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Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 10
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 13:46:29 +0000 UTCChapter 10: The Goblin's Big Deal
The morning mist over Booty Bay clung to the docks like wet velvet. Deren stood before the Steamwheedle Cartel headquarters entrance, craning his neck to take in the gilded spire that towered above surrounding shops. The outer walls were embedded with glittering gems that caught the early light, and even the door handles gleamed with gold-plated copper.
He took a deep breath, straightening his collar with deliberate precision.
Clothes made the man, especially when staging a performance.
Onyxia stood to his left, silver hair styled in an aristocratic bun that would have impressed Stormwind's finest ladies. Her deep blue robes bore a Dalaran High Mage badge—expertly forged—pinned at the collar. The staff in her hand was topped with a hovering cerulean arcane crystal that sparked with occasional energy.
Chromie stood to his right, wearing refined gnomish formal attire that made her look more like a banker than a bronze dragon. Golden pupils glinted shrewdly behind round-framed glasses, and the staff hanging at her waist glittered with ostentatious gold detailing that practically screamed wealth.
Deren himself wore tailored dark-patterned robes, with a "Barrens Agricultural Development Company" badge pinned prominently at the collar—wheat sheaves surrounding an explosion icon. Subtle, yet dangerous for those who understood.
"Remember," Deren instructed quietly, voice barely above a murmur, "you are my mage advisors and chief financial officer. Speak sparingly; project authority constantly."
Onyxia snorted softly, fingertips igniting a strand of black flame that writhed like a living thing. "Do I appear incapable of this role?"
Chromie adjusted her glasses with professional precision, lenses reflecting cold light. "Relax. When it comes to projecting superiority, bronze dragons are consummate professionals."
Deren silently wiped away nonexistent perspiration, nodded once, and strode toward the entrance with measured confidence.
The performance had begun.
Two goblin guards crossed their spears with aggressive efficiency, blocking the doorway.
"Halt!" One guard looked Deren up and down with unconcealed suspicion, then snorted dismissively. "The Baron is not receiving visitors today!"
Deren smiled faintly without answering, simply raising his hand in a minimal gesture.
Onyxia's staff struck the ground with explosive force. The marble floor cracked audibly, shadow energy writhing like serpents through the fracture lines.
Chromie flicked her fingertips casually. A gold coin flipped through the air, multiplied into a cascade, then vanished like morning mist—pure illusion, but devastatingly impressive.
The guards' green faces instantly paled to sickly yellow.
Only then did Deren speak with leisurely confidence. "Now, could you kindly fetch your butler?"
In less than ten seconds, a silk-vested goblin butler rushed out with frantic energy, cold sweat beading his wrinkled forehead. "Th-three honored guests, please enter immediately!"
His gaze darted between Onyxia's crackling staff and Chromie's golden implements, throat bobbing nervously—a human merchant accompanied by what appeared to be a Dalaran High Mage and a powerful gnomish arcane specialist? This combination screamed danger and opportunity in equal measure.
Deren clasped his hands behind his back, tone flat and businesslike. "Lead the way."
The butler bowed even lower, nearly folding himself in half. "Y-yes! Baron Revilgaz awaits in the reception hall..."
When the ornate reception hall doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, Baron Revilgaz reclined in a leather chair, casually toying with an ancient gold coin. Seeing the three enter, his eyes narrowed shrewdly behind gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Ah, unexpected guests." The baron's voice carried characteristic goblin smoothness, oiled and calculating. "A human merchant, accompanied by..." His gaze swept deliberately over Onyxia and Chromie, assessing worth and threat. "Two mage advisors? How intriguing."
Deren calmly took the seat opposite without waiting for an invitation. Onyxia and Chromie positioned themselves behind him on either side—one with fingertips wreathed in shadow magic, the other radiating golden temporal light. They resembled guardian statues flanking a throne.
"Baron," Deren smiled with practiced ease, "I have business I wish to discuss personally."
The baron raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh? What manner of business requires such an impressive display of magical talent?"
Deren withdrew a gold-embossed document from his breast pocket, sliding it across the polished table with deliberate slowness. "These materials I require monthly. Long-term supply contract, immediate cash settlement."
The baron's pupils contracted visibly—this was no trivial order. He set down his coin, leaning forward with predatory interest. "Forgive my curiosity, but what purpose drives such procurement? Sulfur is common enough, saltpeter is readily available, but animal materials require considerable time and resources."
Deren smiled enigmatically without speaking, merely lifting one finger to tap his company badge meaningfully.
"An agricultural company?" The baron asked with barely concealed doubt. "Can such ventures generate substantial profit?"
"Are you familiar with Lordaeron's current situation?" Deren asked softly, voice dropping to conversational intimacy.
Deren's fingers tapped the table lightly, rhythm slow and supremely confident.
