Durok

Shotgun Diplomacy

**The following is based on a true story.
To protect the identities of those involved, some names have been changed.**

Dusk had begun to fall over Durotar and still the oppressive heat of that place clung to every stone. The shops, stands, hawkers and pushers were rotely making their tallies and working men stumbled back to their hovels. The groaning machine of industry was again settling into its quieter patterns. Nestled somewhere in that urban sprawl was a building cluttered with rounds, shells, powder kegs and dynamite sticks. It was a small and spartan space, decorated only by racks and shelves and the lengthening shadows of sunset.

"Evening," came a man's raspy voice from the doorway.

"We're closed," Durok said flatly, not bothering to look up past his bushy eyebrows from the ledger on his desk.

This was merely a flirtation. The more urgent the need, the more persistent the customer. Urgency demands a premium in the arms trade.

Bare bones clacked on the dusty floor as the creature approached unfazed.

"I need another crate," the Forsaken continued as if he had never been denied.

Durok thumped his book closed with one hand and blindly placed it in a drawer with practised efficiency. He gave the fellow the courtesy of a cursory glance and recognized his face - what was left of it. He was a regular customer; late on his last payment and not for the first time. Durok didn't know his name. He didn't intend to ask.

"Another," he grunted morosely and with a hint of a smile.

"Right away. I'll pay the usual." He must have thought he was being generous.

"I don't think you will," Durok replied as he turned on his stool and settled his back against the wall.

The man hesitated briefly. "If this is about last month's-"

"Your arrears are not insubstantial," Durok interrupted. "My usual prices are for customers who are not indebted to me. If you expect me to fill a backorder, as you put it 'right away,' you will not be setting the price." Durok produced a narrow sheet of parchment from his desk and began to calculate a bill. Contrived equations reliably granted the illusion of equity to one's price gouging. After a moment, he crumpled the paper and wrote the sum on a separate leaf, extending his arm to give it to the man who stood uncomfortably waiting.

"This is ridiculous!" he balked after reading.

"It's the price," Durok asserted indifferently.

"Listen, I-" he stammered, "I'll get you the money. We don't need to sour our relationship over a few measly weeks. You need my business, and I'm not paying this amount."

A few tense moments passed as Durok considered how to proceed.

"It's been a long time since I heard that phrase," he said at last. "Brings me back. Did I ever tell you I was born in a Zeppelin?"

The man screwed up his face in bewilderment. "N-no but what does that have to do with-"

"Goblin called Gearbox owned that boat at the time. Found me in a sack of grain, still bloody and tangled in my own rope. That's the story anyhow. One of his contracted engineers had a wife who was barren and he knew they had always wanted their own rat to take over the heavy lifting. Turns out they were well convinced, because he got some good coin off that trade."

He paused and gave his customer a hard look.

"That old stump taught me some hard lessons. Used to club me with his fang-ratchet if I stepped out of line." Durok laughed and looked wistfully up at the ceiling. "But I'll never forget what he taught me about deadbeats." he said with naked menace, reaching under his desk.

The debtor faltered. "Look-"

"You don't have the money, friend, and I've seen enough of you to know you're in the business of asking for favors and never paying forward." Durok drew the gun he had been palming and showed him the business end. "But I'm a generous orc, contrary to my upbringing, so I'll give you the chance to leave without any more holes than you have already."

The crowded room filled with tension as the two locked eyes in perfect stillness. Finally, the nameless man drew his ragged lips into a hard line and slowly edged his way out of the door, never turning his back. The rest of the night passed uneventfully.

Durok never saw that rogue again, but he also never got his money.