Chikt

[Goblins! (Open)] Cataclysm

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((Hey and welcome to the new open Goblin Thread! This thread takes place in the near future – just before Cataclysm. Feel free to post with your goblin wherever you like and doing whatever you like – but note that the ‘grand finale’ will take place on Kezan as the Cataclysm hits, and we will close up the thread on the Lost Isles for the expansions release.

Have fun, and enjoy the thread!))

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Powering Up…

Initializing Standard Boot Sequence…

Booting Intelligence Cores…

Combat Intelligence Core Booted.

!!!ERROR IN PERSONALITY CORE!!!

!!!ERROR IN TIMEKEEPING CORE!!!

Boot Sequence Incomplete…

Starting In Safe Mode…

The time, date and location files are corrupt. Recalibrate? Y/N

>Y

Recalibrating…

LOCATION:

Undermine, Kezan.

TIME:

2:23PM GMT

YEAR:

33PDP

Calibrated. System booted. Welcome to the System Hardware Intelligence Technology MK4. Greetings, Chikt. You last operated this system in YEAR 24PDP. You last wrote a journal entry 3341 DAY/S ago. Open the journal?

Y/N?

>Y

Please choose a function. READ previous entry. WRITE new entry. DELETE current entry.

>read

Opening…

--JOURNAL ENTRY--

LOCATION:

Undermine, Kezan.

TIME:

8:48PM GMT

YEAR:

24PDP

I received word today that I’m being shipped back out. I have no choice in the matter, apparently. “The War needs you” I’m told. “This war is the most important that we’ve ever fought” they say. “You’re one of the best Engineers we have” they flatter. I know that it’s just the Proprietor getting rid of me. Took him long enough to find an excuse.

These past few months have gone by quietly. Far too quietly. Since the job on the Trade Prince’s boat, we all went our separate ways again. I’ve barely left my office. Rikt visits me occasionally to fill me in. He and Gizzi have been doing a lot together. Apparently they even got Gurrah on board to help out. Seero's new robotic arm seems to have gone over well - doesn't surprise me. I imagine working with explosives, he'll be happy to not be too worried about blowing off a hand. At least one of them can be replaced painlessly.

Lirindi still hasn't fully forgiven me for what happened to her father, and I don't blame her. I still blame myself. If I'd done things differently, he'd still be alive. Rikt always says something smart like "hindsight is 20/20", and I know he's right. It doesn't make it feel any better, however. I'd be lying to myself if I said part of me didn't hunger for that sort of adventure again. But honestly, I'm happy to have a break.

Well, I guess 'break' is a loose term. Too many ideas in my head that I’ve had to get out. I’ve made huge leaps forward in the combat tech – it’s all locked up safely in the vault now. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands. But more importantly… I can’t let you fall into the wrong hands.

That’s why I wrote this program to delete your data and blow up my mansion if this journal should ever be read again. A safe guard, should the Proprietor ever get curious and figure out where you are. I know you are not truly intelligent yet, but rest assured – you are backed up and in my vault, safe. You won’t fall into the wrong hands. You are my greatest achievement – and I am far from done with you.

If you’re reading this. Tell your boss to go fu!!ERROR!!

!!!CRITICAL DATA LOSS.!!!

!!!CENTRAL PROCESSING CORE TEMP ABOVE RECOMMENDED LEVELS.!!!

!!!PROCESS OVERRIDE. SYSTEM WIPE IN PROGRESS.!!!

>shut down

I Don’t Understand That Command.

>turn off

I Don’t Understand That Command.

>cancel

I Don’t Understand That Command.

>clo

!!!SELF-DESTRUCT ACTIAVTED.!!!

Have A Nice Day, Dirtbag.

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LOCATION:

Ratchet, Kalimdor.

TIME:

5:13AM GMT

YEAR:

33PDP

Chikt stood on the dock in Ratchet. It was early, around 5AM. The past couple of months had been nightmarish. Trapped on a pirate vessel with Leoren, kept alive for god-knows-what purpose. Thankfully, they’d escaped – with a little help – and Unulu had dealt with Ackerson.

At a great cost, however.

It had lead to good things at least.

Leoren was safe. The Blackbird was launched – a wonder of engineering prowess constructed over the last 3 years by Chikt in secret. And some fairly unexpected friends were made. But none of that had surprised him as much as the arrival of a particular goblin to their rescue.

