I, would like to tell you a story. It's a story about a quiet town known as Crowwe's Founding. Sure, it might be a sleepy little town now, as far as I know, in the cozy corner of the world of Azeroth within the fertile Twilight Highlands. Sine the fall of the Twilight's Hammer Cult, a rather ambitious Worgen refugee, by the name of Johnathon Crowwe, funded and ran a small outcropping that other Worgens and people from various races, from both Alliance and Horde, came to. This was suppose to be an economic town that was going to kick start a wide spree of towns to industrialize and profit the new lands that was gained from the Cult, though still respecting the Dragons' lands, the Wildhammers' lands, and the Dragonmaws' lands. There were threats from these three, as well as remaining Naga, some rogue Twilight Cult survivors, and other things. They wouldn't be stopped by such meager things...profit was everything in this world.<br/><br/>But, it seems that even with the physical threat gone, some matters of darkness are still lingering about. And after a few months, with the town (heavily based on Worgen construction) built and operating with farms, blacksmiths, millers, lumber mills, and all sorts of buildings of labor...everyone seemingly vanished from the face of Azeroth...<br/><br/>But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me, if you will, to backtrack a bit. This takes place a few weeks after people realized they weren't receiving word from this village. And with how slow word travels from place to place...we'll say that half a year had gone by with the village gone missing. Now this, naturally would cause some concern.<br/><br/>Because of this, several posters and rumors were spread about a notorious Goblin crime boss wanting a cut on the action of the mysterious town and wanted the kick start town for himself to collect gold. But, with not knowing what was going on at the town, he figured some mercenaries would be better than even his own goons...who would miss mercenaries anyways?<br/><br/>So, let us take a look at Booty Bay before the grand adventure...<br/><br/>******************<br/><br/>Mou-Chang Strongbrew laughed loudly in the bar as he raised yet another mug and downed the contents in one go. Across the table from him, a jolly, yet buff, Dwarf did the same...the both of them making loud, audible gulps as they downed their ale. All around them were cheering watchers, some were drunkards, others whores, others just there for a good time. But that didn't matter, all that mattered was the drinking spectacle before their eyes.<br/><br/>No one remembered how this started. Either the Pandaren crossed the Dwarf or the Dwarf crossed the Pandaren, who knew...and who cared!? Everyone was cheering and shouting, bets were being made, and there was music galore! Who worried about troubles in a place like this? And it was filled with all sorts of races...Humans, Orcs, Pandaren, Tauren, Draenei, and just about everything in between!<br/><br/>The large Pandaren slammed his mug down, right before the Dwarf, and declared,"Fifteenth ale, my friend!" To which the Dwarf yelled,"D'irtheenth! Ye cheated me outta two drinks!" The experienced brewmaster chuckled,"You snooze, you lose!"<br/><br/>To reply to that, the Dwarf made a swear that would make Arthas blush before slamming down a rather large sum of gold coins and walked from the table after kicking his chair. And to respond to that, was a large number of reactions from the crowd; groaning and cheers, jeers and laughs. The Pandaren collected his gold and even had a victory swig of bourbon while people started to dance around him in victory of their winnings while those that lost either got over their lost of coin or went to nurse their wounded purses at the bar.<br/><br/>After finishing off what had to be one of hundreds of drinks, the Pandaren reclined in his seat. Instead of his traveling and combat suit of leather, he wore his casual robes that were made specifically for socializing in mind. It hugged tightly to his beer-gut that he was oh so proud off. And, of course, he had a hat on his had to help keep the Stranglethorn sun from blasting at his red, shinny fur. Off to the side, though still near his seat, was his large keg of ale, his equipment and supply bag, along with his walking stick, tied to it.<br/><br/>Life was good when ale was involved...coin too, but mostly ale. Though, he was here like the others...waiting on whoever sent those flyers and rumors about a high paying job. It wasn't common to see a Pandaren as a mercenary...but since his time on the Wandering Isle, Mou-Chang, or Chang as he is usually called, didn't find fighting wars to be in his blood...so he opted to not join the Alliance or the Horde conflict and work independent...traveling around, learning new recipes, making brews, and helping those who need it, regardless of race. And he was hoping to get this contract...only a select few were going to nail it.<br/><br/><i>But...before they show up...might as well live life!</i><br/><br/>That was his philosophy for normally everything in life...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>