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Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 15
🕑 Added 2025-10-14 15:24:18 +0000 UTCChapter 15: Theramore's Suspicions
Morning mist clung to Theramore harbor like wet silk refusing to burn away. Chromie—or rather "Miss Milo Wrenchspring"—stood at the dock's edge, golden pupils behind round glasses fixed intently on the horizon. She clutched a thick ledger against her chest, occasionally scribbling with her quill while muttering her adopted merchant mantra, "Time is money, efficiency is life..."
In the distance, three goblin cargo ships slowly entered the harbor, their sails bearing the Steamwheedle Cartel's gold coin insignia that gleamed brazenly in the strengthening morning light.
"Finally," Chromie muttered, pushing up her glasses with one finger, lips curving in a shrewd smile that would have made any goblin accountant proud.
The lead ship barely kissed the dock before a goblin in a refined silk vest leaped down with surprising agility. He wore gold-rimmed monocles that caught the light, one hand clutching a gem-encrusted calculator that clicked softly with each movement. Several muscular goblin porters followed behind, their expressions suggesting this was just another routine delivery.
"Ah! Miss Milo!" The goblin accountant hurried over with exaggerated enthusiasm, vigorously shaking Chromie's small hand until her whole arm wobbled. "Precisely on schedule, not a second's deviation! The Steamwheedle Cartel values contractual punctuality above all virtues!"
Chromie displayed her most professional smile, the one that hid sharp bronze dragon teeth. "Naturally. Is everything accounted for as specified?"
The goblin accountant patted his barrel chest with pride. "Sulfur, saltpeter, specialized containers—everything per your exact order specifications, not a single copper's worth missing!" He leaned conspiratorially closer, his voice dropping to barely audible levels. "However... shipping costs have unfortunately increased by five percent due to—"
Chromie's eyebrow twitched with dangerous precision. "Oh? I distinctly recall our contract explicitly stated free shipping with no additional fees."
The goblin accountant laughed with nervous energy. "Rough seas recently; you understand the situation..."
Chromie sighed with theatrical weariness, pulling a specific document from her ledger with practiced ease. "Fine, five percent—but attempt this maneuver again and I will negotiate exclusively with the Bilgewater Cartel instead."
The goblin accountant's expression transformed instantly to genuine alarm, hands waving frantically. "Misunderstanding! Complete misunderstanding! Original shipping price maintained, absolutely original!"
Chromie nodded with cool satisfaction, then efficiently directed the goblin transport team toward moving cargo to a pre-rented warehouse. The location was strategically positioned at Theramore dock's outer edge, sufficiently distant from Jaina's imposing mage tower yet conveniently accessible for rapid loading—perfect for facilitating special cargo transit operations.
As goblins efficiently moved goods with mechanical precision, Chromie asked with calculated casualness, "Incidentally, how fares the Steamwheedle Cartel's recent trade volume with Theramore?"
The goblin accountant's eyes brightened like struck gold. "Business flourishes magnificently! Especially grain shipments and—" He suddenly lowered his voice to conspiratorial whispers. "Certain special commodities that discerning clients appreciate."
Chromie smiled knowingly. "Excellent news. It seems long-term cooperation between our enterprises proves mutually beneficial."
"Certainly! Most certainly!" The goblin accountant rubbed his hands together with glee, gold teeth flashing in sunlight. "As long as profit margins remain adequate, the Steamwheedle Cartel conducts business with anyone—even demons if the price justifies it!"
Chromie watched the goblin transport team depart with their empty carts, then carefully locked the warehouse door with multiple securing mechanisms. Looking at the substantial cargo filling the space, she felt her heart ache slightly—after all, significant portions had been purchased with her personal temporal savings accumulated across centuries.