"The war ravaging Lordaeron, Baron—you understand the implications better than most." His voice lowered further, carrying dangerous suggestion. "The Scourge advances relentlessly, farmlands lie devastated, refugees flood southward—grain prices have already risen considerably throughout the Eastern Kingdoms."
Baron Revilgaz's gold teeth flashed as he smiled. He leaned back in his chair, his expression radiating shrewd satisfaction. "Indeed so. However—" He spread his hands in mock helplessness. "The Steamwheedle Cartel began stockpiling grain six months ago. Our warehouses overflow with wheat."
Deren showed no surprise whatsoever. Goblin instincts for war profiteering were legendarily sharp.
"Stockpiling grain represents merely the first step," he leaned forward slightly, closing the conversational distance. "But have you considered what truly drives this undead plague?"
The baron's pointed ears twitched with interest. "Elaborate."
"The plague emerged too conveniently, spread with unnatural speed." Deren's fingertip traced a symbol on the table—a blurred, eye-like pattern that made the baron unconsciously lean back. "As though someone deliberately engineered the chaos."
The baron's gaze flickered with recognition. As a goblin merchant-prince, his sensitivity to conspiracy rivaled his hunger for gold.
"You suggest..."
"I am merely a merchant. Politics escapes my understanding." Deren leaned back, his tone becoming casual once more. "But I know better than placing all investments in one basket—if the Eastern Kingdoms become completely untenable, Kalimdor's virgin farmlands represent the optimal contingency."
Deren's finger traced the map he produced, winding from Theramore's harbor through Dustwallow Marsh's treacherous edges, finally stopping at the Barrens' vast unexploited plains.
"Before you, Baron, lies this continent—Azeroth's last undeveloped granary of unlimited potential."
His fingertip tapped Theramore harbor with emphasis.
"Lady Jaina Proudmoore's domain, the Alliance's sole foothold in Kalimdor. All transoceanic trade flows through this chokepoint."
Moving westward into Dustwallow Marsh territory—
"This so-called wasteland? With proper fertilizer application, draining, and transforming it into high-yield agricultural land becomes remarkably simple. After all..." He paused for effect. "My fertilizer excels specifically at reclaiming saline-alkali land."
But goblins never surrendered leverage easily.
"What about operational risks?" The baron exhaled pipe smoke thoughtfully. "The Horde will not passively observe Alliance monopolization of food production."
The baron narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as daggers behind gold spectacles. "Dustwallow Marsh? Let us speak plainly—you know perfectly well that territory belongs to black dragons?" His fingertips drummed the table rhythmically. "Are you genuinely certain Deathwing's daughter will permit human agricultural operations beside her lair?"
Goblin intelligence networks were devastatingly accurate. Their worldwide business interests provided crystal-clear understanding of factional politics, immediately identifying the fatal flaw in Deren's proposal.
The room's atmosphere suddenly crystallized into tense silence.
Deren did not answer immediately. He methodically withdrew a black velvet package from his spatial bag, gold thread binding its mouth glittering hypnotically in the lamplight.
"You raise valid concerns." He placed the pouch gently on the table, pushing it toward the baron with theatrical slowness. "Therefore, we prepared appropriate cooperative assurances."
The baron suspiciously loosened the golden strings with trembling fingers—
A pitch-black dragon scale the size of a dinner plate slid out, edges bearing lava-like crimson patterns that seemed to pulse with residual heat. The moment the scale contacted the wooden table, wisps of smoke hissed from the hardwood grain where it touched.
"This is...!" The baron jerked his hand back violently, gold teeth chattering audibly.
Onyxia laughed softly at the perfect dramatic moment. Her fingertips somehow ignited black flame that leaped and flickered, briefly revealing draconic claw shadows behind the illusion.
Deren pressed the scale with his index finger, slowly pushing it closer to the baron's horrified face. "An adult black dragon's scale fragment—sufficient demonstration of sincerity, yes?" His nail deliberately scraped across the scale's surface, producing teeth-aching metallic friction. "This proves two critical facts:"
"First, Dustwallow Marsh development rights have been negotiated successfully with the current territorial authority."
"Second—" He suddenly grabbed the baron's expensive cravat, pulling him uncomfortably close. The dragon scale's residual heat nearly touched the goblin's twitching nose. "Our agricultural company enjoys draconic financial backing."
The baron froze completely. His eyeballs rolled downward, fixated on that impossible dragon scale—its intricate energy patterns could not be counterfeited by any known magic. More terrifying, he distinctly felt the "high elf mage's" predatory gaze scraping across his exposed nape like a blade testing flesh.
"Gulp." The baron swallowed hard, cravat crumpled in Deren's unrelenting grip.
Deren's fingers released the cravat, smoothing it almost apologetically before stepping back. He stroked the black velvet pouch's gold thread with elegant precision, movements refined as arranging museum pieces. The dragon scale's residual heat transmitted through fabric, yet his expression showed no discomfort whatsoever.
