Lure

“The Lure”

Whenever Abron asked any of the natives of Ironforge about the Forlorn Cavern they always scoffed. “Whatcha be needin ta go ther fer? Thinkin’ a goin’ fishin’?” one gruff silver bearded dwarf chuckled “Well if’n ya go, be sure ta bring somthin’ bigger an sharper than a hook!” The old dwarf laughed as he walked off, leaving the Gnome in bemused confusion.

“Ah nevah go theer meself” replied the waitress at the inn where Abron had been staying “Unsavory part ‘a town ah care no’ ta frequent ya see?” The stout barmaid hastily cleaned up empty and spilled mugs from the ale sopped table where Abron was sitting. “Although a fair portion o’ me evening clientele do ah hear. Yool see ‘em trickle in jus’ before suppertime.” The waitress hastened away with her tray full of filthy mugs and beer soaked rags. “An if’n ya stay long enough yool see ‘em stumble out come breakfast!” Abron drained the last of his cherry grog, placed the empty mug on the table and left.

Abron even made the mistake of asking a city watchman about the Caverns’ location. The tough old dwarf peered down at the Gnome through his armored helmet. Abron shifted nervously under the gaze of the guards dark, narrowing eyes.

“Why?” the guard finally growled. “Wha business do ya’ have in tha’ part ‘o the city?”

“Oh, well… ah… I was told, you see that, um… I, uh…” Abron stammered. Surely he could confide in a city guard, it was, after all, a Dwarven soldier who instructed him to seek out the Forlorn Cavern.

In fact it was one of the very first Dwarves Abron had met, the one who rescued him and the other gnomes with whom Abron escaped the disaster that destroyed his home city. Thinking back though, that particular soldier didn’t wear the heavy metal armor the other dwarves did, his was darker, maybe leather, and he didn’t have any of the bright markings or standards that the others bore, although Abron couldn’t be certain, the events of that horrific night remained something of a blur.

Abron knew there had been a battle, the monsters that attacked his home had chased his people out of their city and scattered them into the snowy drifts of the forest beyond. The next moment Abron could recall with any clarity was waking in a makeshift hospital surrounded by others of his kind, some wounded, some worse. The healers explained that he had passed out due to his injuries. He was now safe in Ironforge, in the city of the dwarves, a mighty stronghold carved into the center of a massive mountain.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Abron finally awoke, sensing a hovering presence nearby. Wincing, Abron sat up weakly to find the same dark bearded dwarf who led the soldiers that came to his rescue standing at the end his cot. Arms folded across his chest the dwarf looked down at Abron. His dark eyes flickered to the bandage wrapped around the Gnomes throbbing hand then back to meet Abron’s bewildered stare.

“Yer brave fer a wee one, son.” the dwarf started “If ya’ hadnta’ sliced tha’ Trogg in tha’ leg, well…“ The dwarf uncrossed his arms “Ah might no’ be here ta’ enjoy mah mornin’ whiskey.” Blood, dried and caked had flowed into the dwarf’s dark beard. Abron followed the trail of blood to a neglected gash along the side of the dwarf’s face.

“When ya’ git all rested an’ hale look fer a friend o’ mine in tha’ Forlorn Cavern, name o’ Ormyr. An show tha’ daft git this…” The dwarf tossed a shinny metal knife onto the sheets at the foot of Abron’s cot “He’ll understand wha’ tha’ is.”

The dark bearded dwarf turned to leave but stopped, pausing briefly to glance back at the gnome. Abron looked directly into the dwarves glinting eyes, unable to discern any trace of emotion, or perhaps the young gnome was unable to recognize the dwarf’s expression, at least not yet. “Yool be needin’ tha’. If ya’ kin handle it tha’ is.” The dwarf left and Abron turned his gaze to the weapon that lay at his feet.

The flickering of the torchlight danced along the shimmering edge of the dagger just as it glinted off the axe the guard was leaning on as he pushed his leathery, bristling face closer to Abron’s. “Yeh, well?” the guard barked, “Wut are yeh yammerin’ aboot boy? Be quick!”

