Tentpegs grimaced. The raid would be starting soon. He HAD to be ready or they would go without him. Tentpegs told Gryshka, the Innkeeper in Orgrimmar what he needed:
41 flasks of Honeymint Tea
2 skins of Pungent Seal Whey
1 Jug of Bourbon
Gryshka totted up the cost of the purchases and told Tentpegs how much it was. Tentpegs paid it.
Tentpegs' next stop was the Orgrimmar armor shop. He needed to repair his gear. The Blacksmith assessed the current damage to Tentpegs' items:
His armor viability was at 68%
His current Guild Standings cost modifier was 10%
His exalted reputations with both The Horde and the city afforded Tentpegs another 10% discount each.
Tentpegs paid the amount. The repairs were made.
Tentpegs sat back on a rock outcropping above the commotion of Orgrimmar and sighed in contentment as he prepared to enjoy his lunch. He had purchased himself two roasted quails' as well as a jug of sweetened goat's milk for his noonday repast and finally had the opportunity to eat. Just as he tore into the first of the quail, however, a huge flapping sound filled his ears and then clouds of choking desert dust filled his eyes and nose, not to mention coated his food. Tentpegs looked up in irritation as a huge Drake of the West Wind came to a landing not ten yards from where he was sitting. Tentpegs sat and brushed himself off, wondering just exactly who this was that had so completely wrecked what could have otherwise been a nice quiet lunch. When he finally got a look at the rider the little figure on the back of the big winged lizard was unmistakable. He got to his feet as MissKito, a Senior Officer of Tentpegs' Guild, hailed him from her saddle atop the large winged beast. The Drake's lizard like head looked from side to side on occasion but for the most part it kept it's huge emerald eyes on Tentpegs. It's mouth was full of razor sharp fangs, it's wings were huge and leathery. Glowing runes covered it's mottled green scaly body, bright even in the early afternoon sunlight. Tentpegs had never much liked the look of it. A Drake like this was only awarded to those who had done bloody deeds in order to forward the cause of the Horde in Tol Barad. Having a mount like this also served a secondary purpose. Mounts like these, awarded solely for service to The Horde, alerted anyone and everyone who saw both it and it's rider that MissKito was no-one to trifle with. Tentpegs hailed MissKito in return and walked over to where she sat astride her mount, peering up at her curiously.
"MissKito, what brings you up here?" Tentpegs asked the little Goblin Mage.
"I came to let you know that we are starting the raid a little later than usual," MissKito replied as she slid off her Drake and landed kicking up a puff of dust next to the tall hairy Tauren. MissKitos' head came barely past Tentpegs' knee and she craned her neck to look up at him. "My word but you Mulgore types are tall," she said and then made a few complicated gestures with her hands. Suddenly a small table and two chairs appeared, one stacked high with cushions. MissKito hopped up into the chair stacked with cushions and bid Tentpegs to sit in the other chair so that the two could talk more easily.
"I fear I've ruined your lunch," MissKito said, looking into the big brown eyes of the Tauren as he sat down across the table from her.
"Yes, well," Tentpegs shrugged slowly and sighed, "there will be other lunches I suppose."
"Nonsense," MissKito said gruffly and made a few more gestures in the air. A silver platter laden with grilled fish and orange slices appeared in the middle of the table. "There, now that's better," the little Goblin Mage said with a smile and picked up an orange slice. She laid a piece of fish atop the slice and took a bite, her eyes rolling with pleasure. She swallowed and gestured to the tray. "Go on, try some," she said to Tentpegs. "It's a new spell I've been working on."
Tentpegs grabbed an orange slice and ladled a piece of fish onto it. He took a bite and grimaced in disgust. MissKito burst out laughing as Tentpegs spat the horrid tasting fish onto the dusty desert floor and wiped his mouth.
"Ugh," was all he could manage.
"Like I said," MissKito chuckled not unkindly, "It's a new spell I'm working on. Not many of us attain the rank of Illustrious Grand Master Cook as you have, Tentpegs."
"True," Tentpegs agreed. "But you seemed to whip those spells out pretty quickly. I thought that conjuring food took more time."
"It has to do with spell haste," MissKito told him. "Surely as a healer you understand how haste works."
"Of course I do," Tentpegs replied slowly. "But I wasn't aware that your casting haste could affect your conjuring spells."
"It can if you adjust correctly for it. For example,"
I am a Level 85 Mage
I am casting Conjure Mana Cake
My intellect is 5965
My Speed Rating is 100%
My Haste Rating is +15.23%
The Basic Global Cooldown for casters with no Haste is 1.5 seconds
"Just remember that Haste reduces the Global Cooldown for spells according to the general formula for Haste and there you have it!"
Tentpegs nodded, silently realizing that he would never understand this. He changed the subject.
One of Tentpegs standard duties as the only member of the guild to have achieved his "Illustrious Grand Master Cook" title was to make all of the food and complete all of the preparations for the post raid feast. There was a lot of cooking to be done and Tentpegs considered the possibilities for the meal carefully. Once he had finalized his menu he marched into the Orgrimmar Shop an' Save and presented the following list of items to the shopkeeper:
20 Mead Basted Caribou
20 Poached Emperor Salmon
20 Stormwind Brie
20 Sour Goat Cheese
20 Mulgore Spice Bread
20 Homemade Cherry Pies
40 Raw Black Truffles
20 Delicious Cave Molds'
80 Plugger's Blackrock Ale
10 Nethergarde Bitter
"I think I have all this in stock," the wrinkled old orcish proprietor said with a sniff. He smiled up at Tentpegs slyly. "But it's going to cost you."
