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Thomas Jarington
Thomas Jarington
Posts: 210
Joined: April 8th, 2014, 10:55 am
Location: Vancouver, BC Canada
Thomas Jarington

Re: John Bradford's Belt

Postby Thomas Jarington » August 6th, 2014, 1:46 pm

Meanwhile, along the Old Track...

The end of the day had come and gone with no sign of Wiggins to be found. Day two through five had been much of the same: deep forests, nasty critters, an occasional Blackrock Scout and nary a whiff of the missing teamster. The only good thing that had come from the search was camping at Everstill Landing and sharing chow with the Flight Master, Arlen Masters.

"Tell me again why you are out here?" Masters said as he dipped a piece of thick, crusty bread into his bowl of stew. After swirling it around and gathering gravy, he smiled and devoured the piece in one bite. Bradley was doing the same: sopping up the last bits of Westfall Stew with the fresh bread the Flight Master had baked earlier that morning.

"Whelp," Bradley said. "I been looking for a man named Wiggins. Used to run with an outfit called the Crimson Lotus, ridin' shotgun on a wagon deliverin' Funk to Lakeshire. Fellah disappeared several months ago and my partners an I need ta ask him some questions."

Masters nodded, tearing another piece of bread, then dragging it through the stew. "I see," he said between chews, his mouth half full of food. "Can't say I ever met a man named Wiggins, though all types come through here and never say a word. Could be I met the man and never knew."

Masters chuckled and gulped the last bit down, then reached for his mug of ale. "Other than asking for a ride to some other place on one of my griffons, you're the first since John J. Keeshan opened up this camp to actually STAY and visit."

"I gotta say, Masters," Bradley said. "The idea of sleepin' another night in them woods weren't too inticin' once I seen yer camp an all." He reached for his ale and took a deep swig. "With all them Gnolls and Orcs prowlin around out yonder ways, this place seems like a down-rat fortress."

The flight master lifted his mug in salute. "Thank you," he said. "I do try to keep up appearances here, though it does get a bit lonely. Fel, I've actually considered learning Murloc just to pass the time."

"Damn," Bradley said, scrunching his face in disgust. "That's harcore, man. Tha only good Murloc is a dead un, in my book. I think I'd rather be locked in a Goblin prison fore I'd go an do that."

"They ain't so bad once you get used to em," Masters said. "It's those bloody Blackrocks that I hate." He growled and took another drink, his third mug since draining two others. "Gnolls, too, but the Orcs are the worst. They'll send a boulder down on me ever so often, just to see if I'm awake."

He took a swig of his drink as Bradley lifted his own. "Fel," Masters continued. "They even chuck empty bottles at me on occasion, though they always miss. Most break up on the rocks before they ever make it to the tents."

"Blackrocks?" Bradley said, then nodded. "I saw some of em lurking along the woods as I slipped in. Figured I'd best stay outta sight an off tha road in case they got all rowdy on me."

"Good plan," Masters said, draining his mug. He stood and reached his hand for Bradley's mug. "Refill?"

"Shore," Bradley said, handing the man his now empty mug, drinking the last swallow before giving it up. "This is some good stuff. Where'd ya get it? Tastes different than what I'm used ta drinkin'"

Masters refilled the pair of mugs from a small cask sat atop a stack of crates. "Foreman Oslo from Lakeshire brought em," he said as he returned with the refilled mugs. He handed Bradley one and kept his own, then returned to his seat by the fire. "Back when he planed on using this camp as a transfer base for delivery of that drink."

"Oh really?" Bradley said, drinking from his fresh ale. Masters nodded.

"Oh yea," he replied, then paused, tilting his head to the dark sky as if listening for a noise. Bradley did the same but only heard water lapping against the wooden dock below the camp, along with a distant 'murglegurgle' from the Murloc village along the lake.

"Brought me about twenty of em," Masters said, picking up with the tale after a subtle nod. "Said they were no longer needed, now that they would have a steady supply of the funk." He took a sip of his drink. "I guess that ended once Stormwind placed a moratorium on the stuff."

"Goblins lit outta here, too," Bradley said. "Put a ki-bash on the entire operation. You hear about the bombin's at the Eastvale Logging Camp?"

Masters nodded and took another swig. "Who didn't?" he replied. "The way I heard it, bastards blew up an entire Guard post; tower, too! Fel, the teamsters delivering the drink were all killed, too, way I heard it."

Bradley nodded, taking another drink. His head was feeling lighter than normal, and inside, he heard Gnash chuckle a deep wolf laugh. "I heard much the same," he said. "Though I ain't one to believe ever thang I hear."

"Wise," Masters said, his eyes loose and glazed. "Say, you ever consider that your man, Wiggins, was driving one of those wagons that blew up in Eastvale? Blast that powerful, wouldn't be much left to identify."

Bradley cocked his head and paused in lifting his mug to his mouth. "Ya know," he said. "You could be rat, Masters. Fel-fire, I ain't never considered that 'fore." He scratched his head just as it buzzed inside with a deep growl Gnash.

"Masters!" Bradley hissed, reaching for his rifle. He'd left the bow behind for this trip, seeing how the odds of tangling with something worse than Goretusk was a distinct possibility. "Orcs!"

Masters turned and grabbed for his own, casually lifting the weapon and slamming a shell into place. "Figured as much," he said, slinging his shell bag over a shoulder. "Thought I heard em earlier while we were talking." He nodded toward a large boulder beside the main tent.

"Behind that," Masters said. "It'll keep us safe from rolling boulders." Bradley nodded as the pair scurried behind the rock, raising their rifles and taking aim into the darkness. Drunken howls of Orcish laughter floated down from above, accompanied by the crackling sounds of bouncing rock - each bounce growing louder and louder as it came closer.

"Duck!" Masters said, yanking Bradley down beside him. In that moment, a large boulder exploded off of the top of the one they were hiding behind, booming and cracking to the ground behind before ending it's journey in the lake with a loud, splashing woosh!

Cheers of "LOK'TAR!" floated down from the cliffs, and then glass shattering on the rocks just above them, as what sounded like a bottle being smashed.

"Dayum!" Bradley said, his eyes wide with shock, fear and excitement. "How often they do this?"

"YOU MISSED ME, YA BASTARDS!" Masters cried, then fired a shot into the dark - creating a ricochet sound from a rock. The cheers stopped, then another bottle crashed to the rocks - this time closer.

Masters ducked behind the rock and chambered another round, sending the empty cartridge clinking to the ground. He grinned at Bradley, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Every week or so," he said, taking two breaths then spinning to toss his rifle into a braced position on the boulder. "Three or four of em always pull some sort of stunt when they return from patrol." He chuckled as he peered through the scope. "Like a bloody game or something to em," he said. "Ahh, there ya are, you nasty vermin."

"KA BLAM!" and Masters ducked behind the boulder, chambering another round as howls of pain and curses rained down from above. There was also laughter, as one of the Orcs seemed to be laughing at the one who had been shot.

"I only winged him," Masters said, smiling at Bradley. "Your turn, mate, though I doubt they'll be so eager to show their hides again tonight."

Bradley stared at the Flight Master, then shook his head. "You enjoy this, don'tcha?" he said. Masters nodded and grinned.

"Damn straight," he said. "Bout all there is to do out here besides being a way station for griffons."

A whoosh came from over their heads, accompanied by a canvas-catching thump as something hit the tent, then clinked to ground at it's base.

"ALMOST!" Masters yelled, then laughed. "THAT WAS THE BEST ONE YET!"

"LOK'TAR!" a orc yelled from above, followed by a pair of orcish cheers.

"KA-BOOM!" Bradley's rifle replied, sending shards of rock shattering in the darkness above and quieting the cheering Orcs. He ducked behind the boulder and reloaded, bending down to gather his spent hull and shoving it into his possibles bag.

"I reload em," he said, noting the odd look Masters gave him. "Ain't no city payin for my ammo, Masters." The man nodded, then swung his rifle into position on the boulder.

Masters waited to fire, instead staring through his scope into the darkness. The cheers had faded to silence, replaced by croaking frogs from the lake's edge. "I think they're gone," he whispered, yet still scanned the rocks above.

Ten minutes passed before the pair dared to stand and look toward the top. Nodding, Masters turned toward the tent. "I wonder what they hit us with," he said, walking toward the camp. "That was the best toss they've ever made."

The bottle glimmered on the ground, unbroken and still sealed with a dark cork. "Well,well, well," Masters said, bending down to pick it up for inspection. "What do we have here?"

