Booty Bay is a city suspended precariously over the ocean, its structures built upon a haphazard collection of trees and salvaged ships, supported by the cliffs and a chaotic jumble of floating vessels.
As the self-proclaimed "controller" of this ramshackle city, Baron Revilgaz's residence is perched atop the highest point of the cliff, a testament to his ambition and, perhaps, his paranoia. At this moment, he is peering through a sophisticated engineering telescope, meticulously observing the bustling activity of Booty Bay.
In recent years, the once-thriving port city has experienced a downturn in its fortunes. The meteoric rise of Gallywix Industries, with its efficient and aggressively competitive trade practices, has siphoned off a significant portion of Booty Bay's commercial traffic. If not for its continued status as the only nominally neutral port on Azeroth, and the steady influx of pirates and other unsavory elements willing to conduct business outside the bounds of established law, this once-proud general of the Steamwheedle Cartel would have faced severe repercussions from his notoriously demanding boss long ago.
Revilgaz's exile to this dubious outpost had come at a considerable price. He had leveraged his tenuous connection to Trade Prince Steamwheedle, a distant and largely indifferent relative, spending a small fortune to secure his position as the "Baron" of Booty Bay.
Today, however, a flicker of excitement ignites within the goblin's avaricious heart. He spots a merchant ship, its sails emblazoned with the unmistakable flag of the night elves, approaching the harbor. The arrival of a vessel from Kalimdor, particularly one as well-appointed as this, signals the potential for a lucrative transaction, a chance to reverse his flagging fortunes. Revilgaz, ever the opportunist, immediately resolves to personally greet the newcomers and negotiate any potential deals.
As he reaches the docks, he overhears the tall, imposing, and undeniably charismatic night elf declare, "I have a hunch that I'm going to make a fortune here!"
Revilgaz, his senses heightened by the prospect of profit, instinctively launches into a flurry of obsequious flattery.
Galen, in turn, takes note of the well-dressed goblin approaching him. The goblin is attired in an ostentatious suit and impeccably polished leather shoes, attempting to emulate the refined welcoming etiquette of a human nobleman.
The effect, however, is somewhat less than convincing. To Galen's discerning eye, the goblin resembles nothing so much as a monkey bedecked in a crown, a ludicrous and incongruous sight.
However, Galen is far too experienced to judge a being solely on appearances. He senses a potent aura of arcane energy radiating from the goblin's short, thin frame, a power that suggests a mastery of magic far exceeding that of an average spellcaster.
This is a mage of considerable skill, Galen realizes, his mind racing. Perhaps even a legend in his own right. In this backwater port city, only one goblin possessed such power.
"Hello, goblin friend," Galen says, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "May your coffers overflow with wealth, and your warehouses groan under the weight of countless gold coins!"
Revilgaz is momentarily taken aback. Never before had a foreigner greeted a goblin with such uncharacteristic respect and understanding. This one... he understands us!
"Oh, my goodness, my friend," Revilgaz exclaims, his voice dripping with sycophantic enthusiasm. "I am honored to make your acquaintance! I am Baron Revilgaz, the... ahem... manager of Booty Bay. I trust you will find everything you desire here. We pride ourselves on our... ahem... genuine and honest business practices!"
"Greetings, Baron Revilgaz," Galen replies, extending a hand in a gesture of goodwill. "I am Galen Remar, a humble traveler from Kalimdor."
The goblin's eyes gleam with undisguised avarice at the mention of Galen's name. By the gods... I've stumbled upon a veritable gold mine! I, Revilgaz, am about to become obscenely wealthy!
By now, every civilized faction on Azeroth was keenly aware of the newly established dual hegemony: the ascendant Eastern Alliance and the formidable Western Night Elves.
The Alliance, in a display of its military might, had decisively repelled the invading orcish Horde two decades prior and subsequently eradicated the Scourge from the frozen wastes of Northrend.
The night elves, in their turn, had achieved an even more spectacular victory, repelling the seemingly unstoppable Burning Legion and slaying their demonic commander, Archimonde, atop the sacred Mount Hyjal!
