Amos’ eyes peered up into the ceiling contemplatively when she presented her point – he nodded sideways, wordlessly saying that she was on to something there.<br/>Then the young novice noticed just how much Master Nobles enjoyed his moment of respite at the hands of the blood-elven warrior. It spurred a small smile and a casual roll of his eyes.<br/>Osbourne always boasted how he chased women back in his day: the mage-that-became-owl found that the little challenges between man and woman kept your mind sharp and fresh. This incidentally also caused him some problems, but Amos knew that this man didn’t see problems as problems, but as challenges to once again assert ones greatness.<br/><br/>The fact he thought that on behalf of Amos could be harrowing, however.<br/><br/>When Risa presented her little arcanic challenge, the owl and the understudy exchanged almost guilty glances – oh, she pressed a correct button, she did! Immediately, both minds visibly began churning, the mentors’ considering this an excellent test of his student, the student thinking about the reward but more importantly thinking about the ramifications if he –didn’t- get it right.<br/><br/>Simulatenously, the two spoke:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">I don’t k-know if that’s a goo-..</span>”<br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">MARVELOUS idea!</span></b>” Osbourne interrupted.<br/><br/>They exchanged glances born in defiance:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">I m-mean I’m only a stude-..</span>”<br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">SUCH challenges are what makes a mage a mage!</span></b>” Osbourne interrupted again.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">But, Ma-..</span>”<br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">Shusshshussh, I have ab-SO-LUTE faith in your capabilities, Finnigan! Have some faith in my lecturing, if you please!</span></b>” Osbourne interrupted a last time, doing some dismissive gestures with his magnificent wing.<br/><br/>Amos sighed, shoulders slumping. Then the inkling of a reward reminded him that it might not be so bad – she could congratulate him? Oh, that would really warm his guts. She could buy him a drink? He’d feel like a Casanova the rest of the week if that happened.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">O-okay t-then.</span>” He said, nodding with a slight frown of decisiveness.<br/><br/>Osbourne lifted a claw, saying while digits rolled menacingly:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">Good man! For science!</span></b>”<br/><br/>With a lazy swipe, his longest claw pierced Risas skin leaving a small, red line. Droplets of blood began forcing their way out to freedom.<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">Very well! Go on then, Amos. The stage is yours.</span></b>” The owl said, concentrating his animal glance on the understudy.<br/><br/>Amos fetched his staff leaning against the bar and rifled his mind to find an incantation suited for this – to most well-versed wizards – miniscule challenge. His memory warily suggested a specific spell that could meet the demands. It only took a bit of..<br/><br/>Amos gulped..<br/><br/>…improvisation.<br/><br/>Osbourne was an advocate for improvising around spells: But then again, Osbourne was currently forced to play an owl against his own will. Improvisation in the arcane world normally led to the greatest revolutions as well as the biggest disasters. Last week, a mage managed to eradicate his own workshop in a purple explosion when he wanted to summon cinnamon buns with raspberry jam. It was the raspberry jams fault, people agreed. Had he just went for the strawberry/rhubarb variant, he wouldn’t have to build his home again.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">O-okay, h-here goes.</span>” Amos mustered, his owl mentor leaning towards the tyro with large, inquisitive eyes.<br/><br/>He opened his mouth and spoke some terrible gibberish, tapping two times gently with his staff against the wound. A green sparkle of energy swooped across the rat-head, a strange “THUMP!” sound was heard and..<br/><br/>…and nothing happened.<br/><br/>Well, nothing that Risa or any other patrons in the Salty could see.<br/><br/>Across town, Keelgrin the Igniter, a skilled goblin con-artist, thief and pawn-dealer left a house belonging to his up-until-just-a-few-moments-ago close friend. Said close friend was now financially ruined and Keelgrin had come to collect the last of his valuable belongings: A large, beautiful Highbourne Vase excavated from one of the many highbourne sites around the world.<br/><br/>“<i>Please, PU-LEASE! If you take this, I’ll be more broke than a glass bottle thrown at a barfight! Have mercyyy!</i>” his friend pleaded with big, water-beady eyes, clutching Keelgrins boots, getting dragged on his stomach.<br/><br/>“<i>Gerroff! Gerroff!! I’ve gots a job to do!</i>” Keelgrin snarled. He put the vase down and grabbed the other goblins hands, ripping his boot out of the clutch.<br/><br/>A blunt, buzzing “THUMP!” was heard and summarily ignored by the two bickering goblins.