Startled, Abron made his decision “I was told, ah… that the um, the… the cavern was uh…” The gnome smiled meekly “a good place to fish?”

The guard paused, clearly unimpressed with the Gnome. “Aye, tha’ it is.” the gruff dwarf grumbled “Jus’ be careful ye no’ get used as bait yerself ya’ wee guppy!” The guard basked in the roaring approval of his fellow guards. The dwarf jabbed his thumb over his heavy metal pauldron in the direction behind him “Tha way! Ye kin find it in tha’ pass between tha’ Temple an’ tha’ Museum.” the dwarf dismissed the gnome with a wave of his armored hand “Now git!”

Abron hurried off toward the area the guard had indicated, not wishing to arouse any more suspicion due to his lack of actual fishing equipment. As he made his way along the lofty, torch lit hallways of the city the gnome passed numerous multi-storied buildings. Solid and blocky, these impressive structures had been carved directly out of the mountain itself.

Ahead in the distance he could see the massive, soaring columns of the Hall of Light, the Temple of Ironforge, and just beyond it, a tunnel enveloped in shadow. As Abron entered the dark passageway, he could see an eerie, pallid light reflecting off the craggy, black walls. Heading further down the darkened road Abron’s eyes adjusted enough to see a row of houses whose windows were softly lit by the glow of hidden hearths. The sound of dripping water echoed throughout the cavern.

Opposite from the row of buildings was a vast lake, stretching the length of one side of the road. This, the gnome saw, was the source of the reflections, which danced with a ghostly, flickering pallor across the entirety of the cave’s rough hewn ceiling. Abron squinted, attempting to see where the water ended but any discernable border was lost to the seemingly endless darkness. Turning back toward the buildings Abron noticed one that stood out from the others. A crooked structure, which was the only one on the lakeside of the cavern, the gleaming firelight spilling from its doorway was brighter and more intense than all the others.

Abron approached the unusual building and made his way up a long worn staircase at the top of which he spied a fellow gnome perched upon the railing. Clad in shabby gray clothing, the gnome was balding with remnants of slick black hair growing down into a tangled mess of an unkempt, scruffy beard. Holding a series of tattered scrolls in his grubby hands the gnome was wholly preoccupied, hurriedly marking and scratching at the worn parchment with a frayed and ink blotted quill. A mix of musty and rotten odors wafted up from numerous wooden boxes and crates that the gnome rested his bare feet upon.

“Excuse me cousin.” Abron addressed the gnome “I’m ah, looking for someone named…” Abron lowered his voice to a whisper. “Ormyr? I was told I might find him here but I’m not sure if this is the…”

“Inside.” The haggard gnome droned without even bothering to look up, fully engrossed in his furious scribbling. “Ah, well… thank you, gear-kin” Abron said. A snort was the only acknowledgement from the shabby clerk as Abron entered the crooked house, leaving the strange gnome to his business.

“Ha! Dead center. Pay up!” a gravely voice roared, answered only by a few groans and a smattering of snickering laughter. Abron peered around the room to see a motley gathering of rough characters, most of whom were seated at jagged, wooden tables covered with deep carvings and large ceramic mugs. A hefty straw target was nailed to the far wall. Several wicked looking blades were buried deep into its various, brightly colored rings.

“Feh, you cheated Flinty!” A tall, heavily tattooed human scoffed, pointing at the target on the wall.

“Well, its noh’ meh fault ye didna’ remember ahm noh’ left handed ye scurvy bilge rat.” A ruddy looking dwarf chortled. “A bet’s a bet!”

“Feh! Fine!” the human grudgingly conceded. The tattooed man spun and Abron could see that the human wore a black leather patch over his right eye. Lifting the patch something tumbled out that the man caught deftly in his other hand.

The ruddy dwarf continued chuckling as the man rudely slammed the object into the dwarf’s outstretched glove. As the dwarf raised the item to his eye to inspect it Abron could see that it was a large aquamarine gemstone, it’s finely cut edges shinning in the firelight.

