Ratchet

    I immediately regretted taking the job for this ‘message’… my shoes, after all, had just been polished. For that matter, they’d just been purchased, due to my generous benefactor. Now, the salty sea air and the layer of dust that surrounds this shaky excuse for a port town is going to ruin them.

    Why in the three hells this fellow chose to put up his so-called ‘shop’ here of all places is still beyond me. I withdrew my new pocket watch from my pocket… (another generous gift.. I might add… vest AND watch…) and checked the time. Half-past the hour, good good… Why the old bean had gone on and on about finding Sterrenvolk before noon was beyond me, but… well, to say my client’s eccentric is like saying water is wet.

The house was dark, save for a dim grey light that filtered through the thin hide coverings of the windows and served only to make the shadows deeper. The dress she'd worn the night before lay crumpled against the opposite wall, belt and bracers set just a bit more neatly beside it. Naked now, she huddled next to the door, tiger fur pulled over her for warmth. She'd scrubbed every bit of herself twice with the harsh soap normally used for the floor of the Ratchet inn, and she still felt dirty. Her skin prickled and her fur seemed to stand on end as the events of last night replayed yet again in her head. She still couldn't make any sense of them.

41. The ground shook under her, and she braced herself in the doorway of her home. The while walls, not yet painted beyond a few decorations around the windows, cracked and chipped as the structure trembled. There was a crash from the storage room as a heavy pot fell from its shelf, and her hammock swung wildly, thumping against the wall. Below, in the raptor pen, the matriarch let out a piercing shriek and the others joined in, their calls nearly drowning out the rumbling. She'd found some stability, but it seemed at that moment as if everything was coming apart around her: her friends, the village, her mastery over the raptors. The world merely mirrored her inner confusion. The tremors ceased and her confidence returned, but she was left with the lingering, bitter-tasting memory of how easily she had been shaken.

((The Journal is actually a Voice Recorder.))

Dearest Journal,

It all began with a fight in the bar.  A troll woman who had seen her share of battles and beds, and an orc who had to duck whenever he entered a building. A few heated words, and push turned to shove, which turned into an all-out brawl. A few well-placed gold coins and the unlikely pair of brawlers managed to put on a show that not only caught the attention of the crowd, but most of the local security as well. The Laughing Zhevra was quickly surrounded by onlookers and Bruisers, long before the usual end of happy hour.

((Continued from http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/kabaka/site_seeing_booty_bay))

Kabaka looked at his drinking buddies with a lopsided grin. “Naw, I dun say dat I know how ta make de womens happy.  Sure she be spittin mad at firs but den I member sometin I promise de oder day.”

Ratchet’s main market is a sight.

Go just after dawn and watch the vendors set up along Dock Street. Some pull up in ornate wagons that unfold into streetside shops. Others haul barrels, crates, poles for awnings – plain, striped, or uniquely goblin-styled, but always bright – and build a stall on the spot. Still others stake out likely spots with nothing more than a painted sign and a pack animal.

Even before the heat rears its head and the sweat starts pouring, the smell is unforgettable... and impossible to place. Animals and their dung. Dozens of fired cookpots, filled variously with meat and vegetables and grease. Hints of salt and rust in the wind. Rows of piled fruit, including some you’re guaranteed never to have heard of. And the people, smelling just as diverse.

A market is a market, wherever you go. But wherever you’re from, Ratchet’s brings home the feeling you’re far away from yours.

Ratchet

The doll was tied on a cross made of two rusty nails. A single black feather was tied to the point where they met. The doll’s little green head sagged mournfully as Mama’ji held it out for inspection. The goblin frowned at the crude craftsmanship and said, “That doesn’t look much like Danzig.”

“It don’ gotta,” Mama’ji said irritably. It was the morning after the fiasco in the village, and she was already feeling the pressure. The Loa were owed their due, and they would not let her forget it until she paid up. It was a terrible time to realize she was all out of decent offerings. The tricks she pulled while dealing with Azumah and Faraji went far beyond what she usually asked, making the cost far greater as well. The nightmares that plagued her every attempt at sleep during the night were a reminder of that. Even now, safe in the waking world, images of dead hands and giant serpents flickered in her mind like heat lightning. It didn’t help that she was still sore from the tussle, or that she was still picking spider webs off her dress.

(...bediscreet...shouldbediscreet...shouldbe...)

The edge of the bar was hers. From there, she could crouch and watch the food-people in the dim light. Smell them. Listen to their voices. Learn. Remember.

The rum was good, too.

So the duo arrived in Ratchet, aside from Reggie being mildly seasick and not getting much sleep from the goings on of the previous night, everything was fine. It was a bright sunny day and there was a brisk wind blowing in off the sea. There were all sorts of people milling about, sales being sold, trades being traded, and deals being dealt. Reggie blinked and looked around, "Right. This... could take a while."

The Broken Keel, Ratchet's favorite spot to sit back and relax is holding its one month celebration of new management. Drinks will be served and food will be sold. We hope that you all can come and see this wonderful celebration.

(( OOC details: Its located in Ratchet at the inn. Its on at 7:00 to 9:00 server time but the Broken Keel will probably be open before and after. It will be on Sunday 16 of March.

The Broken Keel is a cross-faction tavern and therefore both horde and Alliance are welcome. But the majority of ther employees are alliance.))

The Broken Keel, Ratchet's favorite spot to sit back and relax is holding its one month celebration of new management. Drinks will be served and food will be sold. We hope that you all can come and see this wonderful celebration.

(( OOC details: Its located in Ratchet at the inn. Its on at 7:00 to 9:00 server time but the Broken Keel will probably be open before and after. It will be on Sunday 16 of March.

The Broken Keel is a cross-faction tavern and therefore both horde and Alliance are welcome. But the majority of ther employees are alliance.))

The distinctive click of a hammer being pulled back. Rukkle froze, instinctively putting his hands in the air.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Ruk," a deep, slow drawl from behind. A familiar deep drawl...

"Bill?"

"Uh huh." The sound of feet shifting. "Been a long time, Ruk. A looong time indeed."

"C-cripes Bill, you scared the shit out of me!" Rukkle lowered his arms. Pain spiked through his brain as something hard and cold and metal connected with the back of his head. He hit the floor, face-first.

A ship's crew unties from the harbor dock, taking a shipment of exotic spices and whimpering slaves to the Undermine.

A hungry, dull grey makrura drags an old drunken goblin screeching into the water.

A peace meeting between the Rustrivets and the Oilstains erupts into a brutal firefight when someone tosses a grenade into the proceedings.

Run. 

Rukkle Spincog panted for breath as he tore through the tall grass.

The sores on his feet cracked open again.

"...so anyone traveling through Alterac is encouraged to boil their water before use, until Apothecary officials can determine if the threats are real.

"...and the price of Runecloth continues to fall as Netherweave sources increase.

Three days before Winter's Veil...

A small bundle covered in [Green Wrapping Paper] sits on the mail desk of the University of Kalimdor's Thunder Bluff branch. A small white card is taped to the top, "Saffiy" printed on it in gold, stylized letters.

With a snarl, Teng slammed the empty mug of Cherry Grog on to the table. The bartender that night at the Ratchet Inn snickered as the old Orc called out for another drink. It would be the Warlock's fifth. A nicely profitable customer.

((Takes place the day after "...And Know When To Fold 'Em." Enjoy!))

((Takes place immediately after "Know When To Hold 'Em..."))

((Takes place two days after "A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing"))