Through these world-shattering events, both factions had unequivocally demonstrated their immense military prowess, solidifying their positions as the dominant powers on Azeroth.
Most importantly, these two superpowers maintained a strong alliance, a partnership that promised to reshape the political and economic landscape of the world.
The lucrative maritime trade between the Eastern and Western continents was, for the most part, controlled and regulated by the official trade fleets of these two dominant powers. Any residual profits that managed to slip through the cracks were quickly snapped up by those with the necessary connections and influence.
Revilgaz, ever attuned to the shifting tides of fortune, knew that his employer, the notoriously shrewd Trade Prince of the Steamwheedle Cartel, harbored a burning ambition to gain a foothold in this immensely profitable intercontinental trade. He desperately craved a slice of that colossal economic pie...
Unfortunately, the established trade routes were firmly controlled by the official fleets of the various Alliance nations and the ubiquitous presence of Gallywix Industries, the trade empire established and controlled by the ambitious King of Stromgarde. With the combined business acumen of Gazlowe and Blackfuse at the helm, these two economic powerhouses left virtually no room for competitors, devouring any potential profits with ruthless efficiency.
If I can't find a way in through the Alliance, Revilgaz reasoned, his goblin mind working at lightning speed, then I'll have to find a way in through the night elves!
Goblins, for all their avarice, were nothing if not pragmatic.
The establishment of Everlook in the frozen wastes of Winterspring demonstrated that, in matters of foreign policy, this ancient race was far less domineering and inflexible than their Alliance counterparts. Therefore, the Steamwheedle Cartel had been diligently gathering intelligence on the leaders of the night elf civilization, and naturally, Galen Remar, one of the three most influential figures in night elf society, was a subject of intense interest.
Now, the opportunity he had been waiting for was right in front of him!
This is my chance! Revilgaz thought, his heart pounding with a mixture of greed and excitement. This is my chance to rise!
"Oh! I've heard of you, distinguished guest!" Revilgaz gushed, his voice a syrupy blend of obsequiousness and barely contained excitement. "You are the renowned Highlord of the night elves, a hero who has saved your people and, indeed, all of Azeroth, on numerous occasions!
I daresay your presence here in Booty Bay indicates a desire to discuss a... substantial business proposition. I assure you, we can provide you with any services you require. Security, persuasion, debt collection, double-crossing... These are just a few of our... specialties!"
"..."
Galen was momentarily speechless, taken aback by the goblin's unabashedly comprehensive list of... services. Such a diverse portfolio, he thought with a wry smile. You must be incredibly proud of your... talents.
From Revilgaz's words, it was abundantly clear that the goblin's hands were stained with more than a little blood. However, Galen was not particularly concerned. He fully intended to deal with the goblin's more... unorthodox business practices later that very night.
"Since you are so accommodating, Baron Revilgaz," Galen replied, his voice smooth and subtly menacing, "let us find a suitable location to discuss this... business in greater detail. As I am unfamiliar with Booty Bay, I shall leave the choice of venue to your discretion."
"Why, my cabin, of course!" Revilgaz exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I daresay it is the most... comfortable and private establishment in all of Booty Bay!"
In truth, Galen did have a proposition to discuss with the Steamwheedle Cartel, a matter of some strategic importance.
The Eastern Kingdoms would soon be united under his rule, stretching from the southern tip to the northernmost border. His attention would then turn to the southern reaches of Kalimdor.
Only Silithus, the Tanaris Desert, and the mysterious Uldum remained outside his control.
Silithus, with its uneasy truce between the night elves and the encroaching Qiraji, would require a significant military presence to pacify. Uldum, shrouded in mystery, harbored another crucial Titan facility: the Halls of Origination.
That left the Tanaris Desert. Aside from the weakest of the Sandfury troll tribes, the desert also contained the enigmatic Caverns of Time, the lair of the reclusive bronze dragonflight, and the bustling goblin town of Gadgetzan.
The "business" Galen wished to discuss with Revilgaz involved the joint development of Gadgetzan, with the ultimate goal of transforming the city into the undisputed capital of the Tanaris Desert, thereby exerting indirect control over the entire region.