"How much?" Tentpegs asked with a sigh.
While cooking, Tentpegs silently wondered how many more "Basic Horde Mounts" he needed to get them all? He had:
1 Goblin Mount
3 Orc Mounts
6 Undead Mounts
2 Tauren Mounts
3 Troll Mounts
4 Blood Elf Mounts
1 Kirin Tor Mount
5 Horde Wind Rider Flying Mounts
1 Traveler's Tundra Mammoth
"How many more?" Tentpegs wondered silently.
After the raid (which was smashingly successful of course) Tentpegs returned directly to the Guild Hall, needing to arrive before the crowds piled in so the he could have everything ready. The food smelled amazing and his stomach rumbled hungrily as he busied himself in the kitchen checking ovens, poking pies and slicing apples. Everything had to be perfect. The long oaken trestle table in the Main Dining Hall of the Guilds' Keep had been polished to perfection and Tentpegs directed the serving goblins to cover it with a huge white tablecloth. The tablecloth was light and billowed airily as the goblins placed it upon the table. Its' look was deceiving though, as it was not made from cloth but rather Dragonskin. One of the guild members, a maniacal Undead Warlock named Zenofobe, had trudged off into the mountains on a quest that most of the guild members, including Tentpegs himself, figured would be suicide. But then, considered Tentpegs, Zenofobe had never been known for his sanity. The cadaverous old Warlock had actually once bet his own bottom jaw on a hand of "Thunder Bluff Hold 'Em" in an Inn in Dalaran one night.
The game had started out amicably enough, even though it was made up of both Horde and Alliance members. By the time it was down to just Zenofobe and a ridiculously drunken Dwarf named "Foulbeard", however, it had turned ugly indeed.
Foulbeard loudly proclaimed that this was his final hand and pushed all of his chips into the pot. Zenofobe suggested that since the Dwarf was so sure of himself that he put his money where his mouth was and bet his axe hand as well. Foulbeard uttered a stream of nonsense that might have been cursing, though he was too drunk to really tell, and suggested what Zenofobe could do with his idea. Zenofobe told him that this is what the Horde had come to expect from cowardly Alliance members and Foulbeard, apparently not wanting to lose face, agreed to the bet... on one condition.
"That money where yer mouth is comment ye made Lad, that's got me ta thinkin'." He peered drunkenly at the skeletal warlock over the rim of his tankard as he took another swig of ale, most of which ran down his chin and into his beard.
He lowered the tankard and pointed a calloused stubby finger at Zenofobe as he continued in a deep and heavily accented voice. "It's got me ta thinkin' that your mouth seems ta be as big as mine, or maybe even a wee bit bigger." He looked around at the group that encircled the two final card players.
"I'll tell ya all here an' now," he slurred to the crowd. "I'll throw me hand in the pot, aye, I will." Foulbeard tapped on the table for emphasis and then looked back at Zenofobe with a dark and sinister smile. "But only if ye be throwin' yer flappin' jawbone in with it."
The Warlock hadn't even hesitated, only grinned his bony grin and nodded his assent.
After the cards had been shown Foulbeard had spewed beery laughter, reached up and unceremoniously ripped Zenofobes' jawbone right off of his face.
Luckily a couple of fellow guild members had been in attendance that night. They had grabbed the seriously injured warlock and had brought him back to the guild hall where Tentpegs had patched the warlock up as best he could. But none of the healing magic Tentpegs knew could regrow Zenofobe's jawbone.
Zenofobe had become somewhat of a legend after that night so no one was particularly surprised when, one morning, a note was found affixed to Zenofobe's chamber door with a bejeweled dagger, announcing that he had trekked off to Northrend after having a dream about battling a Snow Dragon. The consensus in the guild was that they had seen the last of the bony old Warlock. Much was their shock when, a month later to the day, Zenofobe ambled into the main courtyard of the guild hall with two mules in tow. The packs of the mules were laden with fabulous treasures.
Zenofobe handed Bankenstein, an Undead Priest who served as the Guild Banker, a note detailing exactly what he would be donating to the Guild coffers. Bankenstein told Zenofobe that once everything had been cataloged and assessed properly the Guild accounting office would give the skeletal Warlock a receipt so that if Zenofobe wished he could claim the donation in April when Azerothian Tax Time came. But first they would need to ascertain the total value, in gold, of the donation. The receipt, when Zenofobe received it, read as follows:
1,200 pieces of copper
956 pieces of silver
277 pieces of gold
"In addition to the basic monetary donation the Warlock known as "Zenofobe" has also donated the following precious metals listed below:"
27 Titanium Bars
43 Elementium Bars
114 Thorium Bars
17 Pyrium Bars
"In addition to the aforementioned items the Warlock known as "Zenofobe" has also donated the following precious gems listed below:"
4 Skyflare Diamonds
3 Shadow Spinels'
46 Jaggal Pearls
2 Dream Emeralds
"In addition to the aforementioned items, the Warlock known as "Zenofobe" has also donated the following crafting materials listed below:"
17 Frozen Orbs
12 pieces of Heavy Borean Leather
14 Eternal Shadows'
9 Eternal Airs'
13 Eternal Fires'
"All items mentioned in this receipt have been calculated by the standard rates that Azerothian law sets forth for vendors when purchasing goods from the citizenry."
Zenofobe read the receipt and pointed to the grand total at the bottom of the page and shook his head. He handed both the note and some coins to Bankenstein who took his meaning and added the following:
The Warlock known as "Zenofobe" has added the following to his original donation:
78 pieces of Silver
This will round the grand total of Zenofobes' donation to the amount listed below.