The dark, green glass still held a label - gold with bold letters that read, "Fidjit's Finest" bottled by the Bogpaddle Beverage Company.

And It was full.
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Thomas Jarington
Thomas Jarington
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Thomas Jarington

Re: John Bradford's Belt

Postby Thomas Jarington » August 10th, 2014, 3:35 pm

"Let me see that," Bradley said, reaching for the dark green bottle. Marsters handed it over once they were illuminated by the fire. "So that's what a bottle of Funk looks like," he said. He turned it around, read the label - even sniffed the cork. "I ain't ever seen one up close, before."

Marsters nodded. "I saw some when Oslo began making preparations for delivery," he said. "Even tried it, though I found it rather disgusting. Oslo loved it, though. Couldn't get enough of the stuff, from what I could tell." He sighed, bending down to poke the fire with a stick.

"Addicted," Bradley said. "Most of Lakeshire was." He looked toward the darkened location of where the Orcs had been. "I wonder where they got it from?" Marsters shrugged.

"Goblins, most likely," he said, taking the bottle from Bradley. "I'm sure they sold it to whomever wanted it."

"Maybe," Bradley said, his eyes still scanning the top of the rise. He pointed toward the top. "Ain't that where tha road heads to? The one I followed when I came here?"

"Aye," Marsters said. "Used to go all the way to Stonewatch, but the bridge was destroyed by Bravo Company when they fought the dragon."

"I see," Bradley said. "When did that happen? Think it was pre-funk?"

"Fel yea," Marsters said. "Way before that." He scratched his head. "Maybe a couple of years ago? Can't rightly say, now that you ask me. But I remember when they sent me here and it was after the battle.

"Huh," Bradley said, then nodded. "I reckon I oughta get up there and see what's what." He paused, then looked at Marsters.

"Wait, did you say that bridge is gone?"

"Yep," Marsters said. "Nothing left except timbers on each side, though it's been close to a year since I went up there. Maybe they built it back, who knows? However, I don't need an arrow in my back, that's for damn sure."

"Orcs?" Bradley asked.

Marsters nodded. "Yea," he said. "They crawl all over those ruins. Blackrock banners still hang on the thing, though the Orcs are thinned out a bit. They catch sight of ya, they'll send a hail of arrows your way sure as shootin'."

"If that bridge's out," Bradley said. "Why do those bastards even bother goin up there? Ain't like they can get into tha castle if the bridge IS gone."

Marsters shrugged. "Beats me, pal," he replied. "Like I said, I ain't going up there lest I have to."

"Whelp," Bradley said. "Nothin left ta do 'cept go and have a look-see." He sent a mental command to Gnash, who appeared eager to set his teeth into Orc flesh.

"I'd wait till sun-up, Chaucer," Marsters said. "No telling what's up there waiting for ya."

"If what you say's true," Bradley said. "I'm better off in the dark where they can't hit me with arrahs."

"Suit yer self," Marsters said, finding his mug and refilling it with ale from the cask. "But don't say I didn't warn ya."

Bradley pointed at his mug. "Keep that thang ready," he said. "I'll be needin me a drink when I get back." Marsters nodded and lifted his mug in salute.

"Good luck to ya," he said. "I'll keep the fire hot."


Bradley and Gnash eased themselves around the rocks, just off the road and watched. A hooting owl caught his attention, coming from a distance across the road and in the trees. If another owl hooted, he'd turn back, as an ambush was surely imminent.

There was no reply and Bradley let his breath loose. "C'mon," he whispered to Gnash, speaking out loud instead of mentally. "You go ahead of me and holler back if ya smell trouble."

Gnash yelped and trotted ahead, his large paws making no sound upon the crushed gravel of the old highway. The moon was low, yet still bright enough to illuminate the road. He saw weeds pushing through the rocks, yet noticed some were trampled. Orcs, he figured. Probably the same party who lobbed rocks at Marsters.

Their climb continued, gaining height above the camp - making the campfire seem like the flicker of a firefly. A night hawk screeched from overhead, but nothing out of the ordinary. Crickets chirped, as did other insects of the night - all indicating they were alone on the road.

I am here, Gnash said in his mind, as Bradley saw the large wolf stop along the road's edge. The path ends. Only sky remains. It is safe.

Bradley had learned early in their lives together that wolves, as well as other animals, had no concept of Human terminology for things. Sky was sky, whether it was above, below or in front. To men, it was empty space, a chasm or a long drop from a cliff.

To a wolf, it was sky; which also meant there was no bridge.

The dipping moon was bright enough for Bradley to see that Marsters was correct about the bridge timbers. Two large, wooden beams extended from the chasm's edge toward the other side, though for only a few feet - the ends shattered into splinters. However, it was not the beams that grabbed his attention.

Broken boards, shattered wagon wheels and metal lay strewn along the edge of the road. What had once been a wagon's bed now lay on it's side, turned in such a way as to create a backstop along the edge of the cliff. Crude circles were drawn on the bed's floor (now it's side), with holes and cuts inside the rings and out.

"Targets," Bradley whispered, seeing immediately that he was correct. He scanned the area, looking for not only movement, but details in his periphery. There seemed to be order in the destructive mess that created the end of the road. Wood panels, some splintered others solid, were gathered into piles - as if planned for a future camp fire.

It reminded him of a hunting camp, a place where the same group of men always gathered to share their kills, ale, stories and drunken fun. Like a playground.

Orcs waste like men, Gnash said in his mind. The place stinks of them and I am hungry to gnash my teeth into Orc hide. Bradley wanted to laugh, but the proximity to the shadowy outline of the looming fortress kept him quiet.

While the moonlight was bright enough to see what was there, it was not enough to make out the finer details needed for a full investigation of the site. That would require daylight, and if Marsters was correct, would also attract a hail of arrows from Orcs lurking about the fortress.

One thing was certain: he would need to make a diagram for Kingsley, as this was something the man would certainly want to see.

He squatted down to lift a small, rectangular panel from one of the wood piles, bringing it close to his eyes to inspect.

"Thin," he said to himself. "Planned and cut. A crate?" He turned it over and saw the words burned into the side

Bogpaddle Beverage Company

"Holy fel," he said louder than he intended, causing him to duck and look around. Nothing moved except Gnash, who prowled the perimeter. He lifted another, then another. Most had the same sort of writing, though many were broken and partial boards. "Guess this explains them bottles the Orcs toss at Marsters," he said.

But they had thrown one at them just a few hours ago, he thought. Where had that come from? As he moved around the playground (as he thought of it), a foul odor caught his attention, like that of a ripe outhouse left in the heat too long without cleaning.

He grimaced, wrinkling his nose and covering his mouth as he approached an unbroken crate. Flies buzzed around it and he saw the reason: a hole was punched into the box's top, which allowed the stench of orc feces to fill the air with it's noxious fumes.

"Damn Orcs," he said, gagging and stumbling away - trying his best to keep the stew and ale from spewing up. Doing so put him next to a boulder where several broken boards and wagon wheel spokes lay piled. As he leaned against the rock and gathered his wits, he picked through the planks to take his mind off of the Orc outhouse.

Moving three of the boards which lay on top, he discovered they covered another complete crate - this one open and containing a stack of thick, glass bottles with gold labels.

Funk, he thought, thankful it wasn't something worse. Looks to be five er so. He glanced around the camp and shook his head. "We'll I'll be damned," he said, crouching low on his haunches. It finally made sense, now that he'd found a crate marked, 'Bogpaddle Beverage Company,' with full bottles labeled, 'Fidjit's Finest.' The broken wagon, the shattered crates - the bottles.

"Must be our missin' wagon," he said to himself, lifting a bottle from the crate. Still corked, it looked ready to drink; IF he had such an inclination to do so. Which, of course, he didn't. Instead, he stuffed it into his pack, along with a plank that held the Company name - all evidence of what he'd discovered.

Using the fading light of the moon, he quickly drew a sketch of the site, marking where the major finds were located. Quick, crude, yet effective, he figured Kingsley would be able to consider what it all meant once they met again in Lakeshire. His job was to gather evidence and bring it back.

"Alrighty, Gnash," he whispered to his companion, who had quietly slipped up beside him. "Lets get ourselves back to Marster's camp 'fore them Orcs wake up and visit their playground again."

While annoyed he wouldn't have the opportunity to sink his fangs into an Orc, the large wolf agreed and in moments, the pair was slipping quietly down the former highway and toward Arlen Marster's Griffon post.
Thomas Jarington & Co.