He slowly packed away the scale with unhurried deliberation, his face displaying composed satisfaction.
"Business negotiations should proceed methodically," he said quietly, fingertip tapping the table once, "especially such promising long-term ventures."
His tone shifted suddenly, becoming light as though the previous tension had never existed. Sunlight filtering through stained glass illuminated him perfectly, casting his dark-patterned robes with understated luxury that spoke of old money.
Onyxia appropriately restrained her draconic aura. The arcane crystal atop her staff calmed to a gentle glow, appearing merely decorative. Chromie adjusted her glasses with professional precision, golden pupils behind the lenses flashing with calculated cunning. Her ledger snapped shut with a crisp, final sound.
Deren extracted an exquisite glass jar from his spatial bag, white crystals glimmering faintly in the sunlight like captured snow. He pushed it toward the baron with flowing grace, movement polished as presenting credentials.
"This represents our latest experimental product," his voice carried perfectly calibrated confidence, "remarkable yield enhancement properties. The Baron might personally verify its agricultural applications."
The jar's gold-stamped label—"Kalimdor Agricultural Development · Exclusive Premium Supply"—gleamed brilliantly, silently proclaiming extraordinary value.
The baron's gaze wandered between the jar and Deren's inscrutable expression, gold teeth unconsciously worrying his pipe stem. His fingers trembled slightly from both earlier intimidation and the vast commercial possibilities this "sample" represented.
Deren allowed minimal time for consideration. He rose with aristocratic elegance, robe hem tracing a smooth arc.
"Theramore's docks await your shipping fleet at any convenient time," he nodded slightly, his tone mild yet brooking absolutely no argument. He gestured toward Chromie. "My chief financial officer, Miss Milo, will ensure all transactions proceed with absolute efficiency."
Chromie stepped forward on cue, eyes behind round glasses curving like crescents. "Account management, material handovers, ongoing cooperation agreements—I handle everything personally." Her fingertips tapped the substantial coin purse at her waist, producing satisfying metallic jingling. "Time is money, is it not?"
The baron laughed with forced heartiness, cold sweat still dampening his temples, but merchant instinct had already helped him rapidly recalibrate. He stood quickly, fat green fingers clutching the fertilizer jar like precious treasure, smile regaining characteristic shrewdness.
"Of course, naturally!" He rubbed his hands together, gold teeth flashing brilliantly. "The Steamwheedle Cartel values honest, profitable cooperation above all else!"
Deren returned the smile with eyes deep as mountain pools. He said nothing more, simply raising his hand in a gesture of polite dismissal.
Onyxia's staff tapped lightly once. The reception hall doors slid open soundlessly on enchanted hinges. Outside, the goblin butler and guards stood with bowed heads, not daring to breathe audibly.
The three departed with measured steps, footfalls echoing in the gilded corridor. Deren's posture remained straight as forged steel, his dark-patterned robe's intricate designs flickering in shifting light, as if concealing countless unspoken secrets.
Only after their figures disappeared completely around the corner did the baron collapse back into his chair, exhaling deeply with visible relief.
The moment the doors sealed shut, the baron's obsequious smile vanished instantly. He violently tore off his cravat, gold teeth grinding audibly, fat fingers yanking a hidden cord beside the ornate bookshelf.
A decorative ceiling panel slid open soundlessly. A goblin operative wrapped entirely in gray-green tactical clothing descended like a predatory bat. He wore single-lens engineering goggles, internal gears spinning rapidly and producing faint clicking sounds.
"Verify this immediately." The baron tossed the fertilizer sample upward. His voice dropped to barely audible levels. "Acquire test fields discreetly. You personally supervise all trials. Report results directly to me first—no intermediaries."
The elite operative caught the jar with practiced precision, instantly retracting into the ceiling darkness. The panel closed with a soft click.
A secret passage behind the bookshelf opened with mechanical precision. The butler shuffled inside, hunched and nervous.
The baron slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle teacups. "Triple the hush money for everyone who witnessed those three visitors! Anyone who leaks information—" He pulled a yellowed contract from a locked drawer, clearly stamped with some unfortunate goblin merchant's bloody fingerprint. "Mail them the execution clause from this accident insurance policy—and ensure their entire family understands the consequences!"
The butler's green face went deathly pale, backing out of the room while bowing repeatedly.
Outside beneath clear skies, the three strolled leisurely through the fountain plaza. Onyxia's staff occasionally pulsed with subtle black light, precisely erasing any possible surveillance spells along their route with casual expertise.
"Do you believe he will commit?" Chromie toyed absently with an ancient gold coin she had pilfered from the baron's study during their meeting.
Deren smiled enigmatically without answering, gaze fixed on the distant horizon where opportunity and danger danced together like flames.
Comments
Lucas Panzenboeck
Tftc hope more will be posted
Garvat22
TFTCs I always love when a new Warcraft fanfiction pops up
