Crutch

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About Crutch

  • Rank
    Junior Member
  • Birthday 11/28/1983
  1. Getting’ Back in the Business… ((This is open to any Alliance remotely interested in dealing with a Gob regarding “marketable information” you can also hit me up in game as well)) As one of the oldest members of the infamous Cash Collectors, Crutch drove his modified bike across the moonlit jungle floor of Stranglethorn. Crutch should be in a good mood; a little over a month ago he had whacked his one and only student and co worker and tied up the loose ends that the younger Gob had created for him. Once again, Crutch could go back into retirement without anyone the wiser. Yet killing Grimswitch caused an old itch to stir within Crutch. He had worked so long to drown the urge, but it had returned… with a vengeance. While he claimed he was retired, Crutch found he was spending more and more time trying to get back into the business he had been in for the Cash Collectors…intel. ‘What are you doing you old fart?,’ Crutch thought to himself. He was no fool; information led to knowledge of other people’s habits… and that knowledge led him to appeasing his “shady customer” as he called it. Now that the Steamwheedle Cartel was a part of the Horde, Crutch knew he had to control or repress his urges or else he’d be called out and burned. It was then he had an epiphany. He just had to redirect his needs at a cause that would not arouse suspicion… but to do that he had pulled in a number of favors to speak with potential informants within the Alliance. He had sent feeler letters to some of the less lawful members of the Alliance regarding “marketable information”. He was hoping that they would answer his call, because if they didn’t… this trip was going to turn into a long drive to a bar and he was going to be out a favor or three. He nodded to the bruisers at the entrance, and made his way to a rickety shack on the lowest floor of the town. He pressed a few buttons, causing the rocket engine to shut down. He stepped away from his vehicle and entered through the beaded entrance and looked around. They were likely watching him right now… trying to see if this Gob was legit. The old feelings began to come back… it almost made him feel young again. Almost. His arthritis was flaring up in his knee from the humidity. The place was filthy, but no one was in. He took another step inside and felt a poke in his back. “You gotta lotta nerve comin’ back to Booty, Crutch,” the wheezing voice said with spite. “Muster, get your fishing pole out of my back. We both know you haven’t carried a weapon outside of your fillet knife for twenty years,” Crutch said slowly turning around. “Yea… well I’m damn good with it too…don’t you forget it.” Crutch smiled in a seemingly genuine manner. Pleasantries incited, Crutch extended his hand. One glance down and he noticed it had begun to shake once more. The process was starting again. Muster accepted the grip and shook it seemingly unaware of the slight tremors in it. Crutch clenched his fist and released it as they consensually freed their grips. The old Gob sighed as he leaned the fishing pole against the shack. “Is everything in order old man?” Muster laughed. “Old man? You ain’t no spring mechanical chicken yerself!” Crutch didn’t laugh; he just stared at the Goblin. Finally Muster relented. “Depends. You bring my payment?” Crutch shook his head. “No. This will make us square for that incident with the imploding briefcase you blasted with the remote cockroach. I took the heat for that in return for a favor when I wanted. I’m collecting on that.” “But that was fifteen to twenty years ago! I thought we were passed that,” Muster said despondently. Crutch eyed him and shook his head. “You know better. Answer the question Muster,” Crutch said letting his voice trail off. "Yea, yea… fine. I sent the missives. Dunno if any ‘ll answer it though. Shady bunch you’re contactin’ Crutch… Watch your six, cause I sure as shim ‘aint. Those days are passed… and you’re still tryin’ to play by the old rules… at your age nonetheless. The bruisers are paid ta ignore the room two floors above tha bar for your little… meetin’. We’re square.” Crutch nodded. Muster was always a cynic… nothing changed. “I believe we are,” he said as he stepped out of the smelly fishing shack Muster had squatted in and claimed as his own. One thing was for certain; no matter which way this venture panned out, he was not finishing his retirement like Muster had decided to go… that was for sure. It was either an earlier expiration date, or some considerable influence with a way to appease his urges.