Thomas Jarington
Thomas Jarington
Posts: 210
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Thomas Jarington

Re: John Bradford's Belt

Postby Thomas Jarington » August 13th, 2014, 2:06 pm

"You keep my ale cold?" Bradley said as he strode into Marster's camp. Gone for no more than two hours, he expected the flight master to still be drinking. Instead, the man was gone and the fire was nothing more than a flicker dancing atop charred oak.

"I reckon not,' Bradley said, placing his hands on his hips and looking around the camp. A rumbling, snorting sort of sound drew his attention to a nearby tent, where the flap was closed and a pair of boots sat just outside.

He laughed, shook his head and went to find his own ale, because Flight Master Arlen Marsters was sound asleep.

"You keep watch, Gnash," Bradley said as he poured himself a half-mug of the tasty ale. "I'm gonna have a swig and get me some shut-eye in that other tent. Kingsley wants us back today and I'd prefer to be rested when we sit down an' discuss what we've found."

'I will watch,' Gnash said in Bradley's mind. The large wolf was just outside the dwindling light of the fire, seated upon his haunches near the dock. 'Nothing moves except frogs. You sleep, I watch.' Bradley yawned, took a deep drink, then made his way to the other tent.

"Good," he said. "Wake me at noon. Kingsley n'er said what TIME."


Michael Bradford and Geoff Kingsley walked across the Lakeshire Bridge in silence, each deep in their own thoughts and both ignoring the glorious sunrise lifting itself over the Redridge Mountain range.

It had been a week since the trio broke company to follow individual leads on the missing Wiggins. Kingsley's mind was upon Bradley Chaucer, who was due back today after spending seven days in the wild exploring the Old Track. He also worried about Michael's silence, especially after their meeting with the villainous Four Fingers.

Michael had said nary a word since they left the Goblin resort, only chewed his newly purchased tobacco and spat whenever Kingsley asked a question. Nothing more. It didn't take an investigator to know that Michael was annoyed, but what bothered Kingsley was not knowing where the irritation was aimed.

I guess we shall find out soon enough, he thought as the pair turned onto the boardwalk toward the tavern. "Michael," Kingsley said as they passed the smithy. "I need to stop in at my office. I will meet you inside the tavern when I am finished. If Mister Chaucer is there, please have him wait until I arrive."

Michael spat a black blob of juice onto the boards and continued walking, not even bothering to glance at Kingsley. Angry, Kingsley thought. Not annoyed. Surely not at me?

"Right," Kingsley said, nodding once and stopping to watch Michael march toward the tavern. The man never turned. "Well, then," Kingsley added, then turned toward the city hall. "Reports it is."


It took more than three hours for Geoff Kingsley to transcribe his notes into a formal report for his Chief. He didn't mind, however, as it allowed his mind to focus more clearly on the findings. If what Fingers said was true, Wiggins was mentally damaged and could not plot the taking of the wagon, as well as killing the other teamsters.

But truth and assassins rarely saw eye to eye, and Kingsley doubted much of what the villain said. The wanted poster was interesting, yet added nothing to the case. It did hint toward evidence that Officer Grathier, or quite possibly the entire Stormwind City Guard, appeared to take more direct action into stopping criminal activities than before.

But proof they were involved with John Bradford's death? Not a chance; speculation at best.

Kinglsey leaned back in his wooden office chair and stared at the books lining his alcove. Is that what Michael's angry about? he thought, tapping his cheek with his pencil. The fact I do not see any evidence pointing toward the Guard?

He sighed. The people of Redridge were an independent lot, no doubt about that. Everywhere he had gone, they tended to want to do things their own way, leaving the local government out of it - especially Stormwind. Perhaps the lack of resolution around the Gnolls was to blame? He shook his head. No idea.

"But to go so far as to see proof that isn't there," he said to the books. "That just doesn't make any sense. If I lost my brother, I would certainly want to find the killer, but I would not want to prosecute and accuse an innocent man. Craziness."

"What's crazy, Constable?" a clerk said, having walked into the room unheard by Kingsley.

"Wha, what?" Kingsley said, startled and looking toward the clerk. "Nothing. Just talking out loud. Trying to finish my report to the Chief."

"Gotcha,' the clerk said. "He's in Stormwind at the moment, but leave it with me and I will see that he gets it."

"Right," Kingsley said, then added. "I have a question, if you do not mind." The clerk nodded and crossed his arms, waiting for the question.

"I have heard some disturbing news regarding a potential hit on a Stormwind City Guard," Kinglsey said. "Who should I address the letter to so that it travels through the chain as quickly as possible? I made a request for information a few weeks back and have yet to hear any word."

The clerk nodded. "The Chief has found that the Guard does not respond very well, or timely is a better word," the clerk said. "To requests made by local authorities. It has been a thorn in our sides for as long as I have worked here, and annoys the Chief to no end."

He lifted a finger. "That being said," the clerk added. "Captain Landreth is the commanding officer. Perhaps if you addressed it to him, they might take the matter more seriously."

Kingsley nodded and wrote the name on a notepad. "Captain Landreth," he said. "Got it. Thank you."

"No problem," the clerk said. "How is the investigation coming along? Any leads into who killed the teamsters?"

Kingsley nodded. "It is going quite well, I must say," he said. "The leads are few, yet solid. An inside job, most likely, and I will know more when one of my eyes returns from the field."

"Very good,' the clerk said. "I hope it works out for you. Good day, Constable Kingsley. You may leave your reports on my desk when you are finished."

"Right," Kingsley said, then turned to his desk - lifting a blank piece of parchment and placing it before him.

Captain Landreth
Commander - Stormwind City Guard

Captain Landreth,

My name is Constable Geoffrey Kingsley, Investigator under His Lordship, the Magistrate of Lakeshire - Redridge District.

During a recent investigation into the death of four teamsters who were killed delivering Funk before the moratorium, I came across a man who claimed to have had his thumbs removed by one of your officers. The thumbs were, indeed, missing and the man goes by the creative name of Four Fingers - currently residing in Bogpaddle.

He claims that your man, Officer Barnaby Grathier, cut them off and left him to die in the streets of Stormwind. He now seeks vengeance and vows to see Officer Grathier dead (or worse). He gave me a wanted poster from Booty Bay as proof of the thumb-cutters name.

Captain, I send this as a warning so that your officer can be on the look out for this villain. While lacking any sort of credibility whatsoever, the creature does seem intent on seeing Officer Grathier "Gets his own" and is rounding up a crew to see it done.

I hope you treat this with the utmost urgency, as it was quite apparent to me that Four Fingers means business and I fear for your officer's well-being. He is in grave danger.

Thank you for your time, Captain, and I hope this finds you well.

Highest Regards,

Constable Geoffrey Kingsley - Investigator
Township of Lakeshire - Redridge District

PS: If it isn't too much to ask, might you also be willing to look into an inquiry I made some time back regarding wagon shipments into and out of Redridge through Three Corners? The information is vital to my investigation into the mysterious deaths of the teamsters.

Thank you for your understanding and assistance. -GK

Kingsley re-read the letter, made a correction then signed and sealed the letter with wax, placing his signet into the stamp before it dried.

"There we are," he said, then stood and walked it, along with his report, to the clerk's desk. "The report is for the CHief and if I could have this sent to Captain Landreth immediately, I would greatly appreciate it."

The clerk took the two envelopes and placed them into the appropriate baskets. "The post is picked up in an hour, so it should arrive at the Garrison today." He looked up at Kingsley. "Is there anything else, Constable?"

"No," Kingsley said. "I will be in the tavern eating lunch. If you need me, You can find me there."

"Very good, sir," the clerk said. "Good day to you."
Thomas Jarington & Co.

Thomas Jarington
Thomas Jarington
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Thomas Jarington

Re: John Bradford's Belt

Postby Thomas Jarington » August 16th, 2014, 4:07 pm

Kingsley walked into the Lakeshire Tavern and discovered Michael and Bradley seated at a table drinking ale - discussing the events that occurred over the past week.

"Kingsley," Bradley said, lifting an ale in welcome. "Have a seat. Michael, here, was tellin me all about y'alls little trip to Bogpaddle." He chuckled, took a swig and smiled. "Life in a Goblin jail ain't all it's cracked up ta be, is it?"

"No," Kingsley said, taking a seat. "No it is not." He looked at Michael who refused to meet his gaze. "Fortunately Mister Chaucer, I was able to bail our lumberman out, though it cost me a small fortune."

"So he told me," Bradley said, glancing at Michael. "Oh, come off it, will ya? We's all friends. I reckon once Kingsley hears what I gotta say, he'll see things a bit differently."