Chromie stood on tiptoe counting sulfur barrels with meticulous care, paranoid about goblin merchant trickery. Unable to openly use temporal magic within Theramore's jurisdiction without attracting unwanted attention, she could only count inventory by tedious manual methods. Dust smudged her nose liberally, round glasses sliding down repeatedly. She held a quill clenched between her teeth, a ledger spread precariously across wooden crates, and fingers calculating with rapid mental arithmetic. "Twenty barrels of saltpeter... thirty sulfur containers... wait, why is one bag of aluminum powder missing—"
Suddenly, the warehouse temperature plummeted with shocking speed.
Chromie's bronze dragon scales instantly surfaced beneath her gnomish skin—pure draconic instinct responding to imminent danger. She whirled around so fast her pigtails whipped through the air, the quill clattering to the floor.
Jaina Proudmoore somehow already stood at the warehouse's center, arcane energy flowing like visible currents around her fingertips, frost spreading from her boot soles across the floor in crystalline patterns. Her penetrating gaze swept across mountains of cargo with practiced scrutiny, finally settling with laser focus on Chromie's nervous form.
"Miss Milo," Jaina's voice emerged colder than Northrend's harshest winter wind, "provide me with an explanation."
Chromie quickly pushed up her glasses with both hands, blocking faintly glowing pupils that threatened to betray her true nature. "Esteemed Lady Proudmoore! These materials are all completely legal agricultural supplies purchased through—"
Jaina's mage hand suddenly flipped open a sulfur barrel with casual force, yellow powder dispersing into air like toxic clouds. She used arcane energy to telekinetically lift a bag of aluminum powder, examining it with obvious suspicion while her brow furrowed deeper. "Sulfur, saltpeter, and aluminum powder in these specific quantities... combined with animal materials and fuel oil." Her fingertip flicked dismissively, causing a barrel of viscous fuel oil to float ominously. "You genuinely expect me to believe this constitutes a standard fertilizer formula?"
Fine nervous sweat beaded Chromie's temples despite the frigid temperature, yet her face still wore the gnome merchant's characteristic ingratiating smile like a protective mask. "Of course! Our revolutionary super growth catalyst requires specialized chemical catalysts for maximum agricultural efficacy! Observe this sample—" She suddenly pulled a small package of white powder from her pocket with magician's flourish. "Potassium sulfate compound fertilizer! Officially certified by Dalaran's Agricultural Research Institute itself!"
Jaina accepted the sample bag with obvious skepticism, arcane energy flickering across her fingertips as detection spells confirmed this specific substance was indeed legitimate fertilizer—but her gaze remained saturated with profound suspicion.
"And these particular containers?" She pointed accusingly toward several sealed iron barrels occupying the corner, each labeled innocuously as "Premium White Sugar."
Chromie's heart nearly stopped beating entirely. Her mind raced desperately for plausible explanation. "Sugar promotes beneficial fermentation processes! Produces organic acids that significantly improve soil pH balance for optimal crop growth!"
Jaina's fingertips tapped her staff rhythmically, each sound striking Chromie's taut nerves like hammer blows. "I have extensively studied Advanced Alchemical Principles, Miss Milo. The specific ratio of these combined materials proves... remarkably unusual for agricultural applications."
Chromie suddenly produced a deliberately crumpled parchment covered with exaggerated flowcharts and incomprehensible diagrams. "Please examine this documentation! Our latest revolutionary Barrens Soil Improvement Plan!" She pointed frantically at complex chemical formulas that meant absolutely nothing. "White sugar functions merely as a catalyst carrier medium in the overall process!"
Jaina's calculating gaze swept methodically between parchment and physical cargo. Finally, after tension-filled silence, she withdrew her staff slightly, frost in the surrounding air slowly dissipating like reluctant ghosts.
"Remember this clearly, Miss Milo—Theramore tolerates absolutely no threats to its security or citizens." Her figure began fading as arcane energy rippled outward in concentric circles. "I will be monitoring your agricultural development operations very closely."
With a brilliant flash of blue light and cascade of falling ice crystals, Jaina vanished completely, leaving only geometric frost patterns on the floor as evidence of her presence.