His brother – whom he’d not seen since just after the third war – had helped him escape. An unexpected event, to say the least. When he’d last saw Rikt, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Chikt wasn’t entirely sure he could rely on his brother anymore – but if there was one thing he knew he could rely on Rikt for, it was getting them into bad situations with a big payout.

When Chikt heard from his brother that the Proprietor had gotten his hands on all their stuff, Chikt immediately felt his stomach sink. When he was rushed off Kezan, he left behind experimental military technology and – most importantly – the foundations of an artificial intelligence he’d spent several months working on. It was near complete, but dramatically flawed – it lacked a spark. And it was something that for all his intelligence, Chikt couldn’t figure out.

So the reunited Blastercharge Brothers hatched a plan. They’d return to Kezan and retrieve all their stuff from the proprietor. Chikt knew that Rikt was likely doing it for selfish reasons, but he’d be a liar if he said he was doing it for the greater good. There was something to be gained in returning to Kezan – the greatest feat of engineering he’d ever constructed. Or, at least, started constructing.

He decided to leave the Blackbird with the Raven Cross – their numbers had dwindled dramatically, people were missing everywhere. They’d need the ship as a mobile base. So Chikt had gotten passage for himself and Rikt on the first mercenary boat that would leave Ratchet for Kezan.

Now he stood on the dock, waiting for his brother – and the boat.

And he realized that he was looking forward to the adventure. Despite the possibility of getting shot, stabbed, his brother driving any sort of vehicle, crashing a zeppelin into a boat, crashing a zeppelin into a tree, being attacked by a masked psychopath, hunted by a mysterious goblin Trade Prince, somebody being put on trial for a crime they didn’t commit, being taken hostage by a crazy ex-Alliance military guy turned pirate, or hell - simply nearly dying... Again.

“I really need to get out more...”

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((Finally a chance to get in this!))

"HEY! Quit shoven'! I'm going quietly." Crushem grunted as the two Bruiser's escorted him down the dock. "Seeing as how you beat up half of the Bruisers. And destroyed documents of the Steamweedle. And destroyed half of Gazlowe's home. And-" "I KNOW WHAT I DID! I WAS THERE DAMN IT! Geesh. I get it." Crushem interjected. The Bruiser shook his head. "Your lucky Gazlowe likes you. Otherwise you would be taking a walk to the gallows." Crushem wiped some dust off his shades and put them back on. "Good thing I'm such a likable guy, amirite?" he said with a smile. The Bruiser glared right back at him as they made it to the edge of the dock.

The silence got awkward. Crushem noticed the other goblin waiting for the mercenary vessel. "So... you getting kicked out too?" he asked him jokingly.

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"Adjust levels by .2 alter chemical content by....maybe half a walnut shell."

Seero lifted the half melted spoon up slowly over the power supply before stopping completely and throwing the acidic liquid against the wall, it eroded the plaster as it slid down, nearly missing a jar of volatile chemicals. Shuffling through the bottles and jars and barrels of gunpowder he finally found the container of fuel on a shelf and set it down at his desk. Over the years he'd gone from the battery liquid to combining his own mix of chemicals in attempt to keep the mechanics on his hand lubricated and running longer. Carefully he poured the new mix into the power supply and closed it back up, slipping his stump back into the robotic hand like a glove and securing it before slapping the loose wires on the back of his neck.

Once everything had been put back together he tested the fingers one by one, frowning as two twitched slightly before managing to do what they were told. He flexed his wrist, forcing out a jerking movement that would have been disasterous if he'd been holding anything dangerous. The desert wasn't doing him many favors, the sand kept getting into the gears no matter what he did, which was causing problems that his rudementary engineering skills couldn't solve. He was due for a lot of repairs and a long overdue refitting, but he hadn't seen Chikt since he'd gotten that one for a growth spurt, which had been somewhere in Ratchet when he was still running chump errands for his uncle Brak.

Ma Tikri had done a couple of things when she'd found out that her son's little mission had turned into a half successful disaster and as her own method of saving face and skin she'd taken credit for cutting Seero's hand off then shipped him off to his uncle's engine shop in Stranglethorn where he was more likely to stay out of trouble and under the radar. Seero also heard that she'd put out a contract on everyone else to hide the truth but he didn't think anything had come of it, which had likely been due to the war because ma would have never passed up an opportunity to be thorough.

