IlleLatro
07-02-2007, 07:47 PM
The rules of the heist.
Always strike while the target is in unfamiliar territory. Never reveal yourself or your intentions. Do not get greedy: never take anything more or different from what you originally planned. Do not depend on fancy gadgets in order to complete the job. Make certain that there is no nearby aid to the target. Keep the target preoccupied so that they cannot focus on catching you. Always have an exit strategy.
The shipment from Molten Core was nearing the end of its journey. Beyond South Gate Pass lay the dwarven capital city of Ironforge, where the precious jewels and materials secured from deep within the scorched mountains of the south would be used to fund the war effort. For now they weighed down the ram-drawn cart guarded by grizzled mountaineers. The worse was behind them now. The dangers of the Searing Gorge were nothing in comparison to the dread of passing just south of the Horde outpost named Kargath. But after running the Shadowforge gauntlet the welcome sight of Thelsamar always cheered the caravan and warmed them with tankards of ale in preparation for the final leg through the snowy Pass.
At the South Gate Outpost most of the guards were relieved of duty. The cargo had now reached friendly territory and there were plenty of guards along the pass already. Four continued on with the cart to see it safely to its destination. At the entrance to the tunnel, one of the guards apologized to his commander.
“I ‘ave ‘ad a lil’ too much ale, sir,” he growled amiably. The commander gave out hearty guffaws and clapped his soldier on the back. “Well, ya best take care o’ yer business now ‘fore we get inside the tunnel, ho ho ho! Catch up ta us as ya can.” The soldier nodded and waddled his way over to some snow-covered bushes to the right of the entrance as the cart disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel.
He would wake up with a head-ache a few hours later when a search group of mountaineers stumbled upon his unconscious form.
Inside the tunnel there was only the light of the torches to ward off the impenetrable darkness of the bowels of the earth. Here the dwarves were comfortable as a baby in its mother’s womb. Yet there was a slight uneasiness as the second of their rear guard had yet to catch up from his call of nature.
“Henly, go an’ see if’n ya canna find out wot’s keepin’ ‘im,” barked the commander. The dwarf at the rear saluted and turned around to find his wayward partner. A sharp ‘oof!’ signaled his incapacitation. The two dwarves peered over the cart to try to see what the matter was. “Henly? Henly! Wot in tarnation is goin’ on back there?!” asked the bewildered commander as he turned around to be greeted with a strange sight. Actually, the sight was not so strange as the speech.
A tall, masked figure stood before the two remaining mountaineers. He spoke in perfect Dwarvish, “Oy, ya ‘ill not be ‘earin’ anythin’ from ‘enly fer a couple o’ ‘ours, eh.”
“By the Titans, who the fel might you be?” growled the commander.
“ ‘ho might I be? Why, don’t ya reconnize the greatest ‘ighway robb’r o’ all time? The terror o’ the Khaz mount’ns? The Masked Mate o’ Booty Bay?”
“A lil’ far from the sea ta be practicin’ piracy ‘n our lands, ain’t ya?” said the other mountaineer, brandishing his axe threateningly.
“May’aps. ‘n either case, I’m-a relieve ya o’ those valuable jewels ya ‘appen ta be cartin’ ‘bout,” replied the masked figure with a tilt of his head that might have been a wink.
“O’er my bleeding body!” barked the commander, shouldering his rifle and preparing to fire upon the impertinent robber.
“Nah, that won’ be necess’ry, chum,” schmoozed the highwayman. His hand shot out and a small cluster of fine dust struck the commander in the eyes. The let out a cry of pain and pulled the trigger, but blinded as he was the shot was in vain. The bandit was already on his companion, shoving one large finger in each of the dwarf’s eyes. He whipped around the back of the incapacitated dwarf and the sound of a dagger being unsheathed was plain to both of the dwarves, blinded as they were. The robber raised the dagger high and brought it down swiftly to the base of the soldier’s skull, knocking him out with the hilt.