Of course, Galen refrained from revealing his true intentions, engaging Revilgaz in a seemingly casual conversation about more mundane matters. He knew that while Revilgaz held sway over Booty Bay, he was, at best, a senior manager within the Steamwheedle Cartel. The real decisions were made by the elusive and notoriously avaricious Trade Prince.
That night, Galen and Thesess, having discreetly entered the Sailor's Rest Inn, settled into a secluded corner, ostensibly to enjoy a quiet drink.
The Fleet Admiral, however, was increasingly perplexed by his Highlord's behavior. As a Shadow Warden, trained in the arts of stealth and subterfuge, he could only silently observe, his expression a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
"Thesess," Galen asked softly, his voice barely audible above the raucous din of the tavern, "have all our ships returned to port?"
Galen deliberately chose a moment when the inn was at its most vibrant, the air thick with the mingled scents of ale, sweat, and cheap perfume.
"Yes, Highlord," Thesess replied, his gaze sweeping across the crowded common room, a motley assortment of sailors, mercenaries, and other denizens of the port city. "This is the liveliest time of night in Booty Bay."
"Very good," Galen murmured, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "That is precisely the effect I desired."
With those cryptic words, Galen's form seemed to shimmer, then vanish entirely from Thesess's sight.
"Huh?"
The seasoned rogue, a master of stealth himself, was utterly baffled. He had no inkling of how his liege had disappeared, leaving him alone in the dimly lit corner of the tavern.
Suddenly, a deafening roar, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city, erupted from outside the inn!
The patrons of the Sailor's Rest, a raucous mix of sailors, pirates, and travelers, spilled out onto the streets, their drunken revelry instantly forgotten.
Those on the street were confronted with a sight that defied their wildest imaginings. The sky above them was blotted out by an immense shadow, a darkness that seemed to extinguish the very stars!
It wasn't a cloud.
It was a dragon!
A colossal dragon, easily approaching two hundred meters in length!
And not just any dragon, but a Black Dragon, a creature of nightmare and destruction, its very presence a harbinger of doom!
The Black Dragon, its scales gleaming like polished obsidian, beat its massive wings, the force of its passage sending tremors through the city. It soared over the ramshackle structures of Booty Bay, its shadow engulfing the terrified inhabitants below. It flew past the mountains where Booty Bay was located, passed through the middle of the city, and finally came to a halt before the colossal goblin statue that dominated the mouth of the bay!
The people on the bay watched in abject terror, their hearts pounding in their chests. They knew, with a chilling certainty, that if this monstrous beast so much as shifted its weight, if it merely rolled over in the bay, they would all be crushed beneath its immense bulk, their lives extinguished in an instant!
Revilgaz, watching from his perch, was drenched in a cold sweat. His carefully cultivated composure crumbled, replaced by a primal fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Most of his sailors, hardened veterans of countless brawls and skirmishes, were trembling uncontrollably, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground, their will to resist utterly broken.
Before the horrified gaze of the assembled multitude, the Black Dragon extended its powerful forelimbs, passing them through the "armpits" of the colossal goblin statue, its claws digging into the cold stone.
It was a grotesque parody of an embrace, a macabre coupling of beast and idol!
Then, with a mighty thrust of its powerful tail against the base of the stone statue, the Black Dragon unleashed a force that dwarfed even the most powerful siege engines. The very earth seemed to convulse, the stone statue and the reef upon which it stood were ripped asunder, torn from their moorings!
"Boom!"
The sound was like the death knell of Booty Bay, a thunderous roar that echoed across the water, carrying with it the promise of destruction.
The Black Dragon, its powerful muscles straining, lifted the colossal statue, its grotesque goblin visage now a prisoner in the dragon's grasp, and turned towards the western sea, its massive wings beating a steady rhythm against the night sky!
"No!"
Revilgaz's voice was a strangled cry, a desperate plea torn from the depths of his being. "No! My wealth! My gold coins! My... my statue!"
The goblin tycoon's face contorted in a mask of despair, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief.
"Open fire!" he shrieked, his voice hoarse and desperate. "Open fire, you fools! Unleash everything you have! Blast that dragon out of the sky!"