Chromie's legs gave out entirely, dropping her directly onto a saltpeter barrel with an undignified thump. She removed her glasses to wipe them clean with trembling hands, exhaling deeply with genuine relief. "By all the timelines... this proves more exhausting than negotiating directly with Nozdormu himself..."
Suddenly she jumped upright as if remembering something critical, rushing frantically to check barrel seals—fortunately Jaina had not discovered the minuscule bronze dragon mark etched at each container's bottom. That represented Chromie's hidden identifier made with temporal magic, visible exclusively to dragonkind.
"Deren was absolutely right," she muttered while pulling out her temporal hourglass that glowed softly with power. "The next shipment requires installing a dedicated Jaina detector at the warehouse entrance..."
Jaina materialized directly into her private office, still shrouded in the cold blue radiance of mana crystal lamps. Her heavy oak desk was buried under parchment scrolls and urgent magical correspondence from across the Alliance. Outside the window, Theramore Harbor's lighthouse beam swept regularly across dark waters, projecting her shadow against walls—lengthening then shortening like her currently chaotic thoughts.
Her fingertips paused at a wax-sealed letter—Kael'thas's desperate plea for military assistance. The parchment still retained Violet Citadel's unique magical ink fragrance, the handwriting slightly messy, revealing the writer's obvious urgency:
"Jaina, the Scourge has breached Quel'Thalas's outer defenses; high elf refugees are flooding southward..."
The quill tip scraped absently against the inkwell's edge. She unconsciously wanted to compose an immediate response, yet found herself distracted by another document—a hide scroll delivered by Thrall's personal messenger, edges still carrying Durotar's characteristic dry sandy wind.
"Old friend, the Barrens' prey grows increasingly scarce; our hunters must venture farther to..."
Jaina's temples throbbed with building pressure. She pressed her forehead wearily, her other hand unconsciously rubbing the crystal ball dominating her desk. The sphere obediently displayed scenes outside Theramore: goblin caravans transporting suspicious cargo, and farther away, disturbingly vague traces of black dragon activity within Dustwallow Marsh's perpetual mist.
"Lady Proudmoore?" A light, hesitant knock interrupted her troubled thoughts. Her adjutant cautiously peeked through the doorway. "Stormwind's diplomatic envoy has arrived regarding coalition formation against the undead threat."
Jaina's fingertips traced the crystal ball's smooth surface with practiced gestures. The image immediately switched to replay magical footage from the harbor warehouse, showing "Miss Milo" gesticulating wildly while explaining something incomprehensible to sulfur barrels.
"Make him wait in the reception hall." Jaina suddenly stood with decision, robes stirring several loose documents in the displaced air. "Prepare a patrol boat immediately. I will personally investigate the marsh."
The adjutant's eyes widened with alarm. "Right now? But intelligence reports suggest—"
"Precisely because of those reports." Jaina retrieved a dagger inscribed with ancient guardian runes from the bookshelf's hidden compartment. "If Dustwallow Marsh truly harbors renewed black dragon activity, I must personally confirm whether that one has returned to threaten my people."
Jaina's frown deepened with genuine concern. She vividly recalled disturbing images witnessed during divination three days prior: uncertain chaos eroding any clear vision of the future.
"Inform the envoy," she finally tucked the enchanted dagger into her robe's concealed pocket with practiced ease, "Theramore stands firmly with the Alliance—always has, always will."
As the summoned portal's blue light brightened to transport her, a document pressed under a paperweight revealed its corner. The Theramore Tax Bureau's latest mundane report:
"Barrens Agricultural Development Company" Recent Procurement Summary:
Rope ×30 coils
Iron nails ×15 barrels
Preserved jerky ×50 pounds
Hard black bread ×50 pounds
Administrative Note: Suspicious purchasing patterns but technically legal
Jaina's determined figure disappeared into arcane brilliance, leaving only swirling motes of magic slowly dissipating.
