It's the Murloc Life for Me [A Warcraft Isekai]

Chapter 14: Planning's a Pain

"Doubling the garrisons in Elwynn Forest, expansions into Strangethorn Vale, not to mention all those new orc internment camps. It's like the nobles want to bankrupt themselves! If there is enough coin in the treasury for all that, they can afford to pay a few builders a fair wage.

I'm hearing talk of unrest and even rebellion from my contacts in the Stonemasons. It sounds like someone is fanning the flames within the guild, so we must extinguish the kindling. Unless you want anarchy in the streets of Stormwind, find some gold to pay what they ask.

message from an unidentified SI:7 agent to their handler

~ Brgllrm

Two young murlocs circled each other on the beach clutching their makeshift weapons. Both held wooden spears sharpened roughly with the stones that formed the boundary of the pit they stood in.

They had already exchanged a few strikes. Fast things, stabs meant to gauge their foe's prowess. It seemed one of the murlocs was happy to escalate, as she lunged for the other's uncovered thigh. He quickly shifted to the side, dodging the thrust but leaving the spear dangerously close to his legs. A mistake his opponent exploited viciously.

She knocked the other to the ground with a pull of her spear. He was defenseless. Murlocs hadn't really figured out the whole armor thing aside from natural material scavenged from aquatic life. Shells and scales tied together with rope, that sort of thing. But that was usually only reserved for chieftains or hunters who wanted to look important.

As she lifted her spear to her side, she spun it to face the point downward and jabbed it straight into the sand. A hand reached down to clasp the fallen murloc and she helped her opponent up.

The audience cheered as the victorious murloc lifted the other off the sand. Almost the entire village had turned up to see the first day of the competition. It almost made people forget about the lackluster meal they had that night. With most of the hunters preoccupied with training and setting up the tournament, the village dined mostly on food from their stockpile. A stockpile consisting mainly of half-rotting fish and over-ripe fruit left over from previous meals.

While the fighting pit drew the largest crowd, other events took place on the beach as well. A mess of stones, driftwood, and small potholes in the sand made up a rough terrain obstacle course. While there were hunters that raced against each other, the course was open to anyone who wanted to try. Most people weren't too keen on attempting, but some ambitious young murlocs took the challenge.

There was also a group of hunters slinging stones at roughly gnoll-sized piles of rock. As I watched them it became obvious that they were showing off rather than practicing, unless their battle plan involved standing on each other's shoulders to gain a height advantage.

Actually, that gives me an idea... I thought while watching the hunters score surprisingly accurate shots considering the unstable surface they were shooting from. Maybe I could-.

I was interrupted mid-thought by a cry of pain coming from the obstacle course. Making my way over, I found a hunter sitting on the floor, hand placed over a scrape on their knee from which a trickle of blood flowed, and breathing harshly through their sharp teeth.

After making sure they were only injured on the knee, I helped move them away from the obstacle course. A cursory inspection revealed the relatively minor physical damage the hunter had sustained. I cleared any sand or debris that has found its way into the small scrape during his fall.

After making sure I got as much dirt and sand out as I could, I retrieved a hermit crab shell that hung upright from my belt. Removing the reed lid I poured a small amount of the amber liquid onto his wound. The hunter flinched slightly from the sting, the alcohol in the whiskey-like spirit no doubt creating a burning sensation as it cleaned the cut.