The goblin gunners, however, remained frozen in place, their hands trembling too violently to even light the fuses of their cannons.
They were, after all, mere laborers, earning a few dozen gold coins a month for their perilous service. They saw no reason to sacrifice their lives in a futile attempt to defend the ill-gotten gains of their avaricious employer.
"Blackwater Company!" Revilgaz roared, his voice cracking with desperation. "You spineless curs! Set sail! Follow that dragon! I want my statue back, and I want it now!"
Spurred by the threat of their employer's wrath, and the promise of a share of the recovered treasure, the Blackwater pirates in the bay had no choice but to obey. Under the cover of darkness, they reluctantly raised their sails and set course in the direction the dragon had flown, their hearts filled with a mixture of fear and resentment.
It wasn't until the second half of the night that the initial shock and chaos of this astonishing event began to subside, leaving behind an uneasy calm.
Meanwhile, within the relative safety of the Sailor's Rest Inn, Thesess was joined by an unexpected visitor, a figure shrouded in an aura of subtle menace.
"Mephistus," Thesess greeted, his voice low and wary. "What brings you to this... charming establishment?"
As fellow operatives under the command of the enigmatic Heart of Origin, these two agents shared a unique, almost telepathic connection. No matter how convincingly the cunning Holy Light Dreadlord disguised himself, Thesess could always sense his true nature.
"Alas, my friend," Mephistus replied, his voice a silky purr that sent a shiver down Thesess's spine, "the Wings of Holy Light have proven... less than effective. We have been tracking the elusive Black Dragon Mother, Sinestra, for several years, finally managing to pick up a faint trail in the Burning Steppes and the Barrens. However, she was alerted to our presence and managed to slip through our grasp once more."
Thesess nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and grim understanding.
The Hidden Blades, his own order, had also been tasked with investigating the Dragon Mother's whereabouts. However, this particular Black Dragon seemed to possess an uncanny ability to evade pursuit, constantly shifting her location and fleeing at the first sign of humanoid activity.
In the end, the Grand Warlock, their enigmatic and powerful leader, had deemed the task too time-consuming and unproductive, ordering the Hidden Blades to abandon the search and focus on gathering other, more pressing information.
Mephistus was equally frustrated. The Dreadlords, with their mastery of infiltration, disguise, and manipulation, excelled at sowing discord and undermining enemy forces. However, the Grand Warlock, with his preference for overwhelming displays of power, found little of interest in a world where no single power could truly challenge his might. In recent years, they had been relegated to the role of hunters, their considerable talents employed in tracking down elusive targets.
To that end, several Dreadlords had adopted the forms of thousands of tiny bats, scouring the skies in a desperate attempt to locate Deathwing's former mate.
"This time," Mephistus continued, a hint of dark amusement in his voice, "we were forced to request the Grand Warlock's personal intervention, hoping to use the appearance of his... progeny, Nefarian, to lure out the Black Dragon Mother."
Originally, Mephistus had anticipated that the Grand Warlock's grand entrance would be accompanied by a wave of destruction, a display of power that would leave the city in ruins. He was, therefore, somewhat underwhelmed when the Grand Warlock merely snatched a rather ugly stone statue and flew off into the night.
"I fear the gossip among the dragonflights will be... unflattering," Mephistus mused, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "The Black Dragon Prince, it seems, has developed a rather... peculiar predilection."
"An infatuation with inanimate objects," Thesess added dryly, raising an eyebrow.
"And goblins, no less!" Mephistus chuckled, his voice a low rumble.
"This is truly... gratifying," Thesess concluded, a hint of sardonic amusement in his voice.
The two agents, united in their shared amusement at their leader's unexpected behavior, shared a conspiratorial laugh in the corner of the tavern, their mirth a stark contrast to the fear and chaos that had gripped the city just moments before.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Galen, meanwhile, carrying Revilgaz's colossal statue, flew westward for hundreds of miles, his powerful wings beating a steady rhythm against the night air. Finally, he spotted the object of his search: a naval fleet looming in the distance, its outlines barely visible in the pre-dawn mist.
The fleet was comprised of thirty heavily armed warships and ten lumbering transport vessels, their sails a uniform, blood-red hue.
