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Description

This story is a plot that a friend from Argent Dawn EU created as a surprise for Siavash. I loved the story, and with her consent I decided to merge her letters into this story:

Within Siavash’s usual haunt of the tavern, Gravy would call him over and hand over an envelope which felt as if there was something inside.
“‘ey mon, a womon left dis fo’ ya. She say 'er name be Vixen.” the Trollish barkeeper says as he lets the adventurer open the white envelope.

Inside the envelope will be the golden chain with a cog and key pendant, along with an additional note folded parchment with a personal message:

“We never got to grab a chance for a farewell before I left for Winterspring,
I arrived too late at Dalaran and just missed you, oh how much I would have adored another
fling.
Never mind, there is always time for us to be together, the world will not certainly stop.
Until then, I hate to think of you missing me, here, have the key to my workshop.

Away in the slums is where you’ll find it, decorated with gears and cogs,
Not far from the Goblin who makes and sells the Hogs.
Insert the key, twist it clockwise until you hear a loud click,
Be careful of the mess, the tools, and the odd oil slick!”

With a careful hand, Siavash pulled the delicate golden-red chain from the envelope and took a moment to inspect the strange key with a curious gaze, before re-reading the letter once again. A lop-sided smile slowly perked up in an indication of increased interest. What could this be all about, and from who exactly? Siavash did not know any woman by the name “Vixen”, and he knew more than one red head in town.
He turned to Gravy and tugged up his broad, green sash to open the money pouch hidden in a slim belt underneath the fabric to pay the tavern keeper an extra tip for the delivery, before heading off to the Goblin Slums in the city. Following the clues from the letter, he arrived to the workshop. The key matched the door and with a simple “click” he twisted it to unlock and open the door to loom curiously inside the room. The workshop was dark and filled with bronze parts and bits that didn’t seem to match the usual bikes that the neighbour Goblin traded, next to the workshop. It was more likely bits for creations of gadgets and weapons for a crafty adventurer. Hooks, pistols, spyglasses and other tools for the journey.
On the back of the door, an envelope entitled “Dearest Fox~” hang ready. Clearly somebody had put cautious thought into the details, which puzzled the man even further than the first letter at the bar. He couldn’t recall possible “vixen” who he knew had their own workshop, and nobody had ever played such games with him. Usually, he would be the one pulling the cat-teaser. Could it be a trap?
Too engaged in the mystery to back out, he snatched the envelope to open it and reads on:
“Upon the desk, within the clutter, you will find your next clue,
Hidden within a container for a decent brew.
Do not worry, you won’t get burnt, for the pot is empty,
But who knows what you may find inside, glee and joy of plenty?”

Curiously the treasure hunter turned to the desk to search for clues, and next to the crates and toolkit, he found a rolled up scroll within a porcelain teapot, attached would be a couple more cogs.
For a moment he peered around in the workshop, checking if there would be any visible signs of a trap, before he digged down his hand in a cautious move, to fish up the letter to read the third clue:
“Hooray, you’ve found me, along with two new gears,
I want you to know that by now, I miss your nibbles upon my ears.
But none of that, now is not the time, you have more pieces to find,
Think of this as a jigsaw, a puzzle, to keep me on your mind. Okay, okay, I’m babbling, I get it,
I do like to chatter a lot more than I admit.
Your next clue, if you aren’t so bored,
Can be found by the Druid Trainer of our Tribal Horde, in the Valley of Spirits.”

Siavash blinks his eyes with a head slightly canted in a reflex of pondering, before turning to look at the exit of the workshop. The druid trainer was involved in this? The only trollish druid he was associated with, would be Kojo Kifokichwa, a paper pusher from the Cenarion Circle, who had not been in Orgrimmar since the Legion invaded the capital. The mystery seemed to puzzle him even further, provoking his tingling curiosity. With a quick and sloppy hand, he gathered the bundle of collected letters and folded them to slip the stack down into the side bag, hanging in the side of his belt to keep them safe, before hurrying to close and lock the door to the workshop.
He wrapped the key chain around his hand and rushed ahead to the druid trainer by the Valley of Spirits. A constant sense of alert was rising in his mind, forcing him to keep a cautious glance over the shoulder every minute. This mind game could be a trap, but to set up an assault within a guarded city would either be the master plan of a lunatic - or a genius! Finding the trollish druid was not hard, as he lied lazy by the swamp, resting in his saber form, in the dry grass. Was he really involved in this game? Without a word, Siavash fishes up the stack up letters and holds them up before the lounging druid and perked up his eyebrow in question, and without a word, the saber simply looked back at him with a feline snort and jerks his head in direction to the primitive hut to his left. What was that supposed to mean?
He peered at the hut, then back at the druid with a puzzled frown, but the druid didn’t seem to bother giving him any further clue. He turned to enter the hut and there, at one of the poles carrying the roof, hanged another white envelope in a tiny nail. He pulled it off to open it up and carefully to read through the next clue:
“Phew, clue four, now we’re getting somewhere,
This hasn’t been completely pointless, I tell you, I swear!
I can’t push the sight of you from my head,
Between my leg, or laying on top, my desires are eager and need to be fed!
Oh shush, Natara, this is not helping,
You’re supposed to be giving clues, not being so tempting.
Through the tunnel is where to go, where the skulls and bones rest.
Upon the rubble, you will find your fifth clue inside a small chest!”

