The rounded, black iron plates that were stacked 6 deep on both sides of the weight bar rattled and shook against their collars, a shirtless Nerrok pushing the steel up off of his cavernous chest as he lay on the bench. A sheen of sweat formed thickly upon his brow, dripping into the corners of his vision and making his eyes sting as his entire body quivered with the strain. The bar in his hands was actually bending at the ends slightly with the combined weight he was pressing. He exhaled through pursed lips as a knock at the door that led into the back of the Slow Blade shattered his concentration, forcing him to end his set short and rack the rediculous amount metal back into its place atop the equipment.
He sat up on the bench, wiping his forehead off with a towel as Kareth poked his head through the door, the old, grizzled orc mostly mohawk from this angle.
"Nerrok. Busy?"
"Not anymore", the hunter replied evenly.
"Zojamba says he has something for you." With that the elder blacksmith withdrew to the front of the shop, replaced by a tall, lanky Darkspear, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow and a half-burned spliff tucked behind one long, pointed ear. He strolled into the makeshift weightroom and gave Nerrok a wave. "'Eya, Bossmon. Saw sometin' ovah by Garrosh' little fort, figga'd joo migh' wanna looksee", he said casually, making his way toward the seated orc to pass him a rolled up piece of parchment. "I took it down, soon as I be seein' it. Checked da udder boahds, too. Dat be da only one I foun'", the troll said, taking a step back and patting himself down for a match while Nerrok got to reading.
Unfurling the parchment Syvbia had posted, the orc's crimson gaze started from top to bottom, reading over the notice. The first line made him blink, and more of those followed the lower he went. "This....This is...", he murmered, attempting to find the right words to describe what he was holding. "........Subtle.", he concluded, glancing up toward the now-smoking troll with narrowed eyes. "You got any idea how long this was up?"
The troll shrugged his shoulders, taking a deep drag from his re-lit joint before exhaling it from his nostrils in a rich, thick grey cloud of smoke. "I be snaggin' it pretteh earleh, Bossmon. Ain't no tellin' how long it be up 'foah I be passin' trew, dough."
Nerrok nodded, his upper lip curling into a quiet snarl. This was not the way business was to be conducted in matters involving discretion. "...Alright. Thanks for the heads up, Zoj. There's a pouch in the desk in my office, bottom left drawer. Buy yourself a drink."
The troll grinned around his smoke, and gave Nerrok a thumbs-up. "Tank ya, Bossmon. I be doin' dat, den. Joo need a han' wit' stuff, joo know wheah ta be findin' me", the troll replied, turning on his heel and strolling out just as smoothly as he had entered.
Nerrok watched him go, crinkling the parchment in his fist. It was beginning to look like he needed to head to the Plaguelands sooner than he had first thought.