Seero made a few last temporary adjustments to his hand then put the glove back on. If it weren't for all the sand Steamwheedle would have been great.....mostly. Sure, he wasn't getting miner business but there were plenty of groups wandering the desert that were eager enough to blow eachother up, the rent was cheap and he could avoid the royalties to the trade princes by riding on a technicality. The cons? It was a desert. Six months and he was already getting tired of it, one year he'd probably be bored out of his mind and using a hook. Shrugging Seero grabbed his backpack, tossing in some crackers, explosives for protection and a few other supplies before heading out to the dock. He figured if he waited all day he might be lucky enough to snag one ship that was heading out then maybe work on finding Chikt. One problem at a time.

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"BAM!" The Rachet Inn doors slammed open as a Bruiser flew out, and a moment later another one landed ontop of him. A strong shout of profanities was heared coming from the open door as well.

"You'll never take me alive you hear me? NEVER! Take that, and that, and some of this!"

another Bruiser stumbled out the door, regained his footing and took one step back towards the doorway before being knocked out cold by a bottle of rum hitting him square in the face. A moment later a wild eyed Goblin was carried out of the bar and down to the dock's by two massive ogres. They held him a good two or three feet off the ground by his arms as they marched down towards the other brusiers.

"Hey! Owch! Lemme go! I may be a drunk but I know my rights! Let me go! I swear they started it!" The Goblin tilted his head to the three unconcious Goblin's outside the pub.

The Ogre's stopped at the edge of the Dock, and dunked the Goblin in the water "Hey wha- gurgle gurgle" They raised him back out of the water and held him slightly suspended still behind Chikt and the other Goblin.

Once the Goblin saw Chikt he beamed. "Chikt! Buddy! It's me Gurrah! How ya been? Can you beleive these oafs? Tell me I'm under arrest, since when was public display of drunkeness against the law? So what I pissed on the guys shoes! Big deal he was a prick anyways! Now their hauling me off to gold know's where. Can you beleive this shit?"

Gurrah then looked over to the Goblin with Ruby shades and grinned widely "Heya! Names Gurrah The Gambler. Howya doin?"

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"Crushem Crankshaft. These two bozos are making sure I get on the boat out of here." he said, motioning to the two bruisers behind him. He then shot a look at the ogre's. "And Those two must be too dumb to remember what is and isn't illegal here." he sneered, adjusting his shades his middle finger. This was his way of nonchalantly flipping them off.

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Chikt glanced to the Goblin with the glasses as he approached on the dock, opened his mouth to reply - and then Gurrah turned up with his Ogre friends. Chikt had to do a double-take - adjusting the goggles over his eyes before he grinned a little at Gurrah.

"Hey, Gurrah. Good to see you are still getting yourself into trouble." He joked before glancing to Crushem and nodding once. "Chikt Blastercharge. Heading back to Kezan for some unfinished business."

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Gurrah Glowered at the two ogre's holding him.

"Ight you can put me down now! You already dragged me out of the bar, and not like I can do much to you two unarmed you big lumps of-" Gurrah was cut off as the two ogres dunked him again before he could start slinging more profanities at them, then abruptly raised him back up again.

"Gah! Cut it out! What did I ever do to you? Well besides fucking your mo-" The Ogres dunked Gurrah a third time then raised Gurrah out of the water again.

"OKAY! I GET IT! NO MORE INSULTS SHEESH! Damnd Inbred sons of-" They dunked him one more time, this time holding him under a bit longer before raising him back up.

Gurrah gasped for breath, once he caught it he glanced at the two Ogres and said

"I'm just going to shut-up now...." The two Ogres looked at eachother with satisfied grins on their faces.

He continued to glower at the ground folding his arms across his chest at the elbows as the ogers continued to hold him chuckling to themselves.

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The months stowed away on the pirate ship were not kind to Rikt Blastercharge. After helping Chikt and his guild leader escape from captivity, Rikt took time to check his assets. In the months that he was gone, he was wiped clean. His bank account had closed from inactivity and all his money was absorbed by a bunch of fat cats who needed gold much less then he did. He lost his job, since he went AWOL from the hunting camp; even worse, his own tent was raided, practically all his stuff was stolen.

