Tantojutsu

Short and to the point.

*"The ability to hide in half a shadow makes gnomes among Azeroth's deadliest assassins."* -Timmo Shadestep

## Synopsis

#### Prominence

Former owner of TJ’s Toys-n-Fun, known the world-over for the Heat-Ray Noise Gun.

#### Consequence

Denied trial after a highly publicized arrest decried as vile by riled-up stubby-sized protests.

#### Anonymous

Changed his moniker to evade the auditors.  To fare the task he bears a generic mask with layers of uncared hair and shares a rarely barren flask.

#### Anomalous

Vaguely close to a supposed fugitive’s description, but a few citizens know or assume through intuition that the prose of those old groan-worthy posters denotes a cagey load of fiction.

## Depiction and Description

Upon several local pin-boards you’ll find posted a distorted work of art bordering the following whimsical report…

Beware this gloam gnome with green hair!  The low road’s his home, though, he’s rarely seen there.  He has a mean stare and usually cracks jokes.  Bring prayers if you’re alone, and guard your backs, folks.

Wanted dead or alive! Be warned far and wide, if confronted, tread light.  We're informed he's described to be stunted in height, but he perfectly personifies the hundredth percentile of the wise.  While some say he merely jests and acts awry, he’s not just disruptive but corrupt and has constructed much demise.

Only a dunce would let him once from their front unto their better side.  Under breath, it’s said he hunts for heads to collect in the dead of night.  Any rush to trust he musters is a blighted, bitter prize; it’s likely a hushed but wry and wily bluff of bigger and bigger lies, paired with a sly, light touch of a slightly morbid, sordid, sort of disordered but ultimately organized disguise.

Known to wear a mask that will cover his face, so most who’ve asked still wonder his name.  Be advised and wary if he wanders your way.  Slight size and generic tastes belie an inherently bright mind and irreverent traits.  By design, at the right time and place, the style of attire might make his entire presence erased.

Like much of his race he’s embraced no formal church or faith.  With no such notions, it’s normal for him to stray into an emotionless, murderous craze.  Yet to this day he remains somehow unbound and untraced.  He’s been placed on at least three wish-lists to be extinguished and finished with haste for selling a sequence of trinkets and things which at first seemed like meaningless waste but at worst were exceedingly fiendish and conceived in an ingenious state.

## History of Mystery

If he regales you with any of his side of the story, the many details range wildly from boring to gory…

Gnomeregan-born, a native of the heyday long before scores were forced to permanently vacate.  A graduate from the Gnomish School of Gadgets, he once ran a toy stand for his mechanical habit, in a back corner of Ironforge’s district for magic.

Baseless accusations, maybe laden with racism, stated profits by crime were his monetary goal, which placed him locked fortified inside a solitary hold.  But thanks to his size, what would implausibly unfold thereafter is a combined matter of rather asinine, classified, and clandestine factors.

Since that bad turn, many have bantered, testified and chattered that amongst the cities of Goblins folks say they may have saw him.  However, this poses a problem that’s awfully costly as he’s supposed to be enclosed within stone waiting to be arraigned and deposed for a robbery.  No longer wrongfully incarcerated, he’ll be forever gone on the run from rabid law bringers.

Some laud how he’s now a volatile, caustic, logical locksmith, with sinful optimal chopsticks dipped in binfuls of topical toxins.  Although he’s traveled the globe, only a smattering’s known of the improbable plots he’s assisted to unravel and block swift, to wit the throngs of snitches he’s caught, battered, and taught he's not to be crossed with (not to mention the endless riches pick-pocketed in the process).  To countless lost souls he’s offered trips, chokes, cliff throws or dropkicks, slit throats, shattered bones, and chopped limbs.  He couldn’t even be beaten by Stormwind’s own stock pens.

Apocryphal whispers have caught wind that talk of a small but unstoppable figure who stalks men.  Tales told of a plain, deranged gnome who’s become heartless; a diminutive pro on tip-toes whose inaudible woe follows foes under cover of darkness.  Those who’ve betrayed, mocked, sought squabbles, or fought him will be repaid in pain for all their ill-thought-out fraught whims, with their slain remains left in shade, maimed, and rotten, bereft of claims to fame, shamed, stained, and forgotten.

After enduring and emerging unhurt and free of so many burdens and emergencies, and worse, spurring an absurd degree of unconfirmed murder sprees, he's been earnestly earning fees to burn for cheese by fervently turning these words and keys.  Yet as a misfit persistent on the fringes of existence he’s been seen as overly insistent on being covertly inconspicuous.

A more sound explanation surrounding these outlandish statements is that he’s a proud secret agent.  But it’s doubtful he’s allowed to expound on that piece of information.

## Last Words of a Bastard

(( Open to offers from nobles and paupers for social saunters or to be soldiering cohorts who coerce and conquer!  I don't often author such overly-polished, profusely provocative proverbs.  While likely illustriously evocative, this is all ad-hoc, hokey, and hackneyed, I acknowledge. ))

(( If you're not too bored at this time, I've got to implore one more chore for your spine.  If you could afford to accord me a line, you're assuredly in store for a ride, for there is more that hides ignored by your eyes.  So, why don’t ya’ just sort-of come closer and...say hi! ))