He then turned and waltzed over to the cart while humming a jaunty tune. “Well, let’s see wot we’ve got, eh?” he mused as he ripped the canvas from the top of the cart. Two huge crates filled the space, one made of wood and the other of metal. Using his dagger, he pried open the lid of the first crate. A deluge of jewels and gold nearly tumbled from the box. “Oy! ‘s that so, then? If’n ya ‘re keepin’ the jewels’n the wooden box, I wonner wot’s ‘n t’other, wot wot!” laughed the purloiner.
“Ya better be worryin’ ‘bout wot I’m gonna do with ya when I get me ‘ands ‘round yer wiry neck, ya bloomin’ ruffian! The metal one’s locked in any case, so ya best get ta runnin’ ‘fore I clap my eyes on ya,” shouted the commander as he stumbled about blindly. The bandit tsk-ed at him and turned his attention to the locked metal crate. He examined the lock for a brief moment, the chuckled. “Ya ‘ave got ta be kiddin’ me, chum. Locks like this’re so easy openin’ ‘em seems like magic,” he said. “See? One, two, three, open!” he cried, pounded a fist in the other hand for emphasis on each count, then tossing his hands up in the air.
The crate popped open. A warmth and light filled the tunnel as more than a dozen Fiery Cores peeked out from the safety of the transport container. Their glow shined in the light of the eyes of the masked robber, and their warmth hit the face of the blinded commander.
“Oh. Wot do we ‘ave ‘ere, indeed,” whispered the bandit. “I do believe I ‘ave changed my mind ‘bout wot I’ll be takin’ ta-day, chum.” He whistled happily as he placed a strange device inside the crate with the fiery merchandise.
“Then yer more o’ a fool than I thought, ya no-good pilferer! We need those cores ta keep the Forge runnin’ ‘ot! Ya will ne’er make’t out ‘nthe snow draggin’ those ‘bout. ‘alf o’ the guard will be chasin’ ya down ta get it back. Ya take those cores an’ ya will be sealin’ yer fate, pirate!” said the commander, finally stumbling upon the cart and placing his hands on the side of it to steady himself.
“May’aps,” said the Masked Mate, who had been making a lot of clinking sounds at the cart. “Or may’aps I’ll just click this button ‘ere an’ this fancy whatchamacallit gizmo ‘ill port it straight ta my contacts in the Forest.” He pushed the button and a flash of light filled the cavern, followed by a shockwave that knocked the commander to the ground and spilled the wooden crate from the cart, jewels and gold flying everywhere. The commander shook his head as the last of the blinding powder was filtered from his eyes. He rose quickly and looked at the cargo.
The metal crate was empty.
The masked highwayman stood opposite with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I win, chum,” he said, and a flash of light and smoke enveloped him.
“Ya think so?” growled the commander, putting the horn he had pulled from the cart to his lips. A deep bellow burst from tunnel and echoed throughout the mountains and valleys of the Pass. Hundreds of shouting and running dwarven forms came to life as if they had sprung up from the rocks themselves. A line of mountaineers closed off the entrances on either side of the tunnel.
“Ya ain’t goin’ anywhere, chum.”
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
“All right, men, the cores’re gone an’ there’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout that fer the moment, so fer now our number one concern is ta catch the culprit! I want both entrances ta this tunnel sealed fer the duration o’ the search. Check ev’ry nook an’ cranny an’ find the ruffian. A dozen o’ ya will stay here an’ re-pack the valuables in a new crate while keepin’ watch ta make sure ‘e doesn’t try ta come back fer the gold. Six o’ ya will load up the cart with our wounded and come with me back ta the ‘post. The rest o’ ya, fan out and find the bum. We’ll make ‘im rue the day ‘e messed with the mighty mountaineers.”
As the search for the Masked Mate of Booty Bay began in the tunnel, the commander and his men placed the unconscious in the back of the cart and turned it around for a return trip to South Gate Outpost. The commander’s mood was understandably dour as they slowly made their way through the tunnel, the mountaineers blockading the entrance allowing them passage at the commander’s shout.
At the Outpost it was decided that search parties should be sent out by way of Thelsamar to block the southerly route back to Stranglethorne Vale. The unconscious mountaineers were pulled off the cart and replaced with a crew of conscious ones.
“Someone will ‘ave ta travel ta Algaz Station an’ report ta them there as well, just ta be safe.”