"Oh? Kingsley said, smiling his thanks at the bartender who brought his drink. A new lady, one he had not met before. "I take it you found something?"

"I did indeed, Kingsley," Bradley said, sliding the open notebook in front of the investigator. "Quite a few things, in fact - all starting with a downed tree."

Bradley explained the felled tree, where he found it and how it had been cut to drop across the road. Showing the diagram, he explained the purpose, as well as Gnash's reasoning around funneling prey. "They was sent that way, Kingsley," he said. "Just like rats in a trap. N'er had a chance, neither."

Kingsley made notes of his own, redrawing the diagram into a format he could understand. "So an ambush, eh?"

Bradley nodded, as did Michael. The man seemed to be softening, Kingsley noticed, now that Bradley was talking. "That's rat," Bradley said. "Pretty as peach in a basket. They had ta go that way or they'd been stuck on tha road."

"Why did they not turn back?" Kingsley asked, tapping his cheek with his pencil. "Ah," he said, answering his own question. "They could not. The ambush had someone in the rear as well, driving them down the Old Track."

"Yup," Bradley said, leaning back in his chair. "Like I said, pretty as a peach."Kingsley nodded.

"What else do you have?" he asked, eyes drifting toward the bag lying on the table. Bradley flipped the page, showing the diagram of the Orc's playground while he emptied the contents of the bag. Michael's eyes widened as he reached for the bottle.

"Is that what I think it is?" he said, eyeing the label. "Dayum, it's Funk! Where'd ya find it, Brad?"

"Found this, too," Bradley said, showing the pair the board. "Says BBB Co. They was all over the place up there, just 'fore ya get to Stonewatch Keep - where the bridge once was."

Kingsley was looking over the diagram, then shot a look toward Bradley. "You found a wagon?" he said, tapping the place on the diagram. "Right here?" Bradley nodded, his face glowing with excitement.

"Yup," he said. "I found our wagon, Kingsley. Rat where I marked it. Orcs used it fer target practice. Been usin' that place fer all sorta things - like a camp er somthin'."

"A wagon," Kingsley stated. "Let us not jump to conclusions, Mister Chaucer. We do not know it was OUR wagon just yet."

"Fel yea we do, Kingsley," Michael said. "What else could it be, man?" He slammed the bottle of funk on the table, rattling the plates and candlesticks. "There was funk up there, marked crates and it was on the Old Track."

Kingsley nodded and sighed. "Yes," he said. "Those things are all there. But it does not make it OUR wagon. Only A wagon." He looked at Bradley. "Tell me what you saw, please."

Bradley explained the scene, including the Orc outhouse, which made Michael laugh and Kingsley chuckle. He described the incident with the boulders, the tossed bottle - the expedition to the bridge head. Everything he could remember was laid out on the table.

Kingsley asked questions, Bradley answered them and made observations of his own. Three hours passed, as the trio discussed, rehashed and tried to account for all that had been experienced.

When they finished, Kingsley looked at the pair and leaned back in his chair. "You saw no other wagons along the way?" he asked, taking a sip of his ale. "Nothing else that might indicate a different route?"

Bradley shook his head. "Nu uh," he said. "Just the tree and the camp at the bridge head."

"Right," Kingsley said, then reached for his notebook. "Well, between what Mister Bradford and I discovered, along with your findings, Mister Chaucer, I think I can formulate a theory, if you care to hear."

"One that says them guards are behind it, I hope," Michael said, taking a deep swig of ale. "Way I see it, they's guilty." Bradley looked at Michael, but didn't add anything to the comment, while Kingsley merely ignored him.

"From our research," Kingsley said. "It is quite evident that Wiggins had few friends, if any at all. Sure, he had accomplices and crew mates, but no real friends. Other than John, that is."

"He also, allegedly, was brain damaged and could not have planned and executed this hijacking - one so brilliant, that we would be left stumped for months, with barely a hint of who did the deed."

Kingsley took the last swig of his ale. "But I have my doubts about that allegation, considering where the information came from."

Bradley raised his hand to summon the barmaid. "Two pitchers of ale, miss," he said. "Looks like we're gonna be here a lot longer." As she left, he turned back to Kingsley, who was drawing another diagram which featured the locations of the evidence.

"Now, let's start with the facts," Kingsley continued, flipping back to the beginning pages of his notebook. "Three sets of remains, identified as John Bradford and company, were discovered scattered along the Old Track by Bradley Chaucer."

"That's rat," Bradley said. "Just off the road an around a shallah grave."

"Yes," Kingsley said. "We also know, for a fact, that they were delivering a load of twelve cases of Funk to Lakeshire. The delivery did not make it." Michael and Bradley nodded, staring at the notebook as Kingsley talked.

"We also know that they were NEVER late and always arrived on the same day, at the same time - every week."

"Like clockwork," Michael said, earning a nod from Kingsley and Bradley.

"We know that they were employed by the Crimson Lotus, hired by the Bogpaddle Beverage Company to deliver said goods on a regular basis to Lakeshire."

"We know that there was NO moratorium in place at the time of their disappearance," Kingsley added, flipping another page just as the barmaid appeared with two, large crockery pitchers filled with ale.

"Here ya be, boys," she said. "I'll be keepin a tab at the bar. Can I get ya some stew while ya work?"

"Their murder," Michael said, after telling the woman he wanted stew. "They was kilt, not disappeared."

"Very well, Mister Bradford," Kingsley said. "Killed, if you would prefer."

Michael nodded. "I would."

"Anyone else for stew?" the barmaid asked, earning 'ayes' from Kingsley and Bradley.

"The same night," Kingsley said, continuing his fact explanation. "A pair of Stormwind City Guards entered this very tavern and started a riot by stating that the shipment was not coming. This after one of the same Guards, a Barnaby Grathier, threatened Foreman Oslo a few weeks earlier with banning the Funk, prompting Oslo to create the Guardians of the Funk."

Kingsley flipped a page. "Furthermore, the other Guard during the riot, a Verin Blackcroft, confirmed that they were, indeed, the pair that started the riots; though he was vague as to how they actually knew the shipment was not coming."

"Lied ya mean," Michael said. "They knew and he lied about knowin'."

"Speculation, Bradford," Kingsley said. "Please, let me continue." Michael snorted and took another drink, but nodded in agreement.

"Thank you," Kingsley said.

"Now," he said. "As mister Chaucer has deftly shown, it is quite evident that John Bradford's wagon was more than likely forced to go down the Old Track by a felled tree. Which, as we know, was where three of the members met their demise and were buried - leaving Bill Wiggins missing from the grave."

"We know a wagon was found, along with the remains of various crates, as well as full bottles of the Funk. We also know that Orcs have been using the location where the wagon was found as some sort of hunting camp, continually harassing Arlen Marsters at Everstill Landing."

Kingsley reached for his drink, took a long drink and looked at the pair of Lakeshiremen. "Have I missed something?"

"Dayum straight you have," Michael said. "You ain't said nothin' about all those things that Guard's done, nor how he's a fel-blasted crim'nal!"

"None of which has any relevance to this case, Mister Bradford," Kingsley stated, earning a glare from Michael. "I understand your desire to find resolution in your brother's death, but blaming a man for the crime when no evidence to his guilt exists borders on ciminality in it's own right."

"The fel it does!" Michael said, turning his gaze toward Bradley. "You agree with me, dontcha?"

Bradley shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know what ta believe, Mike," he said. "I might not like Stormwind tellin us what we can er can't do, but Kingsley's rat, man. There just ain't no proof them Guard's done it."

He took a swig of ale. "An after I seen that camp an all," he continued, looking toward Kingsley. "I think I see where Kingsley's headin' and I tend to believe it."

Michael's mouth dropped open and he shook his head in exasperation. "For tha love of...!" he exclaimed. "You all's blind as deaf bats. Tha truth's starin right atcha and ya can't see it." He slumped into his chair, chewing his lip and shaking his head, just as the stew arrived.

"Westfall stew, pipin' hot from the cook pot." the waitress said, her accent lilting and melodious. Kingsley and Bradley accepted theirs with a warm thank you and a smile, while Michael stared at the bowl - his arms crossed, as he scowled at the table.

"Can I be gettin' ya anythin' else?" she asked, looking at the other two men, yet saving a concerned glance for Michael.

"No thank you," Kingsley said. "This is quite enough for now."

"Enjoy!" she said, bouncing back toward the kitchen. Bradley dug into his, dipping the accompanying bread into the bowl and swirling it around.

