11 February 2012

Goblin Journal: Red and Black

I've only got a few minutes before my charter flight to the Badlands takes off. A cross country rocket trip - it's been so long! Nothing like the constant threat of unpredictable hardware malfunction to keep you young (at heart). Oh, they're telling me to strap in, Journal! Looks like Sprinkie's blasting off again!


Fuselight-by-the-Sea. It's no Booty Bay, but it is close. It's just a tiny village of modest workshops and their not-so-modest owners. Everywhere you look, there's a new type of engine crashing and burning, or a mechanical assistant going rogue and trying to kill everybody. There's even a flock of exploding sheep wandering around the outskirts! It feels like college all over again. For now, they've got me in the spare bedroom at a father-son's workshop. The son keeps giving me eyes. Wait, someone just knocked.


Had a bit of a late night - you know how it goes, Journal. Hehehe. Anyway, they put me on the road to Fuselight proper to see about earning some coin. As much as I'd like to stay and take in the smoky salt air, I'm a goblin on a mission! Leaving the coast makes a big difference, though. One moment you're seeing green  grass and moist dirt, and the next you're driving through dry, brown boulders and breathing dust!

At first, the goblins in Fuselight had a distinct deficit of things to do. I killed some nearby ogres - who, by the by, are totally gross and tall and walk around in dirty loincloths and their skin is like leather and ugh!! Why do I know this? I had to root around their pockets for spare parts! Not worth it!

It was a thankless task, but it did earn me some credit with the goblins. They entrusted me with a package that needs to be delivered to an associate in Leth'lor Ravine. Anything beats being on the goat control squad here.


Roughing it again, Journal. Although it's nice to be away from people for the time being. I delivered the package. Of course, they neglected to tell me that the ravine is FULL OF BLACK DRAGONS. I mean, dragons of any color give me the heebie jeebies, but black? The same as Deathwing, Destroyer of Kezan and Everything Else?! I was way underpaid for that little courier service,  but I had to finish the job when I realized it would take longer to backtrack.

So I find this red-headed goblin, cute, but really serious. She seemed a little strange, but hey, so am I, I thought. She wanted me to run around collecting not only dragon eggs, but the bodies of the little whelplings flitting around the nest! I know, I know. Why did I agree to that? I sure didn't want to, and the pay was only so-so, but I felt compelled. Like maybe I wasn't entirely in control.

Well, I did it. Pissed off a fair few dragons, too. Mostly managed to escape intact. My tunic got pretty singed, though. As if that weren't enough, she tells me she needs another kind of egg. From where? Well, this black dragon broodmother she's got conveniently immobilized and hidden against the cliff. Easy peasy, if you like beating up on things already beaten.

But the big thing, the reason I'm glad to be alone, is because after I brought back the eggs and whelps, this red-headed chick shows me her true form. Hint: not goblin. No, Rhea is actually Rheastrasza, the oversized, scaly envoy of Alextrasza, leader of the Red Dragonflight.

"I'm not evil," she says. "I'm just trying to save the black dragonflight," she says. For someone trying to come off as trustworthy, she sure talks like a swindler, and I would know! Now I'm camping in a secluded hollow in the desert, surrounded by my closest friends: two types of black dragon eggs and a stinking pile of whelpling corpses. They're not conversationalists, Journal.


Rhea's cargo was to be delivered to a Dr. Blam High Hyer. Dr. Blam. I was expecting another goblin, but he turned out to be a gnome. Great, I thought, 60% chance of failure.

Dr. Blam - if you can believe this - speaks Orcish. He's probably better than me! What a boon, not having to trot out my horrible Common. He said he had been expecting the delivery after Rhea took him into her confidence. That made her a little more credible to me.

While the Doctor was running his tests, he sent me off on errands. Good thing he's one of those rich, eccentric types! Odd requests, big rewards.

I killed some troggs that were threatening his workshop (hovel?), then met up with some of those archaeologist blood elves - the Reliquary or somesuch. They made me investigate some old Titan architecture. I ended up solving some ancient puzzles. I'm pretty good when it comes to puzzles - what is auctioning if not working out how people's minds work and manipulating them into buying stuff from you? Anyway, I ended up with some thingamajig to take back to Dr. Blam.


I'm in New Kargath now (word on the, uh, sun-baked path is that old Kargath was destroyed by Deathwing). Rhea's here - she took the egg. I should back up: Dr. B used the titan device to somehow purify one of the dragon eggs. Purify a black dragon egg! This could be the future of the black dragonflight!!

So, Rhea's taken it for safekeeping. She says she's got some other odd jobs for me - mostly cleaning up the black dragons in the Badlands. There are a few soldiers who survived Deathwing's original attack who are keen to accompany me, so it should go pretty quick.


I don't know what to say. I shouldn't have doubted her. She was so brave...

Rhea's dead.

I was in the desert for a week or two, cleaning up ogres and black dragons alike with my brute squad. I got back to Kargath, expecting to collect a big fat bag of coins and book it, but there was a note, too. Sealed for my eyes only.

Rhea had been holed up in a nearby cave incubating the purified egg. She summoned me to her, but it seems that word got out. I arrived just as Deathwing himself came to see what she was planning. I could only hide and watch as he incinerated not only Rhea, but the hope of the black dragonflight as well.

Dr. Blam had also been summoned, but he came after Deathwing had made a molten crater out of Rhea's hiding place. He told me...everything, including what Rhea left behind. I am now the carrier of her last egg. (It's also not much of a conversationalist.)

This is my personal journal, but should it fall into the wrong hands

I can't write about my final thoughts on the matter.

Hope is not lost.

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