“I volunteer, Sir!” said the hunched new driver of the cart, wrapped tightly in his cloak to ward off the chills of the snowy passes.
“Good dwarf, soldier! Be certain ta aid them ‘owe’er they might need.”
“Yes, Sir!” replied the soldier with a salute. He then snapped the reins to set the cart moving down the pass toward Thelsamar, his cargo staring grimly out into the snowy landscape as if they expected to spot their quarry skulking about the drifts.
At Thelsamar the unit unloaded and began sending search parties about the loch and down toward the Badlands. The cart and driver turned northward and eventually came to Algaz Station. The mountaineers were put on the alert and Mountaineer Stormpike informed of the robbery. The soldier was commanded to take a load of supplies through Dun Algaz to Menethil Harbor. He accepted with a slight grumble at the additional labor, but nothing worthy of a reprimand.
The load of supplies was later found in the possession of a goblin who had set up shop at the intersection of the main east-west road of the Wetlands and the road that leads northward to the Arathi Highlands. He said he bought it cheap off a passing ram-drawn cart.
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
The Bandit whistled a jaunty tune within the walls of Hammerfall. Boards from the bed of a ram-drawn cart had been pulled up and toss indiscriminately about, but it was with tenderness and care that he drew out the fiery cores from within and placed them within a shipping box on the ground.
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
A box arrived at the new Sanctuary headquarters in Shattrath. It was addressed to Director Kimiji Mur’Zunni. A short note was attached.
“My dear director—
A few more than originally agreed, but no extra charge, they were obtained easily. You’ll find them of the same quality as used by the dwarves in Ironforge, as well as having arrived in plenty of time for them to be implemented in the new Sanctuary defense system. I am sure you will be pleased at the results.
I remain, most sincerely, your friendly Orgrimmar bandit,
Ille Latro”
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
The rules of the heist.
Always strike while the target is in unfamiliar territory. Never reveal yourself or your intentions. Do not get greedy: never take anything more or different from what you originally planned. Do not depend on fancy gadgets in order to complete the job. Make certain that there is no nearby aid to the target. Keep the target preoccupied so that they cannot focus on catching you. Always have an exit strategy.
Always strike while the target is in unfamiliar territory. Never reveal yourself or your intentions. Do not get greedy: never take anything more or different from what you originally planned. Do not depend on fancy gadgets in order to complete the job. Make certain that there is no nearby aid to the target. Keep the target preoccupied so that they cannot focus on catching you. Always have an exit strategy.
The shipment from Molten Core was nearing the end of its journey. Beyond South Gate Pass lay the dwarven capital city of Ironforge, where the precious jewels and materials secured from deep within the scorched mountains of the south would be used to fund the war effort. For now they weighed down the ram-drawn cart guarded by grizzled mountaineers. The worse was behind them now. The dangers of the Searing Gorge were nothing in comparison to the dread of passing just south of the Horde outpost named Kargath. But after running the Shadowforge gauntlet the welcome sight of Thelsamar always cheered the caravan and warmed them with tankards of ale in preparation for the final leg through the snowy Pass.
At the South Gate Outpost most of the guards were relieved of duty. The cargo had now reached friendly territory and there were plenty of guards along the pass already. Four continued on with the cart to see it safely to its destination. At the entrance to the tunnel, one of the guards apologized to his commander.
“I ‘ave ‘ad a lil’ too much ale, sir,” he growled amiably. The commander gave out hearty guffaws and clapped his soldier on the back. “Well, ya best take care o’ yer business now ‘fore we get inside the tunnel, ho ho ho! Catch up ta us as ya can.” The soldier nodded and waddled his way over to some snow-covered bushes to the right of the entrance as the cart disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel.
He would wake up with a head-ache a few hours later when a search group of mountaineers stumbled upon his unconscious form.
Inside the tunnel there was only the light of the torches to ward off the impenetrable darkness of the bowels of the earth. Here the dwarves were comfortable as a baby in its mother’s womb. Yet there was a slight uneasiness as the second of their rear guard had yet to catch up from his call of nature.