<br/><br/>“<i>You could have watched yer’ own back when you started dealin’ with those troggs. Your concerns ain’t any of mine!</i>” Keelgrin concluded as he turned to pick up the vase again.<br/><br/>The vase apparently didn’t agree with him as it twisted unnaturally to lurch backwards and plant a head-butt squarely against Keelgrins forehead, sending the goblin tumbling onto his backside.<br/><br/>“<b>REALLY..!</b>” the vase chided, its two handles contorting unnaturally to represent arms.<br/><br/><b>“To think I will willingly follow you and be stuffed away in a dusty depository? Never! You cannot stop me or my voice, for I must sing to the skies!</b>” the vase continued to the collective bafflement of the two goblins.<br/><br/>“<b>And you will not take my friend from me! To battle!</b>” the vase snarled. The highbourne relic took a leap into the air, ignoring all good rules of physics and slam-dunked onto Keelgrins head, sending him into an involuntary thirty minute sleep.<br/><br/>The vase coiled his.. hers.. its left handle around the other goblins hand, saying confidently:<br/><br/>“<b>Come, my companion-in-arms! Show business awaits!</b>”<br/><br/>And thus began the heroic journey of Sizzlegnaw and his Songful Vase, with their struggles against the Venture Co. Magistrate Keelgrin and his Gruesome Threesome, their triumphs in the bard guilds of Stormwind and budding love and betrayal in the depths of Ashenvale forests, all of which ultimately would have unforeseeable ramifications in the fight against Deathwing.<br/><br/>Back in the Salty Sailor inn, Osbourne scoffed surprised as he realised they were still alive. Immediately, he urged Amos on:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: Gray">Try again, son! It had to be a fizzle.</span></b>”<br/><br/>Amos licked suddenly dry lips, concentrated and realised he might have put too much pressure on a specific syllable: He summarily spouted more absolute nonsense, tapped her small wound with his rat-staff again and cowered:<br/><br/>A flash of green rolled across the staff, another distorted “WHUMP!” was heard and..<br/><br/>..slowly, strings of skin sprung back and forth across the small wound, closing it neatly and tidily. A small presence of the arcane tingled in her bloodstream and faded.<br/>The understudy had successfully healed her wound.<br/><br/>Bright, blue eyes beamed at the result, his cute gopher smile spreading on his young face. Nobles looked like his son just graduated with excellence.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>---</b>​</div><br/>Baqir threw the smallest of grins as his goblinoid tender went on his small quest to find the booze-master under a mutter.<br/>A lazy right ear flicked as a reaction on the steady glance of the worgen lady. His lingering, down-toned smile kept steady, but a thought rolled through his mind: For a Gilnean, she already now showcased unusual traits. The brief rumors and talks from friends and soldiers alike spoke of a nationalistic, vainly prideful lot who found most others except themselves interesting.<br/><br/>A myriad of questions pressed on his lips. But he kept his cool as always. He wasn’t in a rush and came here to kick back, take in impressions casually; there were better times to interrogate avidly.<br/><br/>He noticed her chuckle – generally, he noticed a lot through his ears: It was his experience that a patient listener built bridges between people. Slowly his head peered at her with lazy brows travelling an inch up his forehead.<br/>As she demonstrated some capability in his own tongue, his small smile broadened a bit: He shrugged, commenting in his richly coarse voice:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">Oh? Oh, it wasn’t –how- mead was made, really.</span></b>”<br/><br/>He threw his capacious head towards the direction of the departed goblin:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">The spot here normally serves Durotar Sweet Honey Mead, y’see. But this has more hallmarks of an Underbelly Import. It has this..</span></b>”<br/><br/>He paused, a large mail-clad hand gesturing in languid circular motions as he looked for the proper word:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">..tang. But it isn’t an Underbelly import, and I wanted to know what I’m poisoning myself with.</span></b>”<br/><br/>He “<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">Hm’ed</span></b>” pensively, saying:<br/><br/>“<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">You’re forgiven..</span></b>” – letting a smile manifest again – “<b><span style="color: DarkOrange">…your old man seemed a fellow who knew how to enjoy even simpler things, hmm?</span></b>”<br/><br/>Out of the side of the worgen ladies eye, she saw a disgruntled goblin swat another raggedy goblin across his shoulder, thumbing over his shoulder at the bar. The raggedy goblins expression seemed to beam; she just knew that in a moments time, an enthusiastic booze-enthusiast would shuffle over and spill his extensive knowledge onto the tauren, presumably to the point that his ears fell off.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>