"Whats that theory of yores, Kingsley?" he asked, shoving the bread into his mouth and chewing it down. The rest of his words came out garbled, but Kingsley understood.

"I think it was Orcs that took the shipment," Kingsley said, dipping his round spoon into the bowl and sipping up the contents. He nodded and smiled as he swallowed. "They set the ambush and attacked the wagon, killing the three teamsters before being fought off."

Michael snorted. "Orcs," he said. "Why not Ogres?" Kingsley ignored him, gathering another spoonful of stew and slurping it down.

"Wiggins survived," Kingsley said, then took a sip of his ale, washing the stew down before continuing. "Since the Orcs had been run off, he hastily buried his companions, including his best friend Bradford. Seeing how shallow the grave was, he accomplished it as fast as he could, knowing the Orcs might come back."

"Or Gnolls," Bradley said, swigging a swallow of ale. "They probably heard tha shots and woulda come to have a look-see."

"Right," Kingsley said, dipping his bread into the stew. "Regardless, Wiggins would know his time was limited and he must move if he were to live." He ate the bread and glanced at Michael, who was still glaring at the two, though not as harsh as before.

"Because of the Guardians," Kingsley continued. "Wiggins would know that Foreman Oslo was planning to use Everstill Landing to deliver future shipments of Funk, once the Goblin transporter was in place. From what I gathered in Bogpaddle, it was nearing completion and the route through Duskwood would no longer be used."

"So," Bradley said, jumping into the conversation. "Wiggins high tailed it outta there and made fer Everstill. No way ta go back, cause that chopped tree." Kingsley nodded, taking another sip of his stew.

"Go on," Kingsley said.

"Therefore," Bradley said. "Tha only way he could get outta there and deliver the funk was across tha lake." He took a swig of ale, swirling his tongue around his cheek to get stuck stew from between his teeth. "But them Orcs were waitin fer him, kilt him and took tha wagon fer themselves up to that damned playground uh theirs."

"Very good, Mister Chaucer," Kingsley said. "Whether they killed Wiggins before they made it to their camp, after they arrived, or made him a slave - does not really matter at this point. Either way, based upon the known evidence, I think you are exactly correct."

"It was Orcs that were behind this entire tragedy," Kingsley said, leaning back in his chair with ale in hand.

Both men turned toward Michael. "What do ya think, Mister Bradford, Kingsley asked.

"Man," Bradley added. "I can't see no other way this went down."

Michael sighed, the lifted his spoon to eat the cooling stew. "Still don't explain how them Guards knew it weren't comin." Michael said, taking a sip of stew before continuing. "How'd they know if they didn't do it?"

"Perhaps they saw what happened," Kingsley said, sipping his ale. "But were unable to help. Two Guards against a hunting party of Orcs would not go well for the Guards."

Michael shook his head. "Dayum, Kingsley," he said. "Guards is 'sposed to protect us, not run away like cowards. They was four men on that wagon. Two Guards and four teamsters woulda handled them Orcs like they was kittens."

He pointed his spoon at Kingsley. "You talk about loose threads, Kingsley," he said. "Well, this is a long un. Common sense tells me it was them and Orcs had nothin ta do with it."

"Evidence says it was not,' Kingsley stated. "All signs point to the Orcs, Mister Bradford. So much so, that I am near convinced it was them. If Mister Chaucer had found the remains of Bill Wiggins at the camp, I would be completely convinced."

"I gotta say, Mike," Bradley said. "I am too, pal. I'm gonna go with them Orcs as the ones that done it." He held up a hand to stop Michael's protest. "Yea, I know there's still a few of them threads hangin out there, but the signs point to Orcs."

Bradley shrugged. "I'm sorry about yer brother, man," Bradley said. "I really am. Sorry fer all them poor souls that got slaughtered out there just doin their jobs."

"I feel the same, Mister Bradford," Kingsley said. "It is a damn shame that they were killed the way they were. While most were not Azeroth's finest, they were still people; People who had families, stories and lives of their own. To die in such a manner is a tragedy." Bradley nodded as Kingsley spoke, carefully watching Micael, who's eyes were tearing up.

"However, Michael," Kingsley said. "I think the time has come to put this horror to rest. We have spent months looking for the villains who did this deed, and now?" He nodded. "I think we have a logical conclusion, supported by the evidence at hand, that holds up to scrutiny."

Michael continued to eat his stew, not saying a word - only staring at the table as if lost in memory. Bradley watched the lumberman, then turned toward Kingsley as the investigator pushed his chair back from the table.

"Right," Kingsley said, then stood and extended his hand toward the Hunter as Bradley stood as well. "Thank you for your invaluable assistance, Mister Chaucer. Had you not found John Bradford's Belt to begin with, we would have never known what happened to those four men."

Bradley shook Kingsley's hand. "It were a pleasure, Kingsley," Bradley said. "I ain't never been an investigator before. Was kinda fun lookin fer evidence, though not regardin a friend an all. Ifn ya ever need another hand, give me a holler. I'd be glad to help."

Kingsley nodded. "I'll do that, Mister Chaucer," Kingsley said. "You helped bring closure to difficult situation, and that makes it worth the effort." Bradley nodded, but remained quiet as Kingsley turned toward the sullen Michael Bradford.

"Michael," Kingsley said. "I know it was not the outcome you had expected, Mister Bradford, but I am glad w were able to discover a logical conclusion to this tragic moment in your life. I wish you well."

Michael looked up at Kingsley and nodded, but did not smile. "Thanks, Kingsley," he said. "I'll come round tomorrow and thank ya proper-like, but at the moment? I just wanna be alone with this an let it sink in. Lot to digest, ya know?"

Kingsley nodded. "I understand, Mister Bradford." He tipped his brown, wide-brimmed hat to the man. "Then I will take my leave."

"Good day to you both," Kingsley said, turning away from the table and leaving the tavern - putting an end to his most daunting case to date. With every step taken toward the door, came reflections:the challenges, the assumptions he tried to avoid - the disparity between fact and common sense reasoning.

In the end, he felt he had done his best to leave opinion out of the mix. So much of the case had been circumstantial, leaving them with few facts to go on. However, the ones they had uncovered proved useful, allowing them the opportunity to reach a logical conclusion.

One that he could live with and be proud of.

Orcs had killed the doomed teamsters, having set an ambush to capture the ill-fated delivery. There was no conspiracy by the Stormwind City Guard. No cover-up, no personal vendettas - only an interesting little thread around how the Guards knew that the delivery was not coming.

In that, Michael Bradford was correct: it was long enough to still niggle in the back of Kingsley's mind, though more from curiosity than concern; something to make note of and move on, as he liked to say.

As Geoff Kingsley walked through the Lakeshire Tavern's door, satisfied at the outcome - he heard emotion burst forth from John Bradford's brother, as Michael finally broke down and burst into tears.

Micahel had found closure, and that made Kingsley smile.

-The End-
Thomas Jarington & Co.

Geoff Kingsley
Geoff Kingsley
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Joined: May 23rd, 2014, 8:23 pm
Geoff Kingsley

Re: John Bradford's Belt

Postby Geoff Kingsley » September 2nd, 2014, 3:03 pm


Two weeks had passed since Geoff Kingsley had proclaimed the case of John Bradford's death solved. Michael had come by his office the next day, as promised, to say his thanks, as well as apologize for his behavior toward Kingsley and the Stormwind City Guard.

Bradley Chaucer had come as well, once again to offer his services should they ever be required, and to express his appreciation, once again, for being able to participate. Clearly, the man needed work, but Kingsley kept that to himself. Instead, he thanked mister Chaucer for his dedication and efforts into cracking the case, wished him well and sent him on his way.

Unfortunately, he could not do the same for his Chief, who insisted upon reports in triplicate regarding the case and demanded they be on his desk within the hour - even if they took two weeks to complete.

Therefore, Kingsley found himself sitting in a small, hard, wooden chair in front of his Chief's desk while watching the man read his triplicated report.

"Orcs, you say?" the Chief said, lifting his eyes to peer at Kingsley from over the top of the report. The man was large and filled the space behind the desk quite dramatically, making Kingsley seem tiny by comparison. Kingsley nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. "The evidence clearly points in that direction."

The Chief snorted, smirked and changed pages. "And they ambushed the delivery, took the Funk and now fling it Arlen Marsters, the Everstill Flight Master?"

"Ah, yes, Chief," Kingsley said, this time with not quite as much fervor. "That is what I have discovered. The Orcs seem to think it a game."