“Thank ye Travers, ye truly be a man o’ yer word.” The dwarf gloated, not once taking his appraising gaze off the sparkling jewel.

Grumbling, the tattooed man took a seat and grabbed a mug. “Feh! I’ll just sneak to your bunk and steal it back when you’re sleeping Flinty” he added with a sneer, to the muffled chortles of the others at his table.

“Ha! Noh’ likely.” The ruddy dwarf scoffed, dropping the gem into a pouch at his hip. “I’ll be keepin’ this dainty someplace where if ye be lookin’ fer it, ye best first buy meh dinner an be wearin’ somethin’ frilly!” The room erupted into laughter as the others around the tattooed man slapped him on the back. Even the man with the patch could not help from cracking a smile as he took a swig from his mug.

As the laughter trailed off the group turned their heads to regard Abron, finally becoming aware of the gnome standing in the doorway.

“Whell,” The dwarf spoke “Wha’ ‘ave we here?” Abron could feel it as he was sized up and scrutinized from head to toe by each piercing gaze. It occurred to Abron that the crowd didn’t quite know what to make of him.

“Pardon me, I’m seeking Ormyr “ Abron muttered, breaking the awkward silence “the uh, gentleman outside said he was within and I…”

“Blasted gophers!” The dwarf sauntered over to the target and withdrew his knives from the straw. “Tell Hogral he’ll git his cut in three days as usual.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I was told I could…” Abron replied apprehensively. “I mean, someone, another Dwarf, told me… I don’t know his name but he said to find Ormyr and… well,” Abron retrieved the knife the mysterious dark dwarf had given him and stopped suddenly, startled by a curious collection of sounds.

Glancing up Abron beheld an entire array of weaponry brought to bear by the surrounding crowd, swords, bows strung with arrows, even a few spiky metal clubs, all aimed directly toward the little gnome.

Wide eyed with surprise, Abron softly cleared his throat. “He said to give you this,” Abron slowly held out the dagger by the blade, carefully offering it up to Ormyr, “that you’d know what it means.”

Orymr paused and grasped the pommel, then accepted the weapon. Holding the blade up in the torchlight, the dwarf’s gaze lingered over the dagger. “Ah,” Ormyr’s face tightened as he furrowed his brow, “I see.”

With a wave of Ormyr’s other hand the crowd lowered their arsenal, unnocked their arrows and resumed their places around the room.

“Relax ya lot” Ormyr snapped “Th’ boy here an’ I ha’ got some matters ta’ discuss.” Ormyr clapped a heavy, weathered hand on Abron’s meager shoulder and guided the little Gnome to a corner of the room.

“Well, ya’ seem ta’ ha’ caught th’ eye o’ someone who carries a lot o’ weight with those ‘a our… vocation.” Ormyr turned to face Abron, a somberness slipping into the Dwarf’s cavalier demeanor.

“But lemme ask ya’, ‘afore we continue.” Ormyr straightened his posture, a moment of pride granting him an air of coarse nobility “Ya’ kno’ wha’ we are?”

Abron nodded.

“An’ do ya’ know wha’ it is we do here?” Ormyr raised a bushy eyebrow.

“I have some idea” Abron replied, reviewing the room again, taking in the sight of these rowdy people, jovial comrades all enjoying their drinks, their games, and each others jokes. However despite all their revelry each one looked weary, worn, as if they had not slept in some time. Few in the crowd bore no scars, at least those Abron could distinguish.

He had heard of Rogues, of Thieve’s Guilds, but before Abron arrived in Ironforge he had never genuinely encountered any. His father had told stories of all the peoples of the Alliance, of the many races and different types of soldiers who fought the rapacious forces of the rampaging Horde during the First War. Not the least of which were the spies, the assassins, the saboteurs that operated in secret, quietly hiding in the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike. Abron was now in the midst of their company and despite the palpable sense of menace they exuded he felt a rising yearning, a curious desire to belong.

