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Uninvited guests ((Closed))

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It was late at night in Orgrimmar, the only signs of life we’re the members of “The Shattered Hand” stalking the rooftops for any unwanted visitors. Way on the other side of town in the valley of honor; the Goblin known only as Gurrah the Gambler slept. His room in the Inn was only lit by a single candle, the dim glow flickered , and shadows would dance across the room in a chaotic, unpredictable fashion. Alone on a small rickety bed slept the Goblin, with a empty bottle of rum still laying in his hand, arms and legs stretched out haphazardly across the bed. The Gambler tossed and turned in his sleep. It was dangerous for him to sleep, not the fact that it left him vulnerable, He was more afraid of the nightmares that would soon follow.

((Issues- Escape the Fate.))

He was trapped, trapped somewhere and all he could see before him was darkness, images of his past taunting him. Past contracts gone wrong, the look of terror in the eyes of the countless souls he laid to rest for gold. His meeting with the Blastercharge brothers, and his recruitment on the mission to kill his former employer. The only thing he had as a father figure in his youth, although it was clear to the Gambler that the Trade Prince was only using him to do his dirty work. The forced realization brought on by his betrayal still burned inside. Then the images of Smiles flashed in a blur. His first confrontation with the legendary assassin; the paralyzing fear that gripped Gurrah as the myth had held the barrel of a pistol to his head after he effortlessly bested him. Their violent confrontation in the burning jungle outside the mansion of his last mission with the Blastercharge brothers. The maniacal fury that engulfed Smiles Macblaster, how he showed no pain, no remorse, and cackled as they fought to the death in the all consuming inferno. Gurrah’s own cowardice of fleeing the fight rather then pressing the advantage to ensure his last “Demon” was laid to rest. And how his selfish act nearly cost him and his comrades their lives.

But the pain that gripped him the most was the fear in Razo’s eyes before Gurrah had poured the vial of acid upon his face that would seal his old friends fate. The fact that the Goblin whom he grew up with in the slums of Kezan, whom had fought, and bled, and risked all for each other, who had been there for one another through thick and thin. Had become mortal enemies. A rivalry that would last until either Gurrah, or Razo had died. A rivalry spurred on by jealous ambition and greed. A jealousy brought forth by the Goblin who had raised them. As hard as Gurrah tried, he could never drink away the pain of ending the life of the only person he had ever called “Brother”. The dream shifted to his last memories of Kezan, the sinister glare of the man known only as “The Proprietor.” his eyes searing into the Gambler’s soul through a veil of thick smoke and flames.

The Gambler suddenly awoke and bolted upright, the rum bottle shattering on the hard wood floor as it slipped from his grasp. Gurrah was breathing rapidly, it took him a few moments to calm himself enough to breath normally again. Thinking of “The Proprietor” always caused the Gambler to wake. Although he could only see the outline of his form, the sinister look in the Goblin’s eyes had always haunted him. He may have had no proof, but Gurrah was sure that was him.

Gurrah sighed heavily and stared into the darkness of his room. It was pitch black, the candle had died while he slept, it was probably a few hours before the crack of dawn. He stood up and walked towards the far end of the room. After the first few months of renting the place he had his room memorized down to the last rusty nail. When he reached the desk at the end of the room he opened the drawer and pulled out a shot glass. He then reached with his other hand fumbling around for the bottle of rum on the top of the desk.

*Click* The distinct sound of the hammer being cocked on a pistol. He was getting sloppy.

“Ah ah ah, don’tcha even think about it chap.” Gurrah reluctantly obeyed the voice and put the letter opener he had slipped off the desk and under his sleeve back onto the tabletop.

“There’s a good lad, now would ya mind telling me ‘ow it is that a guy lioke me managed to get the jump on the once notorious Gurrah the Gambler?” The voice spoke with a condescending tone.

Gurrah responded sarcastically. “Congratulations, your talented enough to sneak in on a sleeping drunk.” Seeing as his head wasn’t blown off, he took a stab in the dark. “Since you haven’t killed me yet, your obviously not here to. So what is it you want? Money? Rum? If that’s what your interested in then you’ll have better luck across the hall. I hear that Gammon guy has some shiny stuff, why don’t you go bother him?” The voice laughed softly.

“Nice try Chump, but don’t worry I’m not ‘ere for your coin, or your rum.” The man said. “Oh really?” was the only response Gurrah could manage to spit out.

The voice snickered. “I’m ‘ere with a business proposition. I can’t tell ya the specifics yet, too many ears ‘round and I can’t risk dis being overheard. Meet me at dis address tomorrow nioght.” Gurrah felt a hand slip a piece of paper into the Gambler’s hand.

“And why should I be foolhardy enough to meet a fellow in private at night when he’s currently holding a gun to my head.?”

The voice chuckled lightly. “Cause old chap, I’m payin ya a bonus upfront.” Gurrah heard a heavy thud and the jingle of gold coins as the sack was tossed onto the desk.

“Tomorrow nioght” Gurrah stood their waiting until he heard the door click behind him. Assured that the intruder had left, the Gambler walked to the door and locked it. He then pulled up a chair and withdrew a rifle from behind the door. As he sat there facing the barrel of the rifle towards the door and resting it on his knee, he knew that tomorrow was going to be a long day.

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Gurrah hadn’t slept a wink by the time the sun rose the next morning. Although he’d become accustomed to restless nights, his visitor had shaken him up a bit, that compounded with his nightmares had made sleep impossible. With a sigh of relief at having lived to see the next sunrise he got out of bed and made his way to the counter. He noticed the sack of coins was rather large, after counting three-hundred-fifty pieces of gold he grew curious.

