A new mailbox

85 Dwarf Paladin
((I wrote this story a few months ago, after Stoutfist destroyed the mailbox of the inn of a friend after an argument with a guild officer. Changed a bit from the original version to make it better.))

Stoutfist's gryphon landed in Area 52. The roars of demons could be heard echoing through the air, the place was being rocked by several explosions and a smell of phlogiston hung in the air, stinging the nose.

Your usual, boring day in Area 52.

He walked to a small house made to look like a giant gear. The door slid to the side as he stepped in front of it, as if it knew he was there. Inside, a small figure worked on Light knows what, its back turned to the door. Sparks could be seen flying as the goblin cursed at it. Stoutfist spoke:

"Zix, guess who it is?"

The goblin turned around and took off a pair of blue goggles. His entire face was blackened by soot, save for his eyes, protected by the goggles as they were. The small device the goblin had been holding bounced high in the air and landed on the floor, shattering in several hundred tiny pieces. The goblin nearly jumped off the small stool he was standing on and let out a curse at the sight of the fragmented thing. He then regained his composure and looked at Stoutfist:

- What d'you want now? Can't you see I'm busy?

- I recall ye owe me. Ya know, since I scared off that ethereal who wanted ta step on you?

- I have no recollection of such a thing.

- I do!

Stoutfist pulled a neatly rolled up piece of paper from his pocket and unrolled it, reading it aloud as the goblin looked to the side, visibly annoyed:

- I, Zix Geargrinder, agree under no threat to my life, well being or to the life and well being of those I care about, that I owe the owner of this document 500 gold pieces. This sum can be repaid monetarily or by a favor asked by the owner of this document.

- Ah, yes... Now I remember. Well, you seem to have forgotten this!

Zix opened a drawer on his workbench and took out a piece of paper of his own, handing it to Stoutfist. Stoutfist unrolled it and read it.

- Zix, first of all, this isn't my signature. It's clearly your writing.

- Lies! You're just trying to defraud me!

- Secondly, my name isn't Stoutfist Wrathheaven.

- It isn't?

- It isn't.

- What's your name then?

- Like I'm gonna tell ya after that.

- How do I know you ain't lyin' to me?

- How about you stop trying to weasel out of this or you'll be one very flat goblin?

Zix groaned.

- All right, what is it? You want 500 gold? Well I don't have 500 gold.

- I don't want money.

- ...oh no. Please, not my-

- Don't you dare finish that sentence. I don't want to know what you just imagined.

- Well-


Zix put his arms up, expecting a blow.

- Dammit Zix, I'm jest here ta ask ye a favor, and it's nothin' much. I jest want ya to build me a mailbox.

- ...a mailbox?

- A mailbox.

- What's the catch?

- None. Well, except I don't want it to explode.

- What? But I could make you a delivering mailbox! You put the mail in it, and a rocket sends the mailbox to the destination!

- I... What? No! I jest want a regular mailbox. One that's Stormwind regulated.

- ...why do you want a mailbox?

- Does it matter?

- Kind of.

- No, no it doesn't. Jest make me a mailbox.

- Well, I need to know what happened to the last one, right? That way maybe I can make that mailbox better so it-

- I smashed the thing with my mace, happy now?

Zix and Stoutfist stared at each other silently for several seconds. The goblin finally spoke, grinning:

- Was the mailbox evil?

- Shut up.

- It was consorting with the forces of darkness, wasn't it? It's a well-known fact that mailboxes-

- Will ya jest build the damn thing?

- All right, all right. But my debt to you is going to be repaid after that, deal?

- Only if ya don't mention this to anyone.

- All right.

- Then it's a deal.


The Golden Apple Inn, Stormwind Park

Stonemug and Stoutfist were in front of the inn. The hunter inspected the mailbox, one inch at a time.

- An' ye say ye got this from a goblin?

- Yep.

- An' wot's that thing? It's a fuse that says "Self-delivery".

- Don't touch that. Please.

- Well, it does the trick. Jest don't do that again.

- I swear I won't.
Edited by Stoutfist on 11/23/2010 5:44 AM PST
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