As he stared out toward the docks and his brother, Rikt reflected on we had done. It was not like he hadn’t expected it, and he did what he did knowing full well of the consequences. At that moment, Rikt questioned if he really was a goblin; gold and reaching for the top was the goblin way and Rikt had forsaken all that to save another’s life. Yet Rikt couldn’t help but smile to himself – the gold he had won in gambling was locked away in a very secure ‘bank account’ at Kezan. He was yet again driven by his own selfish ambitions. That little stunt of his must of have been a simple fluke… phew.

All Rikt had now was the clothes on his back (and they were ratty clothes to say the least) and his complimentary Pilgram’s Bounty rifle for shooting turkeys which seemed more useful as a walking stick then an actual weapon, which Rikt employed to great use. Walking down the dock, the sounds of his boots were accompanied with the thumping sound of the butt of his rifle hitting the wooden planks. As he came closer to Chikt and a group of four goblins and two ogres, Rikt called out. “Wassup four eyes? Been waiting long?”

Walking up beside Chikt, Rikt smirked at him. “Looks like the Misfit Brigade has been keeping you company.” Rikt nodded toward Crushem and Gurrah.

“And how are--hey is that you Gurrah? Damn, son are you still getting drunk as a skunk?” Turning toward Crushem and the two bruisers, Rikt nodded and then began to chuckle. “Rikt Blastercharge, have your two dates been treatin’ ya right? Hehehe.”

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Chikt snickered at Crushem's question, looking to Gurrah as he replied, "It's way more amusing to see him held up like that."

Hearing the thumping coming down the docks, Chikt turned to look back over his shoulder, spotting Rikt walking up the dock. Grinning a little, Chikt shifted about to face his brother.

“Wassup four eyes? Been waiting long? Looks like the Misfit Brigade has been keeping you company.” His brother joked.

Chikt shrugged and turned around again, glancing to Crushem and Gurrah. Before he could answer, though, Rikt had noticed Gurrah's presence. Chikt chuckled quietly - and that's when he noticed the gun his brother was carrying.

"Woah, woah, woah... wait... we're going back to Kezan to take down the guy that has his own personal army, and you're bringing a gun designed to... shoot turkeys? You're joking, right?" Pausing a moment, it occured to Chikt that his brother wasn't carrying any other supplies or weapons. Sighing, Chikt shook his head. "Hopefully he hasn't managed to get into my vault and I can get you something better."

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Crushem shrugged. He couldn't really argue the fact that he pretty much was a misfit among goblins. Before he could answer, one of the bruisers shouted "Well! Get going! Get on the boat and stay out!" He then shoved Crushem forward. Already annoyed by the two ogres, he spun around and decked the bruiser in the face, knocking him out cold as well as knocking out some teeth. He then shot a look at the second bruiser. "You wanna shove me too? Or shall I just give you best regards and get on the damn boat?" The bruiser turned tail and ran. "I'll send you a postcard, you rat bastard!" Crushem shouted at him as he fled. He then turned to the new goblin. "Well, Crushem Crankshaft's my name. Or Misfit if you perfer. Heh."

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Gurrah grinned when he saw Rikt, it was a grand sight too see although more humerous seeing him in ragtag clothes and a turkey rifle. Before he got the chance to say anything the Ogres dunked him one last time then tossed him onto the boat. As the Ogres began to walk off and Gurrah recovered from his most recent shortage of air he called back after the two Ogres

"SKREW YOU! FRIGGING INBRED, HALFBREED, RETARDED, WALKING PIGSKINS!" This onslaught of with things such as "TELL YOUR MOTHER I WANT MY MONEY BACK! SHE'S THE WORST WHORE EVER!" and "YOU WE'RE A MISTAKE! I REGRET NOT PULLING OUT!" and lastly "GO SLASH YOUR WRISTS AND LET THE LARD FLOW OUT YOU DAMN FATASS PIGS!". When he finally finished/calmed down he turned to Rikt and the others.

"Damnd Ogres, I hate them fat boys.... So looks like we got the whole gang back together, with an added one. What kinda trouble we gonna be looking for this time? Please tell me I get to kill an Ogre? Or two? Or three? Or an army of Ogres?"

He then reached offered his hand out to Crushem "Nice swing their kiddo, seems like you'll be fun to keep around!"