"A game," the Chief said, placing the paper on the desk and removing his reading glasses. "I see. Well, Kingsley, I must say that this has been a most interesting read. Stormwind Guards staring riots, orcs playing toss the bottle with Alliance flight masters; and a woman named Glory?" The Chief shook his head. "Quite the case."

"Indeed," Kingsley said. "And her name was Glorfindle, sir. She only called herself Glory."

"Of course," the Chief said, stacking the report and shoving it onto a stack of other reports. "Well, Kingsley, now that you have concluded this case, I fear I have a bit of bad news."

"Bad news, sir?' Kingsley said, cocking his head. The Chief nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I am afraid so. You see, Kingsley, the district is in a bit of a bind. Lack of industry and all that, you know. Even a lack of crime."

"That sounds like a good thing, sir,' Kingsley said. "The lack of crime, I mean."

"Oh, most assuredly," the Chief said. "The town is as safe as it's ever been. Unfortunately, with no industry to speak of and tourism being down, well, having the luxury of an additional constable on hand to find missing cows..."

"Ah, Kingsley said. "I'm being sacked."

The Chief shrugged. "Bad luck, Kingsley," he said. "I hate to loose you. That report was first rate, as was the investigation. However, this comes straight from the top, so my hands are tied on this one, mate. Not a thing I can do."

Kingsley nodded, snapped his notebook closed and shoved into his shirt pocket. "Well, then" he said, standing. The Chief stood as well. "I suppose I will gather my things."

"No need for that, Kingsley," the Chief said. "I'll have them brought to your room this afternoon."

"Severance?' Kingsley asked, his mind trying to wrap itself around the notion that he was no longer employed. "I would expect some sort of pay to be forthcoming."

"Of course," the Chief said, nodding with compassion. "The Magistrate has granted one month from today, payable every week and directly into your account in Stormwind. I tried for two, Kingsley, but one was all he would grant."

"Very generous," Kingsley said, extending his hand to shake the Chief's. "Thank you, sir, for the opportunity."

"The honour has been mine, Kingsley," the Chief replied, shaking hands with his now former constable. "Chin up, lad, and good luck."

And with that, (former) Constable Geoffrey Kingsley found himself on the boardwalk, without a job and his dream of following in the great Captain Spero's bootsteps squished like a roach. A nasty business all around, and he felt even worse.


Two days came and went, leaving Kingsley alone to wallow in his misery while he unboxed his things from his former 'corner' office. Books, mostly, with a few odds and ends thrown in. Trinkets, mainly - little things one collects while out and about, then places them on a desk to admire.

He was just about to open his favourite book, when a knock came on his studio door accompanied with the local drawl that announced the visitor as none other than Bradley Chaucer.

"Hey, man," Bradley said, peeking his head into the small, rented space above the tavern. "I heard you been canned. That rat?"

Kigsley sighed, nodded but did not turn. "Come in, mister Chaucer," he said. "And yes, I was relieved of my duties with the township."

"Dayum," Bradley said. "That down-rat sucks. Sorry, man. You was a good in-vestogater, Kingsley. Theys gonna miss ya, mark mah words." If they had been outside, Kingsley was certain there would have been a large splatter of tobacco juice being sent toward the ground with a squishy, 'splat'.

"Right," Kingsley said, swiveling in his swivel chair and facing Bradley. "Nothing to be done. Times are tough, supposedly, tourism you know. Or lack thereof."

"Tur-isem?" Bradley said, scrunching his face into a frown. He scratched his bushy beard. "Huh. N'er thought this place much of uh turisty type a town. You reckon theys just tellin ya that ta make ya feel better?"

Kingsley chuckled. "Most assuredly, mister Chaucer." He snapped his favourite book shut, the one about talking cows and placed it back on his desk. "All water under the bridge. Time to move on."

"That's tha spirit, Kingsley," Bradley said. "Whatchya gonna do now? Werk fer yerself?"

"I have considered returning to Stormwind," Kingsley said, leaning back in his swivel chair. It creaked and complained against the misuse of it's leaning capability. "I learned about a job delivering meals to elders who cannot cook for themselves. They call it, Meals on Wagonwheels.' Kingsley shrugged. "Sounds promising."

Bradley stared at Kingsley, narrowing his eyes and chewing over the words he'd just heard. Then, he threw his head back and burst into laughter. "Meals on wagon wheels!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "Dayum, Kingsley! That's a good-un! You really had me goin there, man. Deliverin food to elders. HA!"

"I happen to like elders," Kingsley said, his tone sounding hurt. "It is a legitimate opportunity and," he said, lifting a finger, "A much needed service. Did you know, that most elders cannot even open a package of wild boar jerky by themselves, let alone cook a pot of westfall stew."

"Yer serious," Bradley said, his mouth open in shock after he stopped laughing.

"Of course," Kingsley said. "The population is aging, mister Chaucer, and people need their meals. It will be steady work and no more need to worry about being sacked."

"Naw," Bradley said, shaking his head. "You'd just keel over from boredom, instead."

Ifn' ya wants to re-tire," he continued. "Why not take up fishin er somethin lack that? Least you'd be doin' sump-um interestin' insteaduh wastin' away deliverin' food ta elders an shit."

"I hate fishing," Kingsley said.

"An I hate dealin' with cranky old bastards who can't hear ya well enough ta know whatcha sayin," Bradley retorted, then pointed a finger at Kingsley. "Yer too good ta be callin it quits in the investigatin' bidness, Kingsley."

Bradley shrugged. "Why not toss out yer own shingle, man," he said. "Be yer own boss an all. Fel, I'll even work with ya as an assistant. Not lack there's any need fer hunters round these parts, anyways."

"Tourism's down," Kingsley said with a playful smirk.

"Dayum straight, man," Bradley said. "Fuckin' tourists. Always ruinin' shit."

Both men laughed. "Start my own business, you say?" Kingsley said after the laughing died down.

"Yea, Kingsley," Bradley said. "Let folks pay ya to find their shit for em." He waved a hand. "Ain't lack tha Magistrate's gonna use his folks to look for anything that don't help the magistrate, anyway. But you?" he said, pointing a thick finger at Kingsley. "Folks'll pay you plenty."

"Us, you mean," Kingsley said. "You did say you wanted to work with me. So, people will pay us."

"Rat!" Bradley said. "Us! I lack tha sound uh that, Kingsley. Not here, though. Not enough work."

"Tourism," Kingsley said compassionately.

Bradley chuckled. "Yup," he said. "Fuckin' tourists."

"Day-um straight," Kingsley mocked, causing Bradley to launch into another round of laughter.

"What do you think of Stormwind, mister Chaucer?" Kingsley asked. "It is a large city, capitol of the Kingdom and all. I am certain we can find plenty of business there."

"Can't stand tha place, Kingsley," Bradley said. "But yer rat about bidness. Lots a folks there, lotsa problems, too, I reckon. I'm game."

"Right," Kingsley said. "Stormwind it is, then. What about a name?"

"Yer the in-vesto-gater, Kingsley," Bradley said. "I'm just helpin ya. Name it what ya think's rat."

Kingsley took out his notepad, flipped it open and began writing names that the pair brainstormed into being. Some he crossed off before even saying them out loud, others he circled as showing promise.

"Okay," Kinsgley said. "How about, 'Kingsley, Chaucer and Gnash'?"

"Naw, man," Bradley said. "I heard a trio uh bards, once, with a name lack that. Old bastards, too. Naw, toss that un. Leave my name off, too. This is yer baby, Kingsley. I'm just tha sidekick."

"Very well," Kingsley said, scratching out the name. "What about Stormwind Investigations?"

Bradley wrinkled his nose. "Nu uh," he said. "Borin' as deliverin' meals ta elders. Get rid uh that un, too." The large hunter found a chair, dusted the non-existent dust from the seat and flopped down to sit.

Kingsley sighed and scratched the name out. That had been his favourite.

"You need ta have yer name in it, Kingsley," Bradley said. "So folks'll know who they's dealin with an all."

"Ah," Kingsley said. "Of course, though it does sound a bit pompous, wouldn't you say? Geoff Kingsley's Stormwind Investigations?" He shook his head. "I am not certain I like the sound of that."

"Tha last parts kinda dull," Bradley said. "But yer name in it sound fine. The back part should say what sort of shit you do. Like, people findin, or fact findin, or criminal bustin. Something lack that."

"Criminal busting?" Kingsley said, then nodded. "Right. Okay, here is one: 'Geoff Kingsley's Private Investigations'. What do you think about that?"