Natara! The revealed name was the last piece in the puzzle, clearing up all wonders he was left with.
She was a woman he had met and spent a night with at the beach, by the Southern coast of Durotar. Would a woman he barely knew really be dedicated to pull so much together in order to surprise him? Nobody had ever done this before - and here he stood with all the clues in the hands, yet with more questions than before! The interest was clearly reaching its peak as the stakes are risen, and without further speculations the hunter rushed down along the old, moist bridge in the Valley of Spirits and turned to the mentioned tunnel to the Drag. Just by the end of the tunnel he finally reached the promised treasure. A small, decorated chest with a simple fox design upon it. It would hold no lock and inside would be two scrolls a clockwork key and a bundle of metal bits. One scroll being the rhymes and the other seemed to hold instructions.
He took a moment to look at the first message with the simple hand-drawn instructions, clearly showing which piece would go where. The final outcome turned out to be two foxes. The male, being the largest on the outer ring, and the smaller female on the inner side facing the opposite direction.
With a bit of patience, he collected the parts as illustrated on the instructions and turned the clockwork key, causing the two foxes begin to frolic around each other, showing a playful demeanour and careless joy.
Siavash inhales deeply in surprise as the toy begins to play, and for a moment his lips arches into a roguish smile of amusement, before picking up the last letter to read:
“You've found the final piece, hip hip, hooray!
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as child’s play.
While I am in the snow and cold,
Searching for relics, treasures, and gold.
Gather your pieces, your instructions, and mind,
And notices that all of it can be fixed and entwined!
I have created something for you to have a go,
Something which hopefully holds my feelings for you on show.”

As he reads the letter, the thrill seems to slowly be overtaken by an expression of mild fear and guilt in his eyes. As the toy’s dance came to an end, his smile faded from his face. He clenched the hand around the toy and slipped it into the bag by his belt, keeping it safe as he looked across his shoulders one last time before slowly lurking off.
How could a man not be happy for such gift?

Description

This story is a plot that a friend from Argent Dawn EU created as a surprise for Siavash. I loved the story, and with her consent I decided to merge her letters into this story:

Within Siavash’s usual haunt of the tavern, Gravy would call him over and hand over an envelope which felt as if there was something inside.
“‘ey mon, a womon left dis fo’ ya. She say 'er name be Vixen.” the Trollish barkeeper says as he lets the adventurer open the white envelope.

Inside the envelope will be the golden chain with a cog and key pendant, along with an additional note folded parchment with a personal message:

“We never got to grab a chance for a farewell before I left for Winterspring,
I arrived too late at Dalaran and just missed you, oh how much I would have adored another
fling.
Never mind, there is always time for us to be together, the world will not certainly stop.
Until then, I hate to think of you missing me, here, have the key to my workshop.

Away in the slums is where you’ll find it, decorated with gears and cogs,
Not far from the Goblin who makes and sells the Hogs.
Insert the key, twist it clockwise until you hear a loud click,
Be careful of the mess, the tools, and the odd oil slick!”

With a careful hand, Siavash pulled the delicate golden-red chain from the envelope and took a moment to inspect the strange key with a curious gaze, before re-reading the letter once again. A lop-sided smile slowly perked up in an indication of increased interest. What could this be all about, and from who exactly? Siavash did not know any woman by the name “Vixen”, and he knew more than one red head in town.
He turned to Gravy and tugged up his broad, green sash to open the money pouch hidden in a slim belt underneath the fabric to pay the tavern keeper an extra tip for the delivery, before heading off to the Goblin Slums in the city. Following the clues from the letter, he arrived to the workshop. The key matched the door and with a simple “click” he twisted it to unlock and open the door to loom curiously inside the room. The workshop was dark and filled with bronze parts and bits that didn’t seem to match the usual bikes that the neighbour Goblin traded, next to the workshop. It was more likely bits for creations of gadgets and weapons for a crafty adventurer. Hooks, pistols, spyglasses and other tools for the journey.
On the back of the door, an envelope entitled “Dearest Fox~” hang ready. Clearly somebody had put cautious thought into the details, which puzzled the man even further than the first letter at the bar. He couldn’t recall possible “vixen” who he knew had their own workshop, and nobody had ever played such games with him. Usually, he would be the one pulling the cat-teaser. Could it be a trap?
Too engaged in the mystery to back out, he snatched the envelope to open it and reads on:
“Upon the desk, within the clutter, you will find your next clue,
Hidden within a container for a decent brew.
Do not worry, you won’t get burnt, for the pot is empty,
But who knows what you may find inside, glee and joy of plenty?”

