The dwarf paused for a moment, resting his mining axe against his shoulder, and peered into the darkness. There was barely sufficient light to work by in the depths of this mountain, but he could have sworn some movement had caught his eye off to the left. But there was nothing, and with a sigh he hefted the axe once more and resumed his work.
The rogue crept deeper into the subterranean structure. The dwarf seemed happy enough to shrug off his presence as a trick of the light, so there would be no need to slit his throat. There was just one target in the depths of Blackrock mountain tonight.
As he turned the key in the huge Shadowforge lock structure, he pondered on the effects the darkness seemed to have on these dwarves. They seemed almost as blind as bats, after years cooped up underground. Only the fire elementals would pose any threat to his progress, and they were mindless drones that so often would fall victim to the distraction smoke bomb as he slipped by out of sight. With the lock's action completed and the huge door structure fully closed, he had already slipped from the room as the first guard appeared in the doorway.
Mere minutes later he entered the smoky, rowdy atmosphere of the bar. The contrast from the eerie silence of the rest of the mountain hit him once again, despite this being far from his first visit. Before, he had been with companions from the Praetoria as they made their way to fulfill tasks for various goblins, orcs, and even Thrall himself. Tonight was different though, tonight he was alone and had a single selfish intent. The whispered tales of the weapon this barman wielded were almost legendary amongst the thieves and assassins of the Horde. Many had perished in trying to take it for themselves, but tonight it would be his.
Swiftly, those dwarves near enough to the bar to pose a threat were dispatched, their cries lost amongst the drunken revelry of the rest. The enveloping darkness would allow him to take the barman now without risk of others entering the fray. Swiftly he applied potent poisons to his thrash blade, and crept behind the bar to find the gnome pouring himself another drink. Without warning, the gnome found a dagger had penetrated his back.
The rogue looked down at the "dagger" he had heard so much about. It was undeniably a powerful weapon, and with its use alongside powerful shadow spells the barman had almost bested him. But, impressive in its damage potential as it was, he could not deny that it appeared to be a simple broken bottle. A wry smirk spread across his face... the thought of Alliance gnomes dying by his hands, their lives ended by a bottle. But perhaps he should ask the Deacon Cabot to apply a suitably flashy magical enchantment on this new toy!