Pre-dawn mist shrouded Theramore's northern trade road in ghostly gray. Six goblin-manufactured reinforced cargo wagons groaned audibly under unbearable loads that tested engineering tolerances. Each wagon was pulled by two powerful packhorses, iron-shod wheels carving deep furrows into the muddy road surface.
"Secure everything properly!" Goblin leader Gristock jumped atop the cargo pile with surprising agility, tapping exposed steel beams with his wrench to test stability. "If this valuable shipment is lost, the Steamwheedle Cartel will transform us into decorative mechanical snowmen for next Winter Veil!"
The wagons were crammed with diverse supplies carefully disguised:
Steel plates prominently labeled "Premium Fertilizer Storage Containers" (actually for reinforcing dragon lair structural integrity)
Hemp rope soaked in fire-retardant solution (because no material proved cheaper or more versatile)
Lime barrels stamped "Agricultural Use Only" (bottoms concealing heat-resistant ceramic linings)
Even several crates of hard bread and preserved jerky (Deren's mundane daily sustenance)
When the convoy reached Dustwallow Marsh's ominous border, the lead packhorse suddenly snorted with obvious unease, eyes rolling white. The goblins exchanged knowing glances, tacitly beginning to frantically untie harnesses—their waist-bound "accident insurance" contracts were heating noticeably against skin.
"Incoming! Incoming!" The lookout goblin shrieked with genuine terror, pointing frantically at the darkening sky.
A massive black shadow tore through morning fog like a nightmare made flesh. Onyxia's true dragon form circled with predatory grace, enormous wings stirring foul wind that violently shook wagon canvas and nearly overturned lighter carts. She deliberately exhaled concentrated black flame, instantly carbonizing a roadside dead tree into glowing ash.
"Run for your lives!" The goblins shouted in panicked unison, scattering like startled birds in every direction. Some even activated expensive rocket boots, leaving charred footprints smoking behind them.
Onyxia watched the fleeing goblins with dark satisfaction, draconic lips curving into a cruel smile that revealed razor teeth. Her massive claws reached out—six cargo wagons lifted effortlessly from the ground. One suddenly disintegrated from the stress, iron nails pouring down like deadly rain.
"Damned inferior goblin craftsmanship," she muttered irritably while using precise dragon breath to weld broken axles back together, not noticing a bent nail that lodged itself painfully in her right claw's scale crevices.
As the black dragon flew toward the marsh's murky depths, clutching cargo wagons like toy prizes, the last fleeing goblin suddenly stopped his panicked retreat. With practiced efficiency, he gathered the scattered packhorses and walked briskly back toward Theramore to file the insurance claim.
Before Dustwallow Marsh's newly constructed factory complex, Deren methodically checked inventory against his detailed list.
"Missing half a crate of iron nails," he frowned while Chromie gnawed contemplatively on hard bread nearby. "And three complete coils of fire-retardant rope."
Onyxia in her elegant elf form approached with affected casualness, rust still visible on her right hand's knuckles despite obvious cleaning attempts. "Road transportation... wastage." She suddenly shook her hand with irritation—a deformed nail clinked to the ground accusingly.
Deren raised an eyebrow with knowing amusement. "So this explains why you adamantly refused letting me inspect your claws earlier?"
The Black Dragon Princess's pointed ear fins instantly flushed vivid red. She roughly grabbed a stack of heavy steel plates and headed toward the warehouse with exaggerated dignity.
"Extra meal portions tonight!" Deren announced cheerfully, pulling out precious jerky and bread supplies. Perhaps cook hearty meat soup with bread chunks? He thought with genuine happiness at the simple pleasure.
In the distance echoed whelps' joyful hisses—they had discovered the empty cargo wagons made excellent makeshift slides down the marsh's muddy slopes.
Comments
Lucas Panzenboeck
MOOOOOOOREEE
Garvat22
Tftc
