[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/UDT4li4.png[/img]
[abbr=Rokkit][img]https://i.imgur.com/BT7IrpQ.png[/img][/abbr][/center]

Today was the day. Rokkit had received the letter from Garrick about a job. Says that Rokkit was "a person of some repute", which made the orc suspicious. Sure he's done some good work in town but nothing no other smith couldn't have accomplished. Either Garrick was talking hot air or he was referring to something else about Rokkit that he hasn't told anyone else. And Garrick's a rich man: he would surely have the resources to know what he wants, as any information could come at the right price. Not to mention the job almost sounded too good to be true. Taking a herd of horses from Forsaken to Sasarka wasn't that difficult, even if they were magical ones. Sure, the job would be dangerous, but it's not as if that in itself is unusual. The phoenix was more of a concern, not just because that's their primary job, but because a phoenix is worth more than a hundred hippogriffs. Was this creature alive? Was it in an egg? Was it a bunch of ash in an urn?

So many questions, Rokkit was still having second thoughts about the job. But he also knew he needed it. Frankly, business has been bad. Running a shop by himself wasn't easy especially when he rarely gets any work. Turns out most people don't care for orc made guns, and even the few firearms he made that are of dwarven or elven design don't sell as well as ones made and sold by actual dwarves and elves. It certainly doesn't help that Rokkit's [i]shiny[/i] personality makes most customers shy away from him, and even the few braver ones don't care for his gruff attitude and failure to acquiesce to a customer's request. He really should've known better: Rokkit already tried his hand as a merchant before and more or less ended up just like this. He just thought the folks in Forsaken would be more accepting of his attitude.

Thus, Rokkit was hard up on money. He's had to stop supply shipments in order to save up on living expanses, not to mention he hasn't cleared out his current inventory yet. It doesn't help that he has personal projects which haven't amounted to much of anything. His research into miniaturized steam engines have so far gone no where, nor has he stumbled upon any revolutionary armor ideas. The only reason he has business is because of ammo sales, because everyone needed bullets and Rokkit was selling them cheap. But that also meant he was barely into the black: his business simply wasn't making profit. Anger and frustration swelled in Rokkit's head, and he vented his anger by picking up a stone and throwing it into the distance where it smashed against another, larger rock. 

[color=firebrick]"[abbr=Shit. I need to get something to eat. I hope the Grub Pub is open.]Shrakh. Uruk han. Grub Pub hap.[/abbr]"[/color] 

Letting out a tired breath Rokkit left his humble abode to head to town. A short walk took Rokkit to his favorite eatery: The Grub Pub. A place that sold cheap food and booze. As long as you didn't care too much what part of the beast you were eating, they always had meat on the menu, and it was one of the few places here that served cold drinks. Went Rokkit walked in the waitress, a large and rotund dwarven woman, looked at him. "Morning Rokkit. The usual?" The orc sat himself down at the counter and gave the waitress a nod. She turned towards the kitchen and shouted loudly to the chef there. "Got one Beef's Breakfast on the hoof buried in rocks, mountain men starched and ripped, and a frosted sin neat. We going to have a cube today too?" Rokkit gives a silent nod and adds it to the order. A few more customers come in and the woman goes to attend to them, but not before handing Rokkit a complimentary newspaper. He hasn't read this week's paper so he gave it a look while his food was cooking.

As more people came t the Grub Pub for their morning meal, Rokkit was deep into the paper. It was good to stay up to date about world news, even if it's all filtered through lies and politics. Rokkit knew better than to believe anything at face value, but it's still important that he [i]knows[/i] about it in the first place. Soon his food would arrive: a rare beef patty wrapped in lettuce and well seasoned with black pepper, with a side of mushrooms fries coated in potato starch, and a cold glass of apple juice without ice. A working man's meal. Rokkit picks up his green leafy patty, eating it in two big bites before taking a large gulp of apple juice. Then he idly ate his mushroom fries while he finished reading the paper. Once he finished his meal his dessert was served: glimmering red strawberry flavored gelatin, with a small dollop of whipped cream. Rokkit flipped the bowl over his mouth and ate the sweet in one whole bite.

After paying for his meal Rokkit went back to his home to gather his things. As much as he doesn't trust the job, he couldn't turn down the offer, and so he had already made preparations for the journey ahead. He's renting out his store to another smith, liquidated his assets, and made sure to buy supplies for the journey ahead. Once back at home Rokkit would begin donning his armor. He'll likely have to join the caravan as soon as he arrived, or at least that's how his past experiences has been, so he wanted to go there prepared. He kept his helmet off though, knowing that people like Garrick would want to speak to Rokkit face-to-face. His pack was ready as was his bandolier and weapons. His axe on his hip, shotgun slung across the shoulder, and shield strapped to his arm. He balled his hands into fists and punched the air a few times, each strike crackling with thunderous energy from his gauntlets. As he turned to leave he picked up a small glass cage. Inside was a large black and red spider: Flyswatter. It was thanks to this arachnid monstrosity that Rokkit never had to worry about insects in his home. And as he was leaving Rokkit felt something land on his shoulder: a chunky brown cat, Potato.

[color=firebrick]"[abbr=We're leaving. Say goodbye.]Urukrim majatan. Flas zil'nok.[/abbr]"[/color]

Locking the door behind him, Rokkit heads to the Garrick estate, occasionally looking over his shoulder. It was hard to miss, and pretty much the only notable thing in Forsaken aside from the town itself. By now the city was already awake and people were leaving to work or working. There was the occasional scuffle and shouting, familiar concepts in this town, but Rokkit didn't care to get involved in that. He was an orc on a mission and he was going to see it through. Upon arriving to the manor, Potato hopped off to wander. Rokkit wasn't too concerned: despite being fat that cat was a better hunter and survivalist than Rokkit was. Ranch hands were already hard at work corralling and tending to the various beasts Garrick keeps on the estate. It just reminded Rokkit about his doubts in this job, why he wonders what the catch is that they'll be paid so handsomely, and what exactly Garrick was expecting that he could afford to drop so much money on someone like Rokkit.

But this doubting was starting to grate on the orc's nerves. He's already gone this far. Even if he wanted to back away now it's not like he had contingency plan and frankly speaking, even if this was more than meet's the eye, it's not as if Rokkit couldn't profit either way. Ever since the mines started running dry on ores it was harder for Rokkit to get raw materials for his projects. But if they happened to stumble upon any threats along the roads, Rokkit could take their equipment and repurposes it for his own ends. He in fact prefers it this way: looting was an ingrained part of orc culture and crafts. Crafting from the ground up might've been fine for the Great Four, but for someone like Rokkit maybe this adventure was what he needed.

With a renewed sense of purpose Rokkit would enter the manor. He showed one of the ranch hands the letter Garrick sent to him, and so Rokkit was escorted to a large hall. It looked like someone was already here. A dark skinned woman with literally fiery red hair. The way she carried herself told Rokkit she was a hired gun, likely someone else Garrick sent a letter to. Rokkit was certain that they'd all be formally introduced to each other soon enough, so the orc elected to keep to himself and found a couch wide enough to fit him. Taking off his backpack he sat onto the couch with such force that one could hear the wood creak, but it managed to hold his weight. And now all he had to do was wait.