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Mortica drifted on her raft off the west coast of Zandalar, sprawled out under an umbrella with a fishing pole braced to the side of her, her finger laying on the line to feel the fate of her bait in the water below. She could hear nothing but the white noise of the ocean and a few sea birds cawing in the air high above.  Life, or whatever undead were supposed to do, was pretty good.
 
Her thoughts drifted slower than the fluffy clouds above her, and the sound of the approaching drone somehow mixed into the sound of the waves lapping against the raft.  It was nearly directly overhead before its existence filtered into her consciousness.  She sat up and peered up at the mechanical contraption.
 
It whirred above for a moment, a small camera lens rotating on a gimble below the craft, and an iris adjusted slightly as it focused on her face.  At the rear, a latch released nosily and a hatch sprung open, releasing a small box.
 
Mortica caught it, just as the little camera snapped a picture of her with the box.  The hatch closed and the drone took off rapidly.
 
She frowned at the package with no return address, and a simple “Champion of the Horde” addressee.  She shook it next to her ear gently, but didn’t hear any ticking so she shrugged and sliced her filleting knife along the seams.  The top flap sprung open, and she was instantly showered with glitter. Inside the box a single poster was rolled up.  Unrolling it showed a nice looking orc posing in front of a Horde banner.  “Re-enlist now! The fate of Azeroth depends on YOU!”
 
Mortica blew out her lips, in part to blow off the glitter stuck to them, and in part exasperation.  She was retired.  Leave the saving of worlds to the young folk.  She had holes to find, fishes to catch, recipes to create.
 
The noisy craft apparently scared off the fish as well, and she didn’t get a single bit for the rest of the afternoon.
 
The next day she picked a spot farther north, a place she’d had some success earlier in the week.  She was still paddling lazily up the coast when she heard the buzzing.  She craned her neck around, glaring at the two improbably engineering constructs jostling each other trying to get to her first.  The first dived toward her, a package dropping out of the bottom and whistling towards her with the forward momentum of the craft, which had briskly pulled up into a nearly vertical climb, doing a looping turn in the air to head back the way it came, the package thudding into Mortica’s stomach as she stared in amazement as the other craft slowed, then began circling her location. Mortica pulled out the small gun she had brought with her, and shot at the craft, snarling as she saw a spark as the bullet bounced off some sort of invisible magic shield around the craft.  Stupid gnomes.  Stupid goblins. Always inventing stupid contraptions that always seemed to work for other people but never for her.
 
There was a shrill feedback whine then a cheap speaker came on.  What sounded like a mechanical goblin voice spoke:  “Dear hiss former hiss champion hiss of the hiss Horde hiss your presence is requested in hiss Orgrimmar hiss AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.  The fate of Azeroth is in your hands!  
 
She took another aimed shot at the drone, but that bullet bounced off harmlessly as well.  Having delivered the message, the drone headed off back the way it had came.
 
Mortica had successfully dodged the Horde recruitment people for several years.  Sure, she let them give her a “free tour of Dazar’alor” to get her onto this choice little island full of fish, but she’d ditched them right after the tour.  Sure, she might have had to knife a few pesky Alliance who were zoning in on HER fishing spot, but hey, a girl’s gotta fish.
 
Heck, the last real mailbox she’d used was back in Undercity, before it had been sacked.  Shortly after that she’d lost contact with her former guild, The Grim.  She wasn’t sure what happened to them.  She supposed she should have gone looking for them, but you know, Live to fish, Fish to live.  Her life -had- been noticeably less hectic since her com device stopped working.
 
She dosed the box the first drone had dropped in the water, opening it carefully pointed away from her.  The water seemed to have short-circuited the glitter-bomb, leaving just a messy red and gold glob.  The poster was the same as yesterday’s.  She growled and paddled her way back to shore.  Another day of fishing ruined.

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