“Yes.” Abron stated emphatically as he turned back to face Ormyr, mustering as much determination as he could. “I want to.”

Slowly, a grin cracked its way across Ormyr’s jaw as he chuckled softly. “We’ll see. Wha’s yer name, youngin’?”

“Abron, of the Scuttlemars of Gnomeregan. My father is Kipron Scuttlemar, of the Gnomeregan Air Brigade, maybe you’ve heard of him. My Mother is Pegra Scuttlemar, head tinker adjutant of…”

“Alright, alright!” Ormyr interjected before Abron could continue his rambling. “An’ where ye’ be sleepin’?”

“On a cot. It’s not very nice but it’s surprisingly comfy…”

“No ya’ wee idjit!” Ormyr sighed. “Which house… which ‘clan’ are ye’ fostered with?”

“Oh, um… my family has been taken in by the Brazeburns. They…”

“Och! The Brazeburns!” Ormyr rolled is eyes. “Daft ol’ Brehmin an’ her brood. They take in Gnomes like stray cats! Wheel, yer family’ll be well looked after with tha’ lot.”

Abron opened his mouth again but halted his speech as Ormyr raised the dagger in his hand to eye level.

“Alrigh’ then. Let’s git down ta’ brass tacks.” Ormyr grasped the blade of the dagger with his empty fist. “First, you’ll be wantin’ this back.” The ruddy Dwarf held the handle out toward Abron, returning it to its rightful owner.

“Tha’s yer best insurance, in ANY situation. Trust yer instincts and trust in THAT!” Ormyr jabbed his stubby, calloused finger at the dagger in Abrons grip.

“There’s a test, a kinda’ right o’ passage so ta’ speak.” Ormyr continued, crossing his arms across his barreled chest “Ya’ see, we got ta’ know if yeh kin obtain certain items tha’ others think are quite secure. An’ there’s no more seemin’ly secure place than wha’ someone keeps on their own person.”

“You want me to pick someone’s pockets?” Abron blurted out with a grin.

“Exactly!” Ormyr smirked. “But no’ jus’ anyone’s pockets. It has to be someone who’s the sole person in possession o’ the item in question, an’ would have it with ‘em a’ all times. Bring meh back proof tha’ yer capable o’ this task, and you’ll ha’ passed our test. An’ then we’ll talk about continuin’ yer… education.”

“Oh thank you sir!” Abron grabbed Ormyr’s meaty fist and shook it enthusiastically “You won’t regret this at all, believe me.” Confused, Ormyr retrieved his hand quickly, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder making sure his crew hadn’t witnessed the gnome’s exuberance. Then, startled by a sudden pressure on his torso, the Dwarf whirled his head back around, unprepared for the sight of Abron hugging him around the waist.

Before Ormyr could pry the little gnome away a sudden din of uproarious laughter confirmed the dwarf’s fears that his comrades hadn’t missed this part of the discussion. In spite of the jeers and catcalls Ormyr managed a weak smile as he extracted the Gnome from his midsection and took a step back “Alright! Alright, tha’s enough!”

“Now git goin’!” Ormyr grumbled. “Th’ sooner ye git this over with’ th’ better!” With a wave of his hand The dwarf sent Abron towards the door and turned to rejoin the rest of his fellows. Abron headed out the open doorway but spun on his heels and called back, “Oh, Ormyr!”

The ruddy dwarf, revolved to face the gnome again, not bothering to hide his slightly exasperated expression.

With a flick of his wrist Abron tossed something to the confused dwarf. Ormyr deftly plucked it out of the air and opening his clenched fist could see the gleaming, finely cut aquamarine jewel he had won from the tattooed man.

“I’m sorry,” Abron winked “I can whip up a mean fondue, but I don’t own a dress!”

Leaving the room in another raucous uproar of reverberating laughter Abron darted out the door and past the miserable looking gnome, still seated atop the moldering crates, still scribbling.

Abron knew just what he was going to do.