It was an unusually generous amount of gold just for the chance at a business proposal, and seeing how the offer was brought about it meant that whoever wanted to hire him had far from benevolent intentions. That being the case he reasoned that this event would lead him to one of two possible outcomes, either this was a job that would land him with a ridiculous amount of coin…. Or this was a set up. But the reality was that work was hard to find with so many blades for hire, and the amount of gold up front would be enough to put food in his belly for another few months, perhaps even allow him to fix up some of his worn down equipment. “Besides if it were a trap, why pay so much up front? If they wanted to kill me he could have done it last night.” He reasoned with himself. He also understood the unspoken threat of how the offer was presented, at gunpoint. It was clear what they intended to do if he refused. All the more reason to be suspicious, but they didn’t leave much room up for debate.

The Gambler let out a sigh as he stretched his arms back followed by a wide yawn. “This is gonna be a long day.”

Gurrah decided that he may as well spend some of the coin to fix up his lucky daggers, the years had done a good amount of wear and tear, they needed to be refurbished, and he’d lost his last throwing knife a week ago. He also decided he’d have to get some decent food, after all you never know which day will be your last. After a tasty yet light meal of a few thin slices of roast pork, a piece of bread, and of course, a flask of rum; the hours had slipped by and dusk was upon them. Now that he was comfortably armed and had some grub he scoured the streets of Orgrimmar squinting for the address in the fading light. Finally he found the building down a small alleyway in the drag. The building was two stories tall, made of wood planks, and the windows were boarded up. It looked like it could at one point have been a pub, although it looked like it belonged in a shanty town rather then Orgrimmar. Though he supposed that the “Drag” could qualify as a shanty town, if not a slum. The boards covering the door however had been recently removed, the gambler pushed on the door and it easily swung open. Inside a small lamp cast a dim glow sitting on the bar counter, next to it sat a tall hooded figure with broad shoulders his back to Gurrah.

“Come in, have a seat, I‘ve been waiting for you.” a gruff voice called to him. Tentatively the Gambler stepped into the building, glancing around quickly in the dim light to get a better grasp of his surroundings. He noticed another hooded figure sitting at the table at the far end of the pub the light barely glinting across his outline, and as he pulled up a seat at the bar a goblin popped his head up.

“Evenin Guvnah, glad ya decided ta tag along. What can oi getcha?” The goblin asked with a wide toothy grin. His voice immediately identified this Goblin as the one who paid him a visit last night.

“I’m good, thanks.” The Gambler replied bluntly. The hooded man sat his head slumped forward staring into his drink. Gurrah turned to speak to him.

“So, you wanted to speak to me? Well on with it, what do you want from me?” Gurrah asked. The man continued to remain silent.

“Hey are you listening to me?” he asked again this time a bit more annoyed, he nudge the man in an attempt to get his attention…. And the man fell off the stool collapsing to the floor, his face sprawled in the dim light. The dead eyes of an Orc stared up at him, his throat had been slit.

Suddenly the door slammed shut behind him, two Orgrimmar guards stood in the door way blocking the only exit a wicked grin on their marred faces. A third Orc, armed with two vicious looking war axes approached, a scar across his right eye covered by a black eye patch.

The Gambler reached into his vest for his throwing knives, only to be greeted by the click of a loaded pistol.

“Ah, ah, ah, Play nioce now ya ‘ere? We can all be civil about dis can’t we fellas?” The Goblin spoke with venomous sarcasm.

“Ha, yeah civil.” The one eyed Orc spoke in a gruff, cruel voice.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Gurrah asked.

“Hah, ya ain’t figured it out yet? Ya’s made quite a name fer yaself, made a lot of powahful people a tidbit angry ya did. Look it’s notin personal, I fer one respects ya for whatcha is….” The Goblin’s grin glinting with malice as he spoke.

“Oh? And what exactly is it you think I am?” Gurrah asked.

“Oi know’s whatcha is alright…. Ya’s a cold blooded killah, same as me. Now, dis ‘ere is da deal alright, put down dem dere throwin’ knives ya ‘ave tucked under that vest of ya’s, and oi’s put up me gun. Sound fair?”

Realizing he was in no position to argue, Gurrah reached under his vest and untied his knife belt. the clink of steel resonating in the dimly lit pub as it clattered to the floor.

“Good! Now me boss obviously doesn’t wantcha dead or I’d ‘ave just killed ya last nioght. Howevah, he does wantcha taken out of da picture, so dat’s we got dem two dead orc’s in ‘ere. Old washed up assassin gets a bit too drunk one nioght in da drag and breaks into dis ’ere old pub. dese two Orc guards catch him and try ta arrest him, and in a drunken rage the assassin killts him some guards in dis ‘ere pub. Course now ya’s got ta look da part, I mean ya can’t come out of a drunken brawl with two well armed orc’s and be unscathed.”

“Let me guess, that’s where your friends come in right?” Gurrah guessed.

“Ey now! Don’t be lioke dat! Lioke oi said, oi respects ya’s. So ‘ow bout we make a deal. Let’s ‘ave a lil bout me and ya. Just our blades and skill, oi ain’t aimin ta kill ya, but oi is gonna rough ya up a bit, if ya’s can kill me, den me boys will let ya’s walk. If ya’s can’t, den looks lioke ya comin wif us. ‘Ow bout it Gamblah?”

He doubted the offer was legit, but he saw no alternative. In a cold voice he spoke. “Challenge Accepted.”

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((I'd just like to point out this particular story is based during cata and is simply a back story to help relate the events from then till MoP. One of several installments, i've been meaning to pick back up on this for a while xD))

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