The Drag [Horde][Open]

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Tortles
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The Drag [Horde][Open]

The drag. A kind of a mixed marketplace. A stretch that ran through Orgrimmar, home to artisans of all trades, people barking their wares, transporting things to different parts of the city. Loitering was discouraged for every race other than orcs, but it was difficult to enforce with all the traffic. Especially if you were a merchant, or an adventurer. Even trolls have business to do.

Box of snakes. Check. Sen'jin fetishes. Check. Raptor feathers. Check. Stag eyeballs. Stag eyeballs? Where did those go? The troll looked around under the large turtle he had been putting all of these things on. The turtle was large, with a shell of a brown color, and its scales a sort of bluegreen. It stood there patiently while its master fidgeted around. On its back, a seat lined with a Darkspear motif, as well as various boxes and sacks attached to it for storage.

Jabloo got down on his hands and knees, looking underneath the reptile. There. Dis box. How it get down there? He picked it up, checking to ensure that the eyeballs were in fact all there. Looks pretty good, he thought. He loaded the box onto the turtle. Check. A jingle tugs at him--a chain, running from the troll's arm along the ground and attached to a small imp. The imp was holding an eyeball near its mouth, about to consume it. YANK. Jabloo tugged. "NO. DAT NOT FA YOU." As the imp jerked back with the tug, the eyeball rolled along the dusty floor.

Raivenn
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One of his cardinal rules was not to get involved...not to call attention to himself. He'd been crouched in the shadows, in clothing faded and threadbare. Even his brilliant red hair held enough of the dust and sand that littered the streets of Orgrimmar that he drew little notice, unlike the other elves that strolled the streets. Unlike them, he lived here of late, and wasn't just visiting. Almost against his will, his hand reached out to snatch up the rolling object like a cat chasing a toy. Only when it was in his hand did he realize what he'd done.

Haladrin cringed, and extended his hand palm up, bearing its gruesome find. "I'm sorry," he said softly, in poorly spoken orcish. He didn't look up at the troll's face--he never looked anyone in the face, and he'd seen enough to know this wasn't the troll he'd been waiting for the last few days. He waited, outwardly patient, even as he berated himself for leaving the shadows.

Tortles
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The troll gently plucked the eye from Haladrin's hand, as if not to damage it. He made a loud guttural sound in his throat, as if he was hocking up, before launching a wad of spit at the eyeball, and polishing it on his robe. "Thank ya, man. Almost lost that one." He yanked on the demon's chain again, as if scolding it.

He noticed the timid behavior of the elf. "What happen, man? Ya steal something?" As he spoke, he leaped up onto the turtle shell, placing the eyeball in the box with the rest of his goodies, dragging the demon along with him. A necklace of amethyst looking gems hung around his neck loosely, jingling against each other as he moved about. His braids shuffled about. A bit dirty like dreadlocks, but appeared as if they had been carefully braided in the first place, but not maintained. Durotar is a dusty place afterall. He moved about the turtle like a sailor on a boat.

Raivenn
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Haladrin pulled his hand back and rubbed any residue off on his shirt, shaking his head quickly. "No, sir."

It wasn't that he had anything against stealing--far from it. He'd been trained to do just that in the years he'd called Murder Row home. On his left hand was a set of brass knuckles, hidden by his dingy grey gloves (even he'd forgotten what color they used to be), and his loose clothing hid more than one dagger, and a garrote besides. But the last order he'd been given was 'Behave yaself'...so he'd been doing just that.

Behaving himself in this case meant drinking from the brackish pools in the city, and taking odd jobs to earn just enough to stay fed before retreating from the crowds once more. He licked his chapped lips, as he considered his situation. He'd already gone and called attention to himself... "I work...herbs, potions...poisons..." He forced the words out before he could think better of it. "Other errands that need doing." It was the most he'd spoken all day.

Tortles
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"Sounds like you and me in the same business, then. Minus the poisons" He chuckled as he climbed toward the back of the turtle, opening a box. The content of the box jingle a bit, sounding like jars or bottles. "But business should be good right about now. Why ya sound so sad?" He tosses a small bottle with Orcish markings reading Troll's Blood. "Maybe ya drink that, feel better." He yanked the demon up off the ground, tying the chain from his arm instead to the turtle. He kept the leash very short, this time. The demon seemed to have a little lump of cloth where it often sat, with a few charred sections.

 

Raivenn
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Haladrin caught the bottle deftly, and crouched there with it clutched tightly in both hands. Why ya sound so sad? He couldn't remember anyone asking him how he felt, let alone why. He opened the bottle, giving it a hesitant sniff. It seemed to be exactly what the markings indicated, so he drank deeply. Warmth spread through his belly, and chased the fatigue from his limbs, at least temporarily. Kindness, from a troll. It was unexpected, and it loosened his tongue.

"I don't know where I live," he admitted, looking faintly embarrassed. He didn't know where he was supposed to sleep, what he was supposed to do. He didn't know his rules. His new troll master had left quickly, before they could discuss such things. So he bided his time in the city, awaiting his return--and behaved himself. 

 

 

Tortles
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"Lost your memory, man?" He shut the box of potions. "Or you ain't got anywhere to stay?" He knows Orgrimmar is a pretty chaotic place. He imagines it's even more so for an elf like Haladrin. He imagines even the Undercity had better accommodations for his type than they did in Orgrimmar. A rough lot over here.

He kept an eye on his goods, though. He could be kind, but he wasn't a fool. A lot of shifty elves coming to Orgrimmar, taking advantage of merchants like him. Swiping his herbs or his other wares. Especially if this one really did work with potions. And poisons. A quick slight of hand and he could be missing a few gold worth of supplies. Or even find something in his box that shouldn't be in there.

As he waits for a response, he goes into a bag, pulling out some slimy fish. He approaches the front end of the shell, loading a feeding sack onto the turtle's mouth with the fish inside. It begins to chomp down on the seafood pushed into its face.