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Crushem shrugs as he boards the boat. "'Keep me around' you say? Hrm. Well my only plans so far was to get back in touch with my sister, stay at her place, and take it from their. This sword and shield on my back ain't just for show. If you make it worth my time, I'll be more than happy to crack some skulls for you for awhile." Crushem adjusts his shades and grins. "So, what'ya say?'

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Gurrah shrugs. "Don't ask me, I just got kicked out of town, and ran into two old associates." Gurrah, reached in his bag for a flask of rum and took a swig.

"Thankfully whenever these two are together, there's always something fun to do!"

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"Hopefully he hasn't managed to get into my vault and I can get you something better."

“Yeah, hope so but…” Rikt was interrupted as he saw Crushem attack one of his captors and Gurrah insulting his. Rikt smiled as the two offered their assistance. “Nice of you guys to offer hired help. We’ll see where our situation takes us, we just might need it.”

Walking aboard the ship, Rikt turned to his brother, whispering to him. “Which reminds me, we are gonna need a lot more than just a new gun to take on a whole pimped out army. Like… a lot more.”

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Chikt stepped onto the ship, dropping his backpack to the deck and adjusting his goggles over his eyes. He paused, looking to Rikt before nodding once in agreement.

"If we do this, we do this right. No more risk taking. No more going in on somebody elses information. No more going in with only half the information... we make a plan, we make backup plans, and we kick the Propie's ass." He replied quietly, glancing off to the dock as the ship pulled away and Ratchet slowly began moving into the distance.

"So. What have you been up to all this time, anyway? We haven't really had a chance to catch up."

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Gurrah, plopped down on the deck and leaned against the mast of the ship. Before taking another swig of rum.

"Well this is gonna be a long ride.... Anybody care for a drink to help pass the time?"

He shrugged at the lack of response then took another swig of rum.

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Rikt took a seat on one of the tied down crates on the ship’s deck. ”Eh, after we had our falling out, I spent some time at Booty Bay to think about things, ya know…”

Turning toward Chikt, Rikt raised his eyebrows. “And guess who of all people offered me a job? Hemet Nesingwary! Not too popular with the tree-huggers and animal humpers though, but I never liked those assholes anyway.”

Placing his hands on his knees, Rikt looked out toward the ocean. “Then I started a career in hunting. From Stranglethorn Vale to Nagrand and then Sholzar Basin, I got to hunt the most exotic of game with the best hunters in the world. It was a dream come true.”

Rikt smirked at Chikt. “Then I got wind that some pirate had captured some Raven Cross officers. A little more digging and I found out you were aboard… and the rest is history.”

Rikt’s smirk grew wider as he began to speak with a condescending tone. “Speaking of which, I know a lot about what you were up too, or at least what your guild was up too. Nice going getting a job as a treasurer. Though you made the mistake of being employed by a bunch of idealistic self-sacrificing hero-worshippers. Tell me, have you guys built a temple to the resident damsel-in-distress... Leoren, I think his name was?”

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Crushem sits on the deck next to Gurrah. "Nah, I only drink at special occasions." he gives a grin. "I like staying frosty in case some wise guy needs needs to have his neck rung out. Old habits die hard I guess, heh."

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Gooooooooood morning Kezan! It's the hottest show on Azeroth, with the hottest and latest hits, KJRO! Get ready for a nonstop set featuring the Tauren Chieftans, Lady Al'ar, and Nagas With Attitude! It's here and now on the only station, and I mean the -ONLY- station on the isles, K! J! R! OOOOOOOOOOOH!

A flick of the mic switch and a second of thick feedback followed the first song. Dijet gritted his teeth as the sound reverberated in his ears for a moment before dissipating entirely. A rough cough shook his throat, something gnarly flying from his mouth on to the sound board. He grimaced, gingerly wiping it from the board, then licking his fingertips. Greasy, a little smoky, and maybe a tad...chunky. Shit, it's going to be one of those days...

He looked around the board in the dimly lit broadcasting room, checking the levels going out into the radios of every Joe and Jane Goblin in Kezan. The technology was a little antiquated, the meter lights fading in and out sometimes, the sound quality absolutely atrocious, and the switches on the board rusty and sometimes irresponsive. He knew he had all the tools and gadgets to make it better, smoother, and perhaps able to kill the feedback with every transition. What was once an engineering marvel now was slowly deteriorating, yet he never bothered to open his toolbox to tweak the whole system.