“Henly, go an’ see if’n ya canna find out wot’s keepin’ ‘im,” barked the commander. The dwarf at the rear saluted and turned around to find his wayward partner. A sharp ‘oof!’ signaled his incapacitation. The two dwarves peered over the cart to try to see what the matter was. “Henly? Henly! Wot in tarnation is goin’ on back there?!” asked the bewildered commander as he turned around to be greeted with a strange sight. Actually, the sight was not so strange as the speech.
A tall, masked figure stood before the two remaining mountaineers. He spoke in perfect Dwarvish, “Oy, ya ‘ill not be ‘earin’ anythin’ from ‘enly fer a couple o’ ‘ours, eh.”
“By the Titans, who the fel might you be?” growled the commander.
“ ‘ho might I be? Why, don’t ya reconnize the greatest ‘ighway robb’r o’ all time? The terror o’ the Khaz mount’ns? The Masked Mate o’ Booty Bay?”
“A lil’ far from the sea ta be practicin’ piracy ‘n our lands, ain’t ya?” said the other mountaineer, brandishing his axe threateningly.
“May’aps. ‘n either case, I’m-a relieve ya o’ those valuable jewels ya ‘appen ta be cartin’ ‘bout,” replied the masked figure with a tilt of his head that might have been a wink.
“O’er my bleeding body!” barked the commander, shouldering his rifle and preparing to fire upon the impertinent robber.
“Nah, that won’ be necess’ry, chum,” schmoozed the highwayman. His hand shot out and a small cluster of fine dust struck the commander in the eyes. The let out a cry of pain and pulled the trigger, but blinded as he was the shot was in vain. The bandit was already on his companion, shoving one large finger in each of the dwarf’s eyes. He whipped around the back of the incapacitated dwarf and the sound of a dagger being unsheathed was plain to both of the dwarves, blinded as they were. The robber raised the dagger high and brought it down swiftly to the base of the soldier’s skull, knocking him out with the hilt.
He then turned and waltzed over to the cart while humming a jaunty tune. “Well, let’s see wot we’ve got, eh?” he mused as he ripped the canvas from the top of the cart. Two huge crates filled the space, one made of wood and the other of metal. Using his dagger, he pried open the lid of the first crate. A deluge of jewels and gold nearly tumbled from the box. “Oy! ‘s that so, then? If’n ya ‘re keepin’ the jewels’n the wooden box, I wonner wot’s ‘n t’other, wot wot!” laughed the purloiner.
“Ya better be worryin’ ‘bout wot I’m gonna do with ya when I get me ‘ands ‘round yer wiry neck, ya bloomin’ ruffian! The metal one’s locked in any case, so ya best get ta runnin’ ‘fore I clap my eyes on ya,” shouted the commander as he stumbled about blindly. The bandit tsk-ed at him and turned his attention to the locked metal crate. He examined the lock for a brief moment, the chuckled. “Ya ‘ave got ta be kiddin’ me, chum. Locks like this’re so easy openin’ ‘em seems like magic,” he said. “See? One, two, three, open!” he cried, pounded a fist in the other hand for emphasis on each count, then tossing his hands up in the air.
The crate popped open. A warmth and light filled the tunnel as more than a dozen Fiery Cores peeked out from the safety of the transport container. Their glow shined in the light of the eyes of the masked robber, and their warmth hit the face of the blinded commander.
“Oh. Wot do we ‘ave ‘ere, indeed,” whispered the bandit. “I do believe I ‘ave changed my mind ‘bout wot I’ll be takin’ ta-day, chum.” He whistled happily as he placed a strange device inside the crate with the fiery merchandise.
“Then yer more o’ a fool than I thought, ya no-good pilferer! We need those cores ta keep the Forge runnin’ ‘ot! Ya will ne’er make’t out ‘nthe snow draggin’ those ‘bout. ‘alf o’ the guard will be chasin’ ya down ta get it back. Ya take those cores an’ ya will be sealin’ yer fate, pirate!” said the commander, finally stumbling upon the cart and placing his hands on the side of it to steady himself.
“May’aps,” said the Masked Mate, who had been making a lot of clinking sounds at the cart. “Or may’aps I’ll just click this button ‘ere an’ this fancy whatchamacallit gizmo ‘ill port it straight ta my contacts in the Forest.” He pushed the button and a flash of light filled the cavern, followed by a shockwave that knocked the commander to the ground and spilled the wooden crate from the cart, jewels and gold flying everywhere. The commander shook his head as the last of the blinding powder was filtered from his eyes. He rose quickly and looked at the cargo.
