbecoming an Apothecary caused a diplomatic incident in Silvermoon City.

[Lysimachus]

With a bit of tampering, Nevitt managed to repair the antiquated Arcane projector he had brought from Dynastus Hall. An image of Lysimachus' study, its owner sipping at a wine glass and absently shuffling through papers, appeared above it. He spoke. "Lysimachus?"

The man in the image looked around, his eyes narrowing. "Now STOP that. You KNOW better."

"Marquess, I have accessed the records you requested."

A gentle hum followed, Lysimachus nodding his approval. "Very good. And the contents, what did you find?"

"Well," Nevitt began, "it seems he-"

"Speak up! I don't PAY you to MUMBLE. God."

Nevitt arched an eyebrow. At least the visual was only one-way. "This Mr. von... von S..." He fumbled through the name.

"von Schliebelgübben, you helling idiot. Didn't they teach you to READ?"

The young magister let pass the insult. As he always did. "He has published several transcriptions; they appear... typical, I suppose, of the fundamental studies pursued by the Forsaken."

"And the personnel records? You DID read the personnel records, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. And I quote, 'Reason for termination: Lechery and rambunctious conduct unbecoming an Apothecary caused a diplomatic incident in Silvermoon City.'"

Lysimachus appeared to be contemplating the information. After a few moments, he furrowed his eyebrows. "That doesn't mean helling ANYTHING. You're GOING to Gadgetzan, Nevitt, and you'll speak with him directly."

"But sir," Nevitt argued, "the records very clearly state that-"

"ENOUGH! You will GO, and you will LIKE it."

"But my wife-"

"Bring her back a hyena hide or something! We shall SPEAK again when you arrive in Tanaris." With that, Lysimachus waved a hand and chanted, thus interfering with the Arcane wavelength.

Nevitt stared at the projector, then let loose a deep sigh of defeat. "Why am I unable to simply quit? If that man didn't pay me so much, I'd..." He let the thought dissipate into itself. "On to SoKal."

[Irontoe]

Googe drew his cloak about himself against the shrieking sandstorm blowing over Gadgetzan. He felt no pain or discomfort, he repeated to himself, like a true Forsaken immune to all feelings but a thirst for vengeance, but of course all that grime was a bitch to brush out of the ol' desiccated crevices.

He hoped to catch the elf Nevitt as his wyvern landed; it had been over a week since his last correspondence saying he would arrive on the evening of the twenty-third. He ordinarily would not expect one of the living to brave the high winds that now whistled through his ribcage, but the tone of his letter suggested an unusually dedicated -- or harassed -- servant.

A terrified squeak and a belch of flame in the stormy darkness heralded the approach of a riderless dragonhawk, which soared over Googe's head to crash into the wall of the city behind him. A moment later, a nearly naked blood elf bounced and skidded across the sandy flats to come to rest a few yards from his feet. Suddenly interested, Googe glanced around surreptitiously and pulled out a pair of rusty shears and a scalpel. He knelt over the elf's body and gave it a quick prod, then gave a sigh of disappointment when its arm twitched. This one possessed more sturdiness than he gave most of its waifish species credit for.

Taking the elf's hand, he helped it to its feet, but not before stuffing a furtive hair sample in his pocket. "Guten Tag, Herr Neewit."

"The name's Nevitt. Look here, Mr Shloo-- Googe. I have a few important questions to make on behalf of my master. If I could have but a few--"

"You are right on time, mein freunde! I voss just finishink mein research into za local vildlife. I can be in Silvermoon straightavay viss a qvick portal."

Googe overlooked the magister's flat, defeated stare and shouted behind him, "Brink it all right up hier, if you please."

Within moments, a gruntling of the Argent Tournament trudged out of the blinding curtain of sand bearing a gigantic backpack and racks of vials and stoppered bottles, each one filled to the brim with various liquids.

"Isn't he vonderful? Mein energy, mein mind ist too valuable to vaste on trivialities like packing. But look at him go!" Noticing a rack full of uncovered vials tilting dangerously to one side, Googe yelled, "Vatch za modified silithid samples, you fool! Do you vant za entire TOWN to die in agony?"

As the gruntling drew near, Nevitt discerned a variety of insectoid appendages protruding from the backpack -- a pincer, a centipaar leg, a giant wasp stinger. And among those, a green-skinned forearm and hand. The oppressed-looking gruntling was missing an arm as well, and the stitches appeared fresh.

Realizing that Nevitt's attention was becoming dangerously focused, Googe said dismissively, "It ist perfectly alright, I got him a better one from an adult female in the area. She voss vell compensated, I assure you."

After an uncomfortable pause... "So how about zat portal, eh?"

Nevitt sighed and began casting a portal to Silvermoon. While he did that, Googe took a few racks of liquid from the squire and set them on the ground. Just before he stepped through the portal to the plush, warm room beyond, he turned to Nevitt and said, "Und za most toxic, most promisink materials cannot traverse a portal. Could you oversee zeir transport by ground to Orgrimmar? Sank you. Time to go see mein future employer!"

He grabbed the gruntling by the neck and leaped through the portal just as it collapsed, abandoning Nevitt to the sandstorm and three racks of undelivered silithid venom.

[Lysimachus]

(( Resolved in-game. ))