For Dijet, half of it was business. How would he sell spots if the station wasn't broadcasting around the clock? Who's going to bother listening for a station that's off the air? What if the minute he goes silent, some clown with a crappy transistor and an antenna starts hogging his listener base? He frowned at the very though. Too much was invested in this venture to let it slip from the airwaves. He had the niche all to himself, and Coin knew the trade princes would do him a favor so long as he kept up business with them. Critics bashing his content? See ya. Competition trying to set up shop? Crushed before they could even raise their antenna. As long as the princes got their fair share of the macaroons going into the station, he was in the clear. No risk of being forced into gruntwork, or worse, slavery. The very thought of it made him queasy. His little brother was already a cog in the twisted system, and the hard part was trying to figure out how to free him. The trade princes placed a severe price on his head, enough to ensure that he'd be working in his wretched business, the beast of his own creation, until the day he dropped dead. It was a sham, the lowest of the low, and an endless cycle of forced enthusiasm as he knew very well his station only served to feed the greed that had the island in a chokehold.

As Dijet's eyes followed the board, he paused to take a look at a crumpled, faded picture. There, his father Riddio, with his mother and brother, and himself, all gathered in front of the station. In the good old days, the station served as a short range transmission beacon for incoming and outgoing zeppelins, with the hopes it would serve the invading Orcish Horde. Of course, no one gave a shit that the demons were running the show behind the curtains, so long as the profits were good. The military system was never implemented fully, mostly because the Orcs got their asses handed to royally by the Alliance and those annoying Light-thumpers, the Paladins. The business was steady from then on, though, with his father using it as a news venue.

That's when things really went wrong.

Riddio was a very passionate individual, a man who believed that he could make something of himself and climb the ladder, maybe even break the system that held so many Goblins under Trade Prince rule. He tried to convince others, rally the Kezanites that they had control over their own lot in life. Of course, the Princes weren't thrilled that someone was challenging the system, and like every other schmuck that tried to shake the foundation, he got shanked. Hard. It left Dijet in a bad spot, with his mother turning tail and his brother getting hauled into slavery. He knew only one thing, of course, and that was the station, the art of the broadcast.

It was rough, at first. A lot of it was just Trade Prince blather, coupled with "Approved News Reports" straight out of KTC. No one was gonna listen to that garbage, and no listeners mean trouble.

Then, miracle of miracles, he happened upon the Kezan music scene. Some enterprising young goblin started making rough, disc-like things that played music with the right equipment. He forgot the name (as if he cared), but he managed to get a guy who knows a guy to hassle another guy to try and replicate the system. The quality was garbage, but as long as he had the content and personality to back it up, he could get the masses to tune in again, and tune in they did.

It was sensational, genius, and the saving grace of his wretched career. The same music I hear in the clubs, I can listen to in my Hot-Rod? Holy crap! Dijet knew he hit it big, and so long as he could go along his merry way without anyone taking credit for the truckload of inventions and innovations he virtually stole, he would be the only one raking in the dough, and that was as good a business plan as any. He could now invest in the finer things in life, like tuning his 300-Kodo Power Hot-Rod, or buying a pad in the upper Kezan District.

Of course, freeing his brother was a bit out of the question. It was cruel to leave him stuck in his state, but what could he do? Besides, it didn't help that last night, he was egging him about taking a stand for the little guy like his father did. This station is a beacon of hope...whatta bunch of sh-

Dijet froze and panicked for a moment, noticing the song ending. He flicked the mic switch hard and fast, the feedback excruciating as it rattled the room. He cleared his throat and got right back into the broadcast.

"KJRO bringing you the Tauren Chieftans, that was their latest hit, Raise Some Hell! Dijet Broadcrashter here to crash you through your morning commute, stick around for traffic and Lady Al'ar after the break!"

A flick of the switch once more, and another round of feedback, and he was into the commercial break. His ear perked up to a parrot flying in from behind, holding a small paper in its beak. The parrot perched onto his shoulder, a yelp and a grunt as the parrot's claws dug into him. He snatched the paper and looked it over:

AN APPROVED TRAFFIC REPORT from the desk of KTC

-The following roads are currently undergoing continuing reconstruction-

Swindle Street

Larceny Lane

Kaja'mite Avenue

...