This was a small detachment of the Bloodsail Buccaneers, led by the formidable Sea Witch Zola, dispatched to retrieve their enigmatic master and his... unusual cargo.
With a final surge of power, Galen hurled the colossal stone statue into the sea, the impact creating a tidal wave that sent smaller vessels bobbing like toys.
The statue sank beneath the waves, disappearing into the murky depths. After a few moments of deceptive calm, the surface of the sea began to churn and boil once more!
Hundreds of powerful male naga warriors erupted from the depths, their scaled bodies glistening in the faint moonlight. They swarmed around the submerged statue, their movements fluid and purposeful.
Galen observed them with a critical eye, noting the size and strength of the naga warriors. Every last one of them was a brute, a warrior of formidable power.
Satisfied, Galen shifted back into his night elf form and landed gracefully on the deck of Zola's flagship. He noted with satisfaction that the crew was composed entirely of nagas.
"Master!"
Zasj and a contingent of heavily armed royal guards, their scales gleaming ominously, prostrated themselves on the deck, their voices a chorus of guttural fealty.
Since Galen's reunion with Lady Vashj, the Sea Witch had secretly gifted him two of her most trusted naga clans. The influx of these powerful warriors had swelled the ranks of the Bloodsail Buccaneers, leading to the formation of the Bloodsail First Fleet, a force composed entirely of nagas and commanded by the capable Zola.
Thesess commanded the Bloodsail Second Fleet, while the Third and Fourth Fleets were led by the troll Ana Bloodfang and the human Eliza, respectively.
"Empty the statue," Galen commanded, his voice ringing with authority, "and then sink that grotesque monument to the deepest trenches of the Abyssal Depths! Let it serve as a warning to any who would dare to challenge our authority!"
Galen was still somewhat bemused by Revilgaz's choice of hiding place. Hiding his fortune inside a giant statue of himself? he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. Does he think he's some kind of... goblin Scrooge McDuck?
Galen had spent nearly thirty years on Azeroth, and aside from a brief period of financial hardship in his early days, he had never been particularly interested in accumulating wealth. He was, after all, the master of vast sub-bases, and even an entire planet teeming with untapped mineral resources.
The concept of mere money seemed almost... quaint to him. He preferred to measure his wealth in terms of strategic assets and the raw power of the Heart of Origin's golden energy.
As for this elaborate charade, it was merely a means to an end, a calculated move to draw out the elusive Black Dragon Mother and the insidious agents of the Twilight's Hammer.
Revilgaz had simply been caught in the crossfire, a convenient target of opportunity. Galen had decided to seize the moment and relieve the goblin of his ill-gotten gains, a forceful acquisition that would send a clear message to any who dared to oppose his plans.
Approximately half an hour later, the naga warriors had successfully retrieved the statue and extracted its valuable contents. Chest after chest of gold coins, glittering and enticing, were carefully transferred to the holds of the transport ships.
"Master," Zasj reported, her voice a low hiss, "our deep-sea scouts have detected several ships approaching this area. They bear the markings of Booty Bay."
Revilgaz, it seemed, was in hot pursuit.
After all, Galen had effectively robbed him of his entire fortune. Without those funds, he would be unable to pay the wages of the Booty Bay guards and the Blackwater pirates' sailors. He knew that both the city guard and the core members of the Blackwater Raiders were, in essence, goblins, and goblins were notoriously unreliable when their coffers were empty. Without their pay, they would undoubtedly abandon him, leaving him vulnerable and powerless.
"Heh," Galen chuckled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I've been waiting for him to come to my doorstep."
He turned to Zola, his voice sharp and commanding. "What are you waiting for, Sea Witch? Show them the true might of your Bloodsail First Fleet! Let them witness the power of the deep!"
"As you command, Master!"
The Sea Witch, a predatory smile spreading across her scaled face, twisted her lithe body and ascended to the highest point of the deck, her voice booming across the water. "Bloodsail First Fleet! Prepare for battle! Show these landlubbers what we are made of! Our Master is watching!"
Zola's battle cry, a chilling symphony of fury and anticipation, echoed across the moonlit sea, a promise of the impending storm.