Can Never Go Gnomeragan

Oooooh writer's block, how it taunts me. Heart Pieces is kicking my ass, but I had an idea for this fun little story. Enjoy!

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Gelbin Mekkatorque had a lot on his plate. Figuratively speaking anyways. As always there were the ongoing plans to retake Gnomeragan, to aid their hosts the Dwarves with their technology and to develop a defense against the Scourge. So when something came his way that was marked “Gnomeragan” it got his highest priority.

It was an envelope, the latest in reports from the Clean Zone, a base of operations for his people still within the city. Reports came out every couple of weeks, providing the courier could get in and out again, which wasn't always the case. Mostly they were more of the same. Radiation levels are constant, troggs not budging, Thermaplugg still insane.

His attendants however noticed that as he read this one, he grew silent and intense. Many of them stopped what they were doing and waited with baited breath to see what the news was that warranted this different reaction. Eventually he quietly folded the letter back, put it in its envelope and got up to go to his private study.

“Get me Bunyx,” he said before disappearing into solitude.


Fyina Bunyx was freezing her butt off outside of Kharanos, testing out her new piece of work, a trap she had made for her friend, Jobanhat. The dwarven hunter always took his stuff to her when it needed repair or an upgrade, and paid her well. The gnome loved her work too, throwing herself into it if she wasn't off on some mission or another, for she couldn't stand down time. She got bored too easily.

Carefully, she made the final adjustments to the trap, which had snapped while Jobanhat had been in Westfall recently, which had almost cost him his life. Immediately she identified the problem as being poor workmanship in the original construction and scolded him for not having her just build him one. Her stuff never broke.

“Aye lass,” he said with a hearty laugh and holding up his hands, “I learned my lesson, don't get anything unless its got yer seal of approval!”

She laid the trap on the snow, carefully eying the bear they were going to use for the test. Backing up slowly, she slipped out of view, giving Jobanhat the signal to shoot. The bear took the hit in the shoulder and ran, enraged at the dwarf who made it hurt. It ran forward, right into the trap Fyina had left for it. In a second it was trapped as chains sprang up, wrapping themselves around its legs. Jobanhat and his Wolf pet quickly finished off as Fyina returned to view.

“Well,” she asked with a satisfied smile.

“Lass,” he said, setting to skinning the beast, “once again ye be a genius.”


The brewery at Kharanos was hot, especially after the cold of outside. Fyina quickly stripped off her fur lined jacket and hat, revealing her short dark hair and leather vest underneath. Like most of her race she was short and slight, with big brown eyes and ruddy skin. Those who knew her well, knew that her small stature bellied her abilities. Her daggers gave some clue to that, but she knew very well that strangers didn't take her seriously as an opponent, which she was only too happy to use to her advantage.

She was looking forward to a good drink at the bar, and then back to her room to work on her projects. Lately she had had to leave them so she could work, and had hoped to make some headway on that gun she was working on. Her hope vanished however, as soon as she looked at the bar. A gnome was there, dressed as a courier for Mekkatorque, talking with the dwarf behind the bar. The dwarf pointed her out and greeted her jovially and the gnome quickly made his way towards her, pulling out an envelope. She sighed. So much for tinkering.


The King of Gnomeragan, Chief Tinkerer, Mekkatorque, was looking concerned. He sat in his private study, in Tinker town, a section of Ironforge the dwarves had quite generously given their exiled gnomish allies to call their own. Normally he would be fiddling with some device or another, or talking excitedly to one of his underlings about the latest plan, project or whatever, but when Fyina came in, he was sitting very quietly staring at his desk. This was his thinking pose, she knew, and whatever it was it was deep.

She quietly sat down and waited for him to start. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye told her that they were not alone, and she registered the presence as Hulfden Blackbeard, who was in charge of Ironforge intelligence. That wasn't very surprising, he was often the one who gave her orders.

Mekkatorque looked up at her and said, “I need you to go to Gnomeragan and retrieve or destroy equipment in one of the abandoned labs.”

Fyina nodded, all business, glad that she could go somewhere local at least, and better yet, well known to her. She should be done with whatever this was in a day or so. Blackbeard stepped forward and handed her a note with a nod. She got up, bowed to the Chief Tinkerer and went out of the office. Again, this was business as usual. Until she read the note in a dark corner.

“Shit,” she said, before burning it and heading out.

It was another day for the Deathstalkers in Undercity. There were assassinations to carry out, secrets to steal and factions to infiltrate. Javis has his hands full when the envelope marked “Gnomeragan” fell onto his desk. They had little if any interest in the fallen gnome city, so he wasn't particularly rushed to look at it. When he finally did, he sat thinking for a long time, trying to decide what to do about what it said.

Finally he got up resolutely, and made his way to the magic quarter.

A few minutes later there was a loud bang in the Inn at Booty Bay. This wasn't particularly strange, it was a portal, something which occurred somewhat regularly. Javis stepped through and immediately went to a table in the corner to sit quietly and wait. It was almost an hour before the person he was waiting for came in and noticed him. By then the bar was busy so no one noticed as the Blood Elf sat down with him, looking at him expectantly.

Javis greeted him and asked him about the trolls up north.

“Abysmal,” the elf answered, leaning back in his chair, “they've already got a new leader among the Bloodscalps, claims he's descended from a jaguar god or something.” His eyes were cast down as he spoke, and after a moment he looked up at Jarvis, raising his eyebrows.

“Fanatics are like that,” Javis answered, nodding, “the important thing is to keep them from joining together, but of course, in this course of action an unexpected opportunity may also present itself.”

The elf let his chair fall back forward and he thoughtfully burned some paper between his fingers. “I suppose that's doable, but I must expect there are competitors looking for the same, which would complicate matters further.”

“Certainly, which is why one has to be quick, grab such opportunities without hesitation.”

“Unless one can come into an arrangement with his competitors.”

“If necessary, but not ideal. That should be a last resort, as I say, if those tribes come together, it could be disastrous for our other interests.”

The elf smiled and then got up stretching, “well enjoy your trip here friend, I'll be seeing you again soon I hope.”

Javis watched him leave, finished his drink and then pulled out his hearth stone to go back home.