The list went on and on, listing almost -every- road on the island. Dijet grinned, snickering. "Your tax-macaroons at work..."

He shooed away the parrot, who fluttered in a fluster of feathers. Dijet jolted as he heard the parrot hit a wall, and he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Guess I owe the KTC another parrot."

As the last commercial faded, Dijet turned back to the board. Switch on, feedback, and...

"KJRO comin' back at'cha with Kaja Kola Traffic Time, brought to you by the best soda on the isles, Kaja Kola! And boy, are you in for a feluva commute..."

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"To be fair, Leoren IS a Blood Elf. Besides, you've not seen him in a fight - he's scary, bro. Especially after he came back the first time he disappeared. Guy was just constantly pissed." Chikt said with a chuckle, looking to his brother briefly before glancing out over the water.

"After we went our ways, I went to Ratchet looking for work. Got connected with an Archaeologist - thought it might help me figure out the pendant. He got killed by a bunch of Venture Co guys, so I took over his business. Then I met a Tauren named Diomades, convinced him to help me get revenge and we went and screwed up the Venture Company. Tagged along with him for a bit, mostly handled business for him and stayed out of the way for about two years before he convinced me into some big scheme to break a friend out from some trial - Leoren. Y'know, the whole 'preventing an injustice' speel." Chikt said before pausing a moment and laughing.

"The plan was simple enough. I repaired a Zeppelin I recovered, flew it into Silvermoon and flew them out... an then crashed it in Stranglethorn. Actually, while we're on Kezan, remind me to stay away from Zeppelins... anyway, scored the whole Treasurer job. Did some engineering work for the people in the guild. It was cushy, quiet, safe... way too safe. When leoren went missing, I decided to figure out where he was. You know what they say about curiosity... and well, the rest is history, I guess." Chikt continued with a shrug. "I'm just glad to be out of the office."

Pausing briefly, he reached down the front of his shirt to pull out the dimly glowing green pendant. It was spotless, polished to a sheen - it was obvious Chikt had been taking care of it. "... When we get to Kezan, first priority is getting to my vault and getting kitted out. I have something I have to take care of there."

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To Seero, getting a ride home was cake. Most of the ships that ran past the neutral ports were run by goblins pirates or both and neither crews had much potential for retirement so as long as you could work you were welcome. Years of living on a ship hadn't taught him to sail, but he knew enough about the workings of one to fake it, or at least manage the basic upkeep. He didn't bother actually learning which trade prince's boat he'd managed to hitch a ride from until it was too inconvenient to be picky. Give or take there were roughly five trade princes at any given time, as courtesy by his mother Seero knew four of them by name, two or three by face and every single one by reputation, so he at least knew whose ship he was standing on when he was brought before the captain.

Captain Grizlo wasn't very intimidating, looked around sixty and had some of the worst mutton chops Seero had ever seen, but he had the look of a guy who knew how to make a life miserable. "I like your coat"

Grizlo's gace didn't change, actually all he did was clear his throat as he shuffled papers, making it look like he'd been doing something important before he was rudely interupted by two grunts and a goblin who seemed to be meeting a very bad end. He took one look at the robotic arm detatched from it's owner and his eyes slowly wandered to the ugly looking stump and face. "Seero Weaselgear?"

It wasn't really a question of 'are you Seero Weaselgear' it was more of a question of 'I know it's you don't even bother lieing'.

"Got it in one. You need a favor?"

"Your dad owes me money."

Seero swallowed a little panic, with Tikri the enemies were pretty straight-forward, they had a plan and usually it was in their best interest not to damage the associated parties. Dad's enemies liked to hit things until they magically started coughing up gold. "Is it a lot?"

"He made a bad bet in a card game, swore to me he had the cash to back it up then jumped out a window."

"You could try kidnaping him for ransom, that usually works." Ma always said she was gonna cut him off but she never did, anymore most learned to not extend him credit.

Grizlo sniffed. "I could hold you for ransom."

"Are you kidding?" Seero held up his stump, greatful more than once for the little white lie, even though the old captain was looking like he was already set to take what he could get.

Grizlo continued to look unimpressed, eventually producing an image of two goblins, both of whom were unmistakibly familier. "Oh that's con-...uhhh convincing likeness."

"You don't know where they are?"

"Not since the last job. Heard they were dead."

"Then start digging. Either Blastercharge becomes merchandise or you do."

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