Curiously the treasure hunter turned to the desk to search for clues, and next to the crates and toolkit, he found a rolled up scroll within a porcelain teapot, attached would be a couple more cogs.
For a moment he peered around in the workshop, checking if there would be any visible signs of a trap, before he digged down his hand in a cautious move, to fish up the letter to read the third clue:
“Hooray, you’ve found me, along with two new gears,
I want you to know that by now, I miss your nibbles upon my ears.
But none of that, now is not the time, you have more pieces to find,
Think of this as a jigsaw, a puzzle, to keep me on your mind. Okay, okay, I’m babbling, I get it,
I do like to chatter a lot more than I admit.
Your next clue, if you aren’t so bored,
Can be found by the Druid Trainer of our Tribal Horde, in the Valley of Spirits.”

Siavash blinks his eyes with a head slightly canted in a reflex of pondering, before turning to look at the exit of the workshop. The druid trainer was involved in this? The only trollish druid he was associated with, would be Kojo Kifokichwa, a paper pusher from the Cenarion Circle, who had not been in Orgrimmar since the Legion invaded the capital. The mystery seemed to puzzle him even further, provoking his tingling curiosity. With a quick and sloppy hand, he gathered the bundle of collected letters and folded them to slip the stack down into the side bag, hanging in the side of his belt to keep them safe, before hurrying to close and lock the door to the workshop.
He wrapped the key chain around his hand and rushed ahead to the druid trainer by the Valley of Spirits. A constant sense of alert was rising in his mind, forcing him to keep a cautious glance over the shoulder every minute. This mind game could be a trap, but to set up an assault within a guarded city would either be the master plan of a lunatic - or a genius! Finding the trollish druid was not hard, as he lied lazy by the swamp, resting in his saber form, in the dry grass. Was he really involved in this game? Without a word, Siavash fishes up the stack up letters and holds them up before the lounging druid and perked up his eyebrow in question, and without a word, the saber simply looked back at him with a feline snort and jerks his head in direction to the primitive hut to his left. What was that supposed to mean?
He peered at the hut, then back at the druid with a puzzled frown, but the druid didn’t seem to bother giving him any further clue. He turned to enter the hut and there, at one of the poles carrying the roof, hanged another white envelope in a tiny nail. He pulled it off to open it up and carefully to read through the next clue:
“Phew, clue four, now we’re getting somewhere,
This hasn’t been completely pointless, I tell you, I swear!
I can’t push the sight of you from my head,
Between my leg, or laying on top, my desires are eager and need to be fed!
Oh shush, Natara, this is not helping,
You’re supposed to be giving clues, not being so tempting.
Through the tunnel is where to go, where the skulls and bones rest.
Upon the rubble, you will find your fifth clue inside a small chest!”

Natara! The revealed name was the last piece in the puzzle, clearing up all wonders he was left with.
She was a woman he had met and spent a night with at the beach, by the Southern coast of Durotar. Would a woman he barely knew really be dedicated to pull so much together in order to surprise him? Nobody had ever done this before - and here he stood with all the clues in the hands, yet with more questions than before! The interest was clearly reaching its peak as the stakes are risen, and without further speculations the hunter rushed down along the old, moist bridge in the Valley of Spirits and turned to the mentioned tunnel to the Drag. Just by the end of the tunnel he finally reached the promised treasure. A small, decorated chest with a simple fox design upon it. It would hold no lock and inside would be two scrolls a clockwork key and a bundle of metal bits. One scroll being the rhymes and the other seemed to hold instructions.
He took a moment to look at the first message with the simple hand-drawn instructions, clearly showing which piece would go where. The final outcome turned out to be two foxes. The male, being the largest on the outer ring, and the smaller female on the inner side facing the opposite direction.
With a bit of patience, he collected the parts as illustrated on the instructions and turned the clockwork key, causing the two foxes begin to frolic around each other, showing a playful demeanour and careless joy.
Siavash inhales deeply in surprise as the toy begins to play, and for a moment his lips arches into a roguish smile of amusement, before picking up the last letter to read:
“You've found the final piece, hip hip, hooray!
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as child’s play.
While I am in the snow and cold,
Searching for relics, treasures, and gold.
Gather your pieces, your instructions, and mind,
And notices that all of it can be fixed and entwined!
I have created something for you to have a go,
Something which hopefully holds my feelings for you on show.”

As he reads the letter, the thrill seems to slowly be overtaken by an expression of mild fear and guilt in his eyes. As the toy’s dance came to an end, his smile faded from his face. He clenched the hand around the toy and slipped it into the bag by his belt, keeping it safe as he looked across his shoulders one last time before slowly lurking off.
How could a man not be happy for such gift?