Chapter 3: Booty Bay

The morning mist over Booty Bay had yet to fully lift, the salty sea breeze carrying the scent of fish and the distant clamor of taverns as it swept across the weathered wooden planks of the dock. Dalen stood beside a merchant vessel that had just docked, dressed in men’s clothing brought by Onyxia—a coarse dark brown linen shirt and black trousers. Though the fabric was rough and unrefined, at least it was clean and intact, far better than the tattered rags he had worn before.

He bent down to scoop a handful of seawater, rubbing it vigorously over his face. The icy water washed away the grime, revealing his pale skin and those unnervingly bright eyes.

“Are you sure this will work?” came a cool voice from behind.

Dalen turned to see Selina Morningstar—the high elf mage Onyxia had disguised herself as—leaning casually against a crate on the dock. Her silver-white hair shimmered softly in the dawn light, pointed ears peeking through the strands. The insignia of Dalaran was pinned to the collar of her deep blue robes, lending her an air of elegance and aloofness that starkly contrasted with the roughness of Booty Bay.

Dalen grinned, water dripping from his chin. “Of course! Look—” He straightened his back, trying to appear less gaunt. “I’m now a minor noble from Lordaeron who escaped when the undead invaded, my family fallen on hard times with only a sliver of fortune left. And you—” He winked at Onyxia. “Are the mage advisor my family once paid handsomely to protect me on my travels.”

Onyxia’s lips twitched slightly. Her long fingers tapped lightly on her staff, the dragon’s vertical pupils flickering with impatience beneath the illusion. “So your ‘grand plan’ is to have me accompany you in some childish charade?”

“This is called subtle infiltration!” Dalen lowered his voice, pulling a handful of gold coins from his pocket. “See, we have this. In Booty Bay, gold coins are the best pass.”

He leaned in closer, close enough to catch the faint trace of dragon scales beneath her elven guise—a subtle yet undeniable pressure. “Think about it. If we come in openly hunting for Old God secrets or dragon mysteries, your father’s spies would notice right away. But two ordinary adventurers? No one would pay attention.”

Onyxia narrowed her eyes, the morning light tracing the perfect lines of her elven features. Suddenly, she grabbed Dalen’s chin, her sharp nails nearly piercing the skin. “Remember this, human. If I find you wasting my time…”

“My head will hang on the gates of Stormwind, I know.” Dalen met her gaze unflinchingly and even smiled. “But for now, we need to find a place to lay low.”

He deftly freed himself from her grip, turned, and adopted the posture of a noble youth—head held high as he strode toward the liveliest tavern in the dock area. Onyxia watched his retreating figure, a flicker of complicated emotion passing through her dragon-like eyes.

This frail human truly carried the air of a fallen noble in his walk, as if beneath that coarse cloth hid another spirit entirely.

“Interesting,” she murmured, tapping her staff on the ground and following after him.

At the tavern’s entrance, a toothless goblin hawked loudly, “Freshly baked pies! Five copper each!” Dalen paused, rubbing his stomach—he couldn’t recall the last time he had a hot meal.

Noticing his hesitation, Onyxia snorted coldly. “Don’t tell me you—”

Before she finished, Dalen pulled out his coins. “Two, please!” He handed one to Onyxia. “Try it? They say Booty Bay’s pies are the best in all the Eastern Kingdoms.”

The high elf form of Onyxia stared suspiciously at the greasy pie, her expression as if confronted with something filthy. Yet, she took it gingerly, pinching the edge of the greaseproof paper with delicate fingers.

Dalen took a big bite, wincing at the heat but unwilling to spit it out. “From now on, I’m Dalen Lothson, and you’re Selina Morningstar. Remember our new identities.”

Onyxia looked at this greasy “young noble” and suddenly thought that perhaps this absurd play might be a bit more entertaining than she had imagined.

---

The afternoon sun scorched Booty Bay, glaring off the rusted tin roofs of the docks. Dalen shielded his eyes, pretended to dust off nonexistent dirt from his collar. Onyxia—no, “Selina Morningstar”—followed half a pace behind, tapping her staff lightly on the ground, her face bearing the typical coldness and pride of a high elf.

“Ah! Honored guests!” a sharp voice piped up nearby. Dalen looked down to see a goblin adorned in gold and silver, rubbing his hands together with a wide smile. His green skin glistened under the sun, and two golden teeth sparkled as he grinned.

“I’m Rizk Goldhand, the most professional guide in Booty Bay!” The goblin bowed exaggeratedly, a feather on his hat nearly poking Dalen’s nose. “You two look distinguished—must be new around here! Need any services? Sightseeing? Shopping? Or—”

“Lodging,” Dalen interrupted, pulling a silver coin from his pocket and flipping it nimbly between his fingers. “We need a quiet, comfortable, and… private place.”

The silver reflected in the goblin’s eyes, which followed the coin’s spinning twice before his grin widened.

“Oh! You’ve come to the right person!” Rizk snatched the coin quickly, as if fearing a change of mind. “I happen to have some premium properties that fit your needs perfectly!”

---

Dalen feigned modesty and nodded. “Lead the way.”

Rizk guided them through the noisy market, jabbering nonstop.

“How about this one? Sea view! You can watch the sunrise every morning!” He pointed to a ramshackle wooden house with a broken balcony railing on the second floor.

Dalen’s mouth twitched. “A bit… breezy.”

“Then this one? Downtown! Convenient transportation!” Rizk indicated a house next to the tavern, from which drunken yelling and crashing glasses erupted.

Onyxia frowned ever tighter.

“Anything… quieter?” Dalen laughed nervously and produced another silver coin.

The goblin’s eyes lit up. “Ah! If you’d said so earlier!” He led them down a secluded alley and stopped before an unassuming stone house. Small but sturdy, with some drought-resistant desert plants by the door, barely charming.

Most importantly—it was far from the noisy port, with almost no passersby nearby.

“This was once an alchemist’s home, but he… uh, had a little accident with his experiments,” Rizk chuckled nervously as he pushed open the door and stirred up a cloud of dust. “But it’s completely safe! And affordable!”

Dalen looked around. The furnishings were sparse but complete, with a workbench in the corner stained with dried potion residue. He glanced at Onyxia, who nodded slightly—this place was barely acceptable to her.

“Let’s take it. Three months to start.” Dalen settled the price and signaled the female bodyguard behind him. Onyxia reluctantly pulled out her purse and counted the coins.

Rizk weighed the pouch, beaming. “Wise choice! If you need anything else, just say the word!”

Dalen thought for a moment and then lowered his voice. “By the way, I’m a bit interested in alchemy. Any reliable alchemical suppliers nearby?”

The goblin’s ears perked up. “You’ve come to the right goblin! My cousin’s shop is right in the dock area—honest goods, fair prices!”

Dalen smiled. “Great. I’ll check it out later.”

After Rizk left, Onyxia finally lost her composure.

“Are you mad?” She grabbed Dalen’s collar, her dragon eyes flickering under the illusion. “We’re not here on vacation! You spend so much just to rent a run-down place?”

Dalen calmly pried her fingers apart. “Relax, Miss Morningstar.” He emphasized the formality. “We need a base, and this spot is perfect—secluded, inconspicuous, and…” He pointed at the workbench, “it even has lab equipment.”

Onyxia snorted but released him.

“I need to run some experiments—knowledge alone isn’t enough without verification,” Dalen explained. “I promise, it’s all to take down your father-in-law.”

At first, Onyxia nodded slowly, then realization dawