So while Alorinis is out at war, he does have a large business enterprise that has to be run, which he entrusts to two Viziers. Part of his business work is giving out loans to aspiring business owners, but his business expects the loan to be repaid. When it’s not repaid, one of his Viziers has to go out to recoup the loan, usually Fizmon Blackwrench. And he brought along his girlfriend (but don’t tell her he called her that) Phymi, owned by @a-disgruntled-dragon, because you’ll see.
Background Music!
Borrow at Your Own Risk
The ship bound for Booty Bay finally came to its creaking halt after weeks of travel as it reached the port metropolis. The journey from Orgrimmar had been taxing as always, but with the world at war with the Burning Legion at the moment Fizmon was happy to say his biggest complaint was a long boat ride; even that hadn’t be too bad, since Phymi had agreed to accompany him for his work. He had come to Booty Bay to collect a debt owed to the Bloodarrow Estate. Someone had taken out a loan from the business enterprise and missed their payments for nearly a year now. Alorinis himself never noticed those things as he wasn’t concerned with someone making off with a few thousand gold, but Fizmon and Verstallus were hired exactly because they did care. Verstallus was great with the books and keeping track of all the places the money went, and Fizmon focused on making sure the deals went smoothly like they were planned. When a deal didn’t go smooth, he actually had to work.
Fizmon and Phymi stepped off the gangplank of the ship alongside three burly Orc men, each armored in black leather bearing the sigil of their mercenary guild and carrying axes the size of their Goblin contractors. Following Fizmon they cut a path across the docks of Booty Bay, aiming for one out of the numerous shack like apartments that towered in the city. Fizmon had already paid a hefty sum to have the borrower tracked down from his original residence and through the maze of places he had stayed before ending up in the port pirate city, so he wanted to waste no more time in collecting the debt. The mercenary trio he had hired were standard for his work, wanting to ensure no one tried to get more money from him when he came to collect, and he’d admit he thought it looked cool walking through the city with three armed Orcs at his heels. Phymi was the more dangerous of the quintet, but Fizmon didn’t feel the need to tell anyone that.
Room thirty-nine of the Fishwife’s Tavern. The tracking reports had listed it as the latest residence of one Harold Skeezebolt, describing the man as a squat Goblin male with red hair and often seen in dark clothing. With a signal from Fizmon one of the Orc trio kicked down the door, all three of them rushing inside as Fizmon and Phymi waited behind; Phymi barely waited behind, standing at the door frame to see the action. A short scream came followed by a thud.
“Clear,” said the burly voice of an Orc Fizmon never cared to learn the name of.
He stepped inside the room with a grin, shaking his head as he took in the sight of Harold. He looked just as the report had described him, though thinner than Fizmon remembered when he had met him the last time to give him his loan. A dark hue around his left eye told Fizmon what had brought the scream, the following thud must have been the man being shoved into a chair. He wasn’t tied to the chair, but with two Orcs holding his shoulders against the wood, Fizmon doubted it was needed. Phymi moved to Fizmon’s left, dropping into one of the free chairs with a grin, kicking one leg over the other as he set to watching the spectacle. She loved watching these scenes. Fizmon dragged another chair to face opposite of Harold, making himself the focus of the man’s vision. Harold had no weapons from what Fizmon could tell, and if he did he doubted it mattered. With three armed Orcs and Phymi’s magic, he was sure he’d be fine. He gave a short glance down to his belt, eyeing the red gem set in the center of it, and looked back to Harold with a grin.
“Tho,” the lispy Goblin began, “it lookth like you moved out of Orgrimmar. Thith plathe doethn’t look like muth of a thop.” “Fizmon. Fizzy. Listen.” Harold started sputtering, shaking his head. “Things changed. It happens. You know. Just time and all.” “Five monthh ith a long time, Harold. Two monthh more than you were thuppothed to make a payment. But. That could be becauthe it took me two monthh to find you. Tho, maybe you are ready to make a payment. If tho, thath my bad, I thould’a juth found you thooner. Pay up, and I’ll leave you be till the neth payment.” “I don’t.... have the money, Fiz. I’m sorry,” Harold said with a downward glance that was quickly reversed by the hand of an Orc mercenary. “Thorry doethn’t pay billth, Harold. I’m thure you got thomething worth thome gold around here.”
Fizmon gave a nod to the last Orc, who started searching around the room for valuables of any sort. The last two Orcs remained by Harold’s side, keeping him pinned to the chair while Fizmon watched him. He could see Harold was shaking, but he wasn’t watching the Orc. Fizmon was used to people watching the shakedowns, hoping the mercenaries didn’t find a particular valuable they had hid. Harold just shook and stared the floor. He had always been a sort of shaky individual when Fizmon had met him, but the recent struggles with his attempted alchemist business had seemingly broken him into more fear.
“Gueth the thop didn’t take off tho well, Harold?” Fizmon asked, quirking a brow at the man. When the man didn’t answer Fizmon tried again. “You know we won’t kill you. Not our thyle. We juth want what money we can recoup.” “I’m sorry, Fiz. I just couldn’t turn them down,” Harold said with a croaky voice.
Fizmon turned to Phymi to show her his confused face, but her eyes grew wide as he turned around. He snapped his gaze back around as her arms crossed in front of her face, fingers weaving a spell. His vision turned sideways as the leg of his chair broke with his turn, Fizmon falling sideways as he watched the flaming bullet rush towards where he had been. Four more were in the air, all fired from a turret made of fel and iron that had appeared on Harold’s back. Fizmon hit the ground with a thud as the bullet whizzed over him, splintering into the wooden wall behind him a moment later. Three more thuds followed Fizmon, his eyes rolling around to see his three mercenaries drop the ground owing to the new whole in each of their heads. Seeing the three Orcs flop to the ground brought a concern for Fizmon about Phymi, his head snapping back the other way to where she had been sitting. The bullet had already splinted the wood of the corner she had been sitting in, but Phymi was nowhere to be seen.
“They had to go,” Harold’s voice said, breaking Fizmon’s concentration for the moment. “You’re the trade.” “Huhwhat?” Fizmon sputtered out as he looked back up to Harold, who was now lingering over him with the back turret aimed down. “Bye!”
Fizmon’s open palm rushed to the red gem set in the middle of his belt, slapping down on it with an issuing clap. The magic took only a blink of an eye. Fizmon’s clothes were torn from the sudden increase in magical energy, falling away to reveal the black suit with silver linings beneath. The change brought a look of confusion over Harold, who had clearly not expected whatever this was, but his turret had no similar emotions. It was already firing another bullet at Fizmon. The bullet cracked into the wood where Fizmon had been, as the Goblin himself had already rolled to the side, pushed himself up, and crashed through the nearest window into the open air of Booty Bay. A flash of silver was his presence, illuminating from the silver lining of his skin-tight suit that flooded with magic from the reserves of the gem. The suit had been a test design from one of the Bloodarrow Estate engineering companies that Fizmon had become fond of wearing, mostly for moments exactly like this. The suit may not have made him the fastest Goblin in the world, but it brought him close for a short period of time; usually short enough for him to escape whatever trouble he was in.
Harold rushed to the broken window of the shack, wildly confused as to what had just happened in the space of a bullet firing from his three foot height. Fizmon was standing down on the lower deck of Booty Bay, staring back up into the shack window with a cheeky smirk. Harold couldn’t let Fizmon get away. The deal had been he would kill Fizmon, and he wouldn’t have to pay back his debt, or be killed himself by his new benefactors. Fizmon living would not end well for him. His turret was already working towards his goal, to Harold’s relief, and began firing bullets at Fizmon from on high, swiveling to track his movements when it could; Fizmon was faster than the turret had been designed for. Silver flashes whipped across the decks of Booty Bay as green bullets splintered into the wood behind each turn of the moving streak. Bruisers were becoming aware of the situation, but took Fizmon as the threat and started to work to apprehend him instead of the shooter.
“Hey! Get off of me! He’th trying to kill me! You dolth!” Fizmon screamed at the armed guards, barely navigating the virtual maze they had created in such short time. “Stop! In the name’a me!” One guard shouted, his club swinging low on Fizmon.
Fizmon let out a short sigh as he jumped up. When in this enhanced state everything else seemed to move so slow, giving him time to think of a snarky retort to the self important guard. It took too much of his time though, as he didn’t notice the second club swinging out higher, directly in line with Fizmon’s head. In the air he lacked any way to turn, left at the mercy of inertia which had seemingly run dry. His head cracked against the club at full speed, not splintering the wood of it but taking the attached Goblin guard for a short ride across the docks. Fizmon rolled against the ground concussed, asleep to all the world at the moment, as his suit power still hummed in the unmoving state. The guards pounced, clubs flying amid shouts of “stop resisting!” and “He’s gotta’ weapon!”
Up in the shack Harold saw the opportunity for his turret to make the last shot it needed. His eyes glanced to the side, watching the barrel position itself accurately to shoot in a direct line at Fizmon. Goblins all looked alike even to Legion technology, but being connected to Harold had fed it enough worry to not want to kill more people than needed. The additional time created by that worry was all Phymi needed, as she appeared behind Harold alongside a succubus with a devious grin.
“Get’em,” Phymi commanded, smirking as Harold jumped.
Before he could turn around a whip was coiling around his neck, yanking him backwards to the ground. The turret swiveled hurriedly to address the new target, but a demonic hoof rose up to crush it into inoperable pieces. With an assuring nod from the succubus that the man was no threat Phymi stalked forward slowly, kneeling down close to his face with an annoyed expression.
“So, Harold. You like to make deals, hm? Me too. Care to make another one?” Phymi asked, quirking a brow down at the sniveling man. “Yes! Yes!” Harold shouted, nearly barking the agreement at her. “Good,” she said with a sly grin, extending a hand out for the man. “We’ll make a deal then.”
Harold rose up with the assistance from Phymi, whip noose still around his neck. The man looked at the woman eagerly, hoping for some deal that would protect him from his debt with the Legion. For him it would be even better if it included less need for killing of Fizmon or anyone else, he didn’t have the stomach for it. Phymi dusted her hand off, wiping whatever residue of Harold was left on it on her robe.
“So, in exchange for your life,” Phymi began, Harold’s ears perking up to listen, “I’ll just be a lot happier.” “Huh?” Harold began, before the whip around his neck cut him short.
Phymi gave a nod to the succubus, turning around to head for the door. The deal had been made before Harold even knew what it was, but he agreed nonetheless. Phymi had decided the terms, and her demon was bound by her dark magics to carry it out now. Harold would die, and Phymi would be much happier for it. She didn’t like being shot at. The choked gurgles of Harold were what was left to hear as he pushed open the remnants of the shack door and stood out on the ledge to find Fizmon. He was still unconscious, but being thrashed on by the gaggle of guards.
“Succubus! Hurry up and get out here!” Phymi shouted back into the shack, glaring down at the guards.
Leathery wings folded around Phymi as the succubus landed, looking at the woman displeased. Phymi paid the look no heed, instead pointing down to the guards.
“Get’em away from him,” she ordered.
The succubus licked her lips and Phymi’s long ear, before she smacked the demon, and took off into the air. Phymi watched from her perch as the succubus landed behind the group. A crack of her whip attracted some, while the shrieks of those attracted garnered the rest of the groups’ attention. Fizmon’s battered body rolled to the side from the last kick delivered to it. With the crowd of spectators paying attention the succubus began her magics, placing thoughts of adoration and lust into the minds of the guards, pulling them towards her. It worked on some, but not on many. Phymi let out an annoyed sigh as she watched some of the guards look back to Fizmon, making their way to properly detain him now. Prison did not make for a fun vacation, and she was promised a fun vacation by that lisping Goblin. The succubus noticed the less than seduces guards and turned back to Phymi, shrugging at her worriedly. Phymi just shook her head and signaled a command for the succubus to lead the guards away and return when she was done.
“Have to do everything around here,” Phymi groaned.
She stepped out into the open air, thin slats of fel energy filling the space beneath her feet and creating a stairwell from her perch down to the path leading to the guards. The remaining ones noticed her coming towards them, issuing orders to get out of their way as they dragged the dangerous suspect behind them. Phymi made no moves to stop, just pushing up the sleeves of her robe to give a crack to her knuckles. The crack delivered a bolt of fel magic directly at the chest of one guard, her arms swinging back to grip the end of her scythe and swing it around from her back. The blade of it cut at the lower legs of both Goblins, one already clutching his chest over the impact of the bolt of magic. Both dropped down to the planks of the deck, Fizmon slumping down to the ground again, and leaving the three guards behind them in a look of stunned shock. With a snap of her fingers the succubus appeared again, leathery wings flapping to give her a boost of speed. She collided into one of the Goblins harshly, bowling him off of the deck with ease before her hooves skidded across the wooden planks to face the remaining two. Goblins weren’t known for unwavering courage for what seemed a less than worthy treasure, and Fizmon did not seem worthwhile at all. The remaining two shared a look of understanding before darting to opposite directions, running with all haste accompanied by screams for assistance from other bruisers.
“Not waiting around for them,” Phymi said as he lifted Fizmon as best she could, before snapping her fingers at her succubus to lift him up. “An’ just lift him up! Homewrecker,” she muttered as her fingers started to wave out a spell.
Bright green runes appeared in the air, lighting as Phymi’s fingers moved more and more. Her dark magics began to work their ways, crafting her a portal out of the hodgepodge of skills you wrangled together in her own form of “black magic” she was known for. With a crack in the air the circle of runs gave off a glow, showing a squat apartment in the two-dimensional space. With a nod to the succubus she made her way inside, depositing Fizmon onto a plush chair, the unconscious Goblin making no effort to protect or recognize what was happening. Phymi gave a last glance up to the shack where Harold now lay dead and made her own way into the portal, crossing into the apartment the next moment, and letting the portal close behind her. She looked to the unconscious body of Fizmon and groaned.
“You owe me a vacation, we had a deal.”