The metal crate was empty.
The masked highwayman stood opposite with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I win, chum,” he said, and a flash of light and smoke enveloped him.
“Ya think so?” growled the commander, putting the horn he had pulled from the cart to his lips. A deep bellow burst from tunnel and echoed throughout the mountains and valleys of the Pass. Hundreds of shouting and running dwarven forms came to life as if they had sprung up from the rocks themselves. A line of mountaineers closed off the entrances on either side of the tunnel.
“Ya ain’t goin’ anywhere, chum.”
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
“All right, men, the cores’re gone an’ there’s nothin’ we can do ‘bout that fer the moment, so fer now our number one concern is ta catch the culprit! I want both entrances ta this tunnel sealed fer the duration o’ the search. Check ev’ry nook an’ cranny an’ find the ruffian. A dozen o’ ya will stay here an’ re-pack the valuables in a new crate while keepin’ watch ta make sure ‘e doesn’t try ta come back fer the gold. Six o’ ya will load up the cart with our wounded and come with me back ta the ‘post. The rest o’ ya, fan out and find the bum. We’ll make ‘im rue the day ‘e messed with the mighty mountaineers.”
As the search for the Masked Mate of Booty Bay began in the tunnel, the commander and his men placed the unconscious in the back of the cart and turned it around for a return trip to South Gate Outpost. The commander’s mood was understandably dour as they slowly made their way through the tunnel, the mountaineers blockading the entrance allowing them passage at the commander’s shout.
At the Outpost it was decided that search parties should be sent out by way of Thelsamar to block the southerly route back to Stranglethorne Vale. The unconscious mountaineers were pulled off the cart and replaced with a crew of conscious ones.
“Someone will ‘ave ta travel ta Algaz Station an’ report ta them there as well, just ta be safe.”
“I volunteer, Sir!” said the hunched new driver of the cart, wrapped tightly in his cloak to ward off the chills of the snowy passes.
“Good dwarf, soldier! Be certain ta aid them ‘owe’er they might need.”
“Yes, Sir!” replied the soldier with a salute. He then snapped the reins to set the cart moving down the pass toward Thelsamar, his cargo staring grimly out into the snowy landscape as if they expected to spot their quarry skulking about the drifts.
At Thelsamar the unit unloaded and began sending search parties about the loch and down toward the Badlands. The cart and driver turned northward and eventually came to Algaz Station. The mountaineers were put on the alert and Mountaineer Stormpike informed of the robbery. The soldier was commanded to take a load of supplies through Dun Algaz to Menethil Harbor. He accepted with a slight grumble at the additional labor, but nothing worthy of a reprimand.
The load of supplies was later found in the possession of a goblin who had set up shop at the intersection of the main east-west road of the Wetlands and the road that leads northward to the Arathi Highlands. He said he bought it cheap off a passing ram-drawn cart.
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
The Bandit whistled a jaunty tune within the walls of Hammerfall. Boards from the bed of a ram-drawn cart had been pulled up and toss indiscriminately about, but it was with tenderness and care that he drew out the fiery cores from within and placed them within a shipping box on the ground.
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
A box arrived at the new Sanctuary headquarters in Shattrath. It was addressed to Director Kimiji Mur’Zunni. A short note was attached.
“My dear director—
A few more than originally agreed, but no extra charge, they were obtained easily. You’ll find them of the same quality as used by the dwarves in Ironforge, as well as having arrived in plenty of time for them to be implemented in the new Sanctuary defense system. I am sure you will be pleased at the results.
I remain, most sincerely, your friendly Orgrimmar bandit,
Ille Latro”
$ - $ - $ - $ - $
The rules of the heist.
Always strike while the target is in unfamiliar territory. Never reveal yourself or your intentions. Do not get greedy: never take anything more or different from what you originally planned. Do not depend on fancy gadgets in order to complete the job. Make certain that there is no nearby aid to the target. Keep the target preoccupied so that they cannot focus on catching you. Always have an exit strategy.