It didn’t take long to find his quarry, the city guards who had directed him to the Forlorn Cavern. They were slowed on their patrol, curiously drawn by the allure of several watering holes along their route.

Unnoticed, Abron sidled up along side the dwarven watchman that had so rudely dismissed him and pushed his way past the guard, purposely bumping into him.

“Oy! Wha’s awl this?” The dwarf bellowed as Abron bounced off the guard, stumbling for added effect. “Wheer’s tha fire ya’ buffoon?”

Feigning surprise, the gnome regained his composure and answered the guard “Oh, good sir! I’ve been looking all over for you and your fellows!” Abron greeted the soldiers, beaming with wide-eyed vigor. “I wanted to thank you for helping me earlier!”

“Oh, yeh… Ah remember now… tha' ‘guppy’.” The dwarf sneered, tapping the chest plate of his comrades’ armor, a nudging plea for a response to his now stale joke. “Noh’ biting today then are they, huh?”

“Oh they were biting all right… they took my bait, and well…" Abron frowned, scratching his head "then they swam off with my rod and reel as well.” The guards snickered, making no effort to mask their amusement at the misfortune of this silly gnome.

“But still,” Abron shrugged, “I wanted to thank you for your kindness Lieutenant…”

“Sergeant.” The guard replied flatly, indicating the added bar below the crest of Ironforge as he emphatically pointed to the polished badge adorning his armor.

“Oh! Wonderfull!” Abron exclaimed with greater exuberance. “What a splendid accomplishment! “ The excited little Gnome ran his finger along the side of the badge, regarding how it’s mithril plating shimmered in the torchlight. “You must be very proud indeed!”

“Aye, an’ it was a long time comin’s as wheel.” The dwarf coughed. “Now, git aboot getting’ guppy, we’re on patrol here!”

“Oh yes, I can see you gentlemen are quite busy” Abron leaped in front of the guards. “But I have just been so impressed by your superior conduct, your proud demeanor, your glorious armor and decorations…” The guards huffed in increasing exasperation at the gnomes overflowing effusions and hyperactive pawing. “I have just one last query...”

“Yes?” the Dwarf barked, clearly at his limit with this obnoxious little pest.

“Where do I enlist?” Abron asked, clapping his hands together.

“Wot? YOU?” The Dwarf chorteled loudly. “You want tah be a… a soldier?!?” The guards exploded into hysterical laughter, clearly unprepared for the impossibly ridiculous notion of a gnome serving as an Ironforge watchman.

“Yes, yes!” Abron cried out with increased enthusiasm. “The gear, the glory, the girls!” Abron darted between the dwarves, making an energetic show of delighting over their impressive martial adornments. The hilarity continued unabated for a good, long minute. One guard holding his sides from the exertion of so much laughter, another forced to steady himself on a nearby wall to prevent from doubling over onto the ground.

“Oh, aye… yool make a fine footstool tah mount me Charger!” The guard dabbed at his eyes with the back of his armored glove.

“Tell yeh wut, guppy.” The Dwarf grinned, a thought occurring to him he could barely contain. “The man yeh want to be speakin’ with is mah superior officer, Kelv Sternhammer, in tha Hall o’ Arms…” the guard pointed over Abron’s head in the opposite direction the Gnome was facing. “You jus’ tell ‘im exactly what you told ta’ us, alright?”

“Oh thank you sir, er… Seargent!” Abron embraced the guard briefly before being gruffly shoved back a step. Abron snatched up each of the guards armored wrists, shaking each one vigorously with a jolting exuberance. “I will! I’ll tell Mister Stormholler exactly how kind you’ve been.”

Still laughing the guards returned to their patrol, pushing Abron into the stony wall as they went. The gnome continued to lean against the bare rock watching the dwarves disappear around the corner into the distant haze of the long pathway.

Abron smiled to himself as he spun the guard’s shinny metal badge between his nimble fingers before promptly tucking it away. He imagined Ormyr would be pleased with his choice and chuckled, amused by the thought of the bewilderment and humiliation the guard was going to feel once his badge of office is returned to him by his superior officer.