"Better," Bradley said after thinking for a moment. "Shore sounds closer, though not quite rat, ya know? Somp-um's missin'." He snapped his fingers. "I got it! How bout, 'Mad Dog Detectives?"

Kingsley lifted an eyebrow. "Mad Dog Detectives? How is that close to what I said a moment ago?"

"It ain't," Bradley said. "But it shore as fel sounds good, rat? I remembered that fellah kilt in the wagon. They called him Mad Dog and we shore n'er forgot it, neither."

Kingsley rubbed his chin. "No," he said. "That is one name we never forgot. However, what does it have to do with a detective agency?"

"Not a dayum thang, Kingsley," Bradley said, grinning. "That's tha beauty of it, man! Sounds fierce! Nasty, lack you'd n'er give up tha search - just lack a mad dog on a bone!"

Kingsley nodded, writing the name down several times, in several different ways. "You know, Mister Chaucer," he said. "I think I like it. What if the sign read like this: 'Mad Dog Detectives', then underneath, it read: 'Geoffrey Kingsley & Associates, Private Investigators'?"

"Naw,' Bradley said. "Just Geoff Kingsley, and use PI insteada spellin it out. Sounds more, I don't know, Mad Dogish."

"Right," Kingsley said, drawing out the sign. "Geoff Kingsley, PI," he said and nodded, showing the sketch to Bradley.

"Yea, man," Bradley said. "That's it. Perfect! We can use Gnash as the image, growlin' lack when he's after an Orc's ass."

Kingsley chuckled. "This will work," he said. "Thank you for your assistance, Mister Chaucer." He snapped the notepad shut, stood and moved toward the door.

"Now," he continued. "We should make our way to Stormwind and secure a location. After bailing Mister Bradford out of jail, my funds are somewhat limited. Therefore, I am thinking a lower rent place to start."

"Fel, Kingsley," Bradley said. "Mad Dog Detectives hasta be low rent, man. Them thangs don't live in no palaces, an all."

"Of course," Kingsley said, stopping to face Bradley. He extended his hand. "To Mad Dog Detectives, Mister Chaucer. May our cases be plentiful."

Bradley shook his hand. "To Mad Dog De-Tectives, Kingsley," he replied. "Sounds lack it should be tons us fun!"

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the exact 'attraction denial game' is a vintage bet on passionate chase played out by - we combined with critters as well. you'll understand it as simply the push: people are interested in what the world thinks we can't possess. mike often is attracted to Julia absolutely he shifts path of the. your girl genuinely fascinated totally transfers through. bringing the warning, mike supports with a towel and simply can stop using your lady. the second Julia knows he has ceased following your sweetheart's, your develop into then attracted to your pet and consequently can start your sweetheart's pursuit. once he takes action really but also your involvement proceeds, fabulous! if it's not, process continues to duplicate themselves often. It step of your life fine balance, unfortunately. in case, as an example, mike didn't get this sign the novice and performed when you need to continue Julia without regard to your ex disinterest, Julia will be in order to feeling you can find, potentially insecure. creditors she would quite possibly leave, or just deliver tiger seriously frank, Animalistic "back again again the specific hell through" symptoms. your site take a walk a little difference when it comes to courtship and after that a relationship. pursuit too difficult and you may lady released. support too quickly along with he will probably give up adhering to you actually.

RELATIONSHIPSLovers holds one another's look for a much extended period period whenever they'd now with one another or people; within "home warm" gaze, the head could be susceptible slightly directly. anytime two individuals are in relationship and also can be attracted to one another, an individuals students dilate (get to be a great deal larger) if they are in one another's attractiveness. if you realize the being perched around her or his gloves within a competition, it means he is attempting to control what is being subtracted from the mans oral cavity. This does not always mean he is sleeping; more often than not, he knows he could be treading with regards to slim e, therefore your dog is as especially diligent do not misstep. if you think she has keeping up with going on too long fixing their gaze regrettably supplies the girl's branches folded in front of chest together, is likely to propose she plans to go to you inside fine topic that makes him clumsy, other than will terrified to see it up. money certainly her facial expression fit along with her spoken statements (She really should be happy whenever she says "I accept you, not only frowning.)

accessibleESSWhen a person is that it is on top of that honourable you have made, the availability of precise traits should certainly replicate psychological and mental character. the individual chnlove scam won't have any an area of the body crossed in any respect. the main wrists and hands are going to be satisfied, most likely motioning, potentially "talking to her hands and wrists, within order to underscore the ex statements. The leg holes are either sitting sideways or maybe even extended unprejudiced. seated "native american elegance" important event open, having faith in stance. If that person is contemplating about you, Her feet may well sharpened both sideways or even precisely over you can. She will maintain direct eye-to-eye contact. somebody 's quiet on top of that free, that person no worries removal jacket. Now aren't getting just about any freaky principles i am indicating the removal of fashion in order to get bare-skinned (in spite of come to consider it, practical goal excluding the possibility) come on, man eradicating a jacket or helping to loosen a complement are precursors that an individual is at ease with you.

DEFENSIVENESSWhen personal will be on their defend and so experience in danger, folks soar inside of "fight or flight" alert. your body's cells will case important areas and also patches of susceptability. its chin might well be lower chnlove real or fake preserve neck of, typically sex organs are protected through process of entered leg holes, The hands possibly be surpassed surrounding the chest, preserving along with the. another defend of the seat is when making on your own develop scaled-down. in this situation, the patient could appear to shrink in keeping with herself, fingers cuddling pectoral, bearing styling appropriate ball. we cannot accomplish invisibility, but nonetheless,but nevertheless,on the contrary by designing by themselves slighter we are hoping our predator shouldn't observe us all, Or we will never be adequate enough to make your canine to assist you to ingest in the time of panic or anxiety attack. i will tighten back up, to some extent to get ready today's tendons for a physical combat, to some extent to get around associated with abrupt, Jerky actuations that will take eye.

DECEITIf, through a disagreement or maybe assessment, your wife actually isn't confident in order to telling the truth, she'll illustrate to sign post towards disbelief on tugging for my child headsets, take off the girl opinion, along with routinely searching now. if or when the girl with being untruthful, having said that, he may lick jane's lip area or perhaps a stage give them lip area. you see, the spontaneous thought guiding it kind of response is actually she is attempting to cover your lady deceit, or possibly deter fact faraway from leaks for, times phsically disguising where her test is via. As I mentioned above, somebody is responsible and approaching very own palm quite often reflect this basically lodging open up and apparent; additionally, When folk have something to cover they will often hide an individuals paws, either of them made by banking your kids inside purses and / or maybe taking away it based on long fleshlight sleeves. this body gestures shall be pointed off you, or possibly she properly website accessories between two of you wherever she can, prefer a coffe beans cup, the sunday paper, also a pet. the main thing, be certain to tune in to your soulmate's opinion. functioning more affordable and to the left when we are fabricating, upwards and to the right when we are recollecting. soon we will be having the device to good consider.

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Postby ShaneEnuMb » July 29th, 2019, 8:03 pm

What black bride to be did donnie date

Is Donnie Wahlberg getting to know Stephanie?

I Donnie Wahlberg am not personals Stephanie, helen, Aubrey O' Day, Natalia or any of my women's Costar's. I am online dating Danielle Tanguay, Yes we met off Twitter and no we are not planning a wedding, Who ever announced is wrong, We only started dating February 2011. If you're really fans and love me as much as i love you, You will stop asking her and myself about the slide, say thank you, very seriously this has to stop. Love endless, Donnie Wahlberg ( Full pickup )

What should you do when I am an Asian man and are only sexually interested in black women and I am dating a black woman but if my parents knew they would disown me?

If you are living in an Asian country you then know your own culture well and that sons in Asian families are highly regarded; Should be well educated and successful if possible and marry inside their own race. furthermore, Asians do not think kindly of black people you utilize nice they are. You said you are just dating black women and not once mentioned love. there isn't anything wrong with anyone dating a black woman especially if they are no longer a minor and not under the control of their parents. yet still, you have to be more honest with yourself and ask yourself why you feel the need to always date black women and why you don't date Asian women or even Caucasian women. Are you riding on the myth that black women are more sexual than other races or there is some other reason. You have two choices for anybody who is Westernized; Be vietnamese lady sure you love a black woman before hurting your parents and if you are in love then take the risk and tell them you love her and hopefully they will agree to meet with her and if they do not then you will need to walk away from your parents and hope they come around in the future or, 2 improve your habits and start dating Asian women. it is now far more acceptable now regarding mixed marriages. There is nothing your mother and father can do now that you are a man, But disown people. ( Full method )

How up to a woman?

Ahh, blogging about women myself, Ill tell yo what i will need. I would want you in all honesty with me, and loyal. Dont look at other women because we will deliberate it for the next month. We love visible too, some hugs, kisses, Snuggeling, And holding hands through day. the key thing is to make sure she knows u love her. Tell her you love her or your contemplating her often. My advice DONT WATCH IT IF UR UNDER 13 Woman in black is about a lawyer who goes on a business trip and has no hotel room do then he goes to an old house that an old lady stats there and she kills little ones ( Full formula )

is there an moral of the woman in black?

If there was one I'd be hard pressed to know what it was. You could say that in the end when Radcliffe and his little boy (who had been quite bluntly, murdered) Are reunited with his wife that it has some type of bittersweet end message, But what that message is 's still lost to me. ( Full reason )

Is sara lee a black young lady?

Sara lee, As in their energy brand, Is named after the daughter of one of the manufacturers (Charles Lubin). The daughter has never actually been part of the companhy, it is just her name which has been borrowed for marketing purposes. However if you take the character Sara Lee to be completely based on the daughter of Charles Lubin, It seems likely that she is not black on the foundation that her father is white. ( Full explanation ).

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Postby Walterwaimb » August 11th, 2019, 10:40 am

Why do white roscoe women only date white men

why do black men like white women?

It was because down through the years of racism and slavery black men were not allowed to have any contact with White women. So when they became free they went after the white women because it was like they were so quite as good as Black women (And you women currently know how stupid men can be). (Trust me my daddy did the same principle). But practically nothing is better than to have a Black women but the black men were too dumb and brainwashed to know what was true. Then again like that other person said Black men just got tired of the ignorance being put up by them so they just wanted to try a White woman. an additional view: perhaps it is insecurity. Secure people date to their own race and want to preserve their own culture. Black men who date White women could be suffering Stockholm Syndrome to want to date their own abusers and those who find themselves racist against them. White female culture has passivity ingrained in it. So many Black men are raised to be insecure and psychologically weak and to hide it with grotesque displays of dominance and violence. So in them, White women are merely another conquest, that you dominate and use up. weight loss supplements see self hate in the White women they do attract. They commonly depressed/mental, On supplements, ugly, Or relatively obese, So they turn to any man that show them attention, despite of ulterior motives. ( Full pick up )

it's usually in part because of stereotypes about various attributes such as their athletic abilty and genital size. I'm a White girl who likes Black men and it's simply a decision, Like individuals who like blondes. It's nothing original, It's destination. hereditary on earth has their own turn ons and offs, Black men just turn some people on. ^^ equal here! Black men are just HOT and yeah black Americans are HOTTER the direction they walk and talk is great! ( Full take )

Why white most women like black men?

I am currently utilizing mid class interpretions,Career campaigns,Engineering and nursing prearranged visits. I am beneficial too,helps improve voluntering. I might take up voluntering a next 2 more years but i need a job quick before i loose everything. My car was down and out so they took it away. I need another car too,my home is a 2 storage house and i am single. I won't present you my age but i am in my middle 50's. I am a white woman living likely to be as i can. But ASIAME to reply your question,I am really fascinated by dating a black men. regardless of dark or brown or light. I have lived in a ebony asiame scam neighborhood and its really not all that bad. But i recommend peace,The noise wasn't so bad but it was fun too. the reason is,I don't know how to open up as much if I'm in a interracial marital. i prefer hispanic men,Asian and also black men. I would date one regarding. Black these are self absord,Calmed and largly privately. doesn't meam they are like white men. Like bragging about how much popular they are in the usa,How people in mexico,Asians,Koreans and Japanese are on side,How white is most beneficial and stuff. Black men are more nicer and don't show favoritism. So i like that disposition trait. narrow models look great i love black men. ( Full pick-up )

Do white girls like Asian men?

definitely, The question should really be is why are there so much imbalance between Asian men with white women couples compared to Asian women with white men couples? A good looking person is a good looking person notwithstanding race, So I don't even think race rrs really a factor. Or if it is because of culture or both, But it's said that many non Asian Americans can't separate Asian Americans and asians from overseas. Many of these Asians have not really improved on better reflection of asians (Asian women are employed a lawyer slightly better, But it's diverse). rather than trying to represent asians fairly, (Many of whom are talent agents) have made things worse like M. Night's The Last Airbender and Dragonball progress director James Wong. Even Sony footage (who is responsible for owned by Asia) Haven't been which represent asians either (Except people who are produced for Asian audience). it had a poll taken for men of all races about their sexuality, And about 70% of Asian men say they don't understand their own sexuality. ( Full react )

Do white men love black men and women?

Can a white man love a black girlfriend? of, quite devotedly. i will address this in general. also, There are always conditions. Some white men preffer black women mainly because they find the type attractive. Some white men attempt to date any race of woman if she is also willing. Asian most women are "practically white" and as such is may be acceptable. Black brides are black. as well as, they come with associations of poverty, the specific ghetto, volume, Tackiness, low femininity, And dangerous social status. I'm sorry if this sounds offensive, But this has been my experience when controling many white males. This white man LOVES big black chicks, slightly more the merrier, ( Full handle )

Do white men date black young women?

not, Me and my white friends sort of see it as taboo and if my friend was dating a black chick i would give him SO MUCH $% for it and I'm not even sure why. Its not even the interracial thing as much as it is simply the cultural differences between black women and black men. The white men I know who marry black women do so because they don't give a crap about race. They like a woman, Find her attractive and pleasant to get along with, And fall in love. Cultural differences abound in every romance relationship, no matter what "go, I'm married to a man who grew up 4000 miles away me. He hard drives me nuts, once in a while, regarding his stupid accent, And his elbows revealed, And his love of bowling. But I'm crazy excited about him. ( Full help answer )

What should a black women who grow up in a very dysfuntional famly and has only dated white men would a black man be more expertise in her childhood or does it not matter?

I'm sure it's possible that a black man can relate more to your family and cultural environment, But that doesn't mean that black men are more suited to you if you prefer white men. The right man is out there, Be he black or white or some race, And you shouldn't settle for anything less than a man who truly loves you for who you are deep inside your soul. ( Full address )

Do white men appreciate Hispanic women?

many times I think they choose to date Hispanic women if they appeal to them. Some are convinced that white women are too uptight and dramatic (regardless of whether not all white women are like that). They always get ready their husband, son, little girl, Or any other family member regardless of how hard things get if they know they can fix their problems. ( Full pick up )

counseling,why latin women marry white men?

Many needs 1 For white men (in the usa), The culture differs. Many Latinos EXPECT the manner in which Latin women treat them. because aren't used to it, Many white men instead regards. Women should try to be secure. Not hard ascertain. 3 I know commonly that Latinas view white men as trophies, Again for reasons uknown, But probably primarily due to 2. 4 generally, People are attracted to different things than them. This is smart for genetic diversity. 5 mistrust. Many Latin for women who live told me that most Lations will cheat on you, while most Gringos will not. Not research, But I have heard this from more than a few Latin women. no matter if its true or not, What matters is consider its true. ( Full fix )

how come black women hate it when white women date black men?

you can find many efforts to answer this question; sad to say, Most of them have been responses that give credence to now asked. is not a credence to it. It's a stereotype that can be true in some very small numbers. If a black woman is getting this sentiment, She is also ignorant and judging on the shallow, light,light. The express 'Why do black women.' infers that basically the view all black women. Any question about human behavior that infers a behavior for an entire group might be wrong. ( Full understand )

exactly why do people black men date white women?

basically White Women often treat Black Men better, And will usuallygive them the time of day; Not inviting Money, Or music thingslike most Black Women do. Black Men want a romantic relationship with aFamily, And aside from having substantive lower Abortion Ratesthan Black Women, White Women will be more approachable, certainly not asShallow, Materialistic and is always to be able to make sacrifices,Doing what it takes to make her man Happy. For a white individual introducing themselves in theNavajo way, The clan names are generally "Bilaganna" Since whites do nothave a clan methodized ancestry. The Navajo are a matriarchalsociety with inheritance passing over the female lineage, Hencethe fact that the mother's and grandmother's information beinggiven deferential placement in the introduction. ( Full address )

why is it that black men get white women?

there are several reasons why black men 'get' white women, as well as:.

The man may have a winning personality and can treat a lady..

People have a basic attraction to certain traits of anyone else of the gender they prefer.. These needs most often have nothing to do with sex; they sometimes are needs of status, electric powered, Or even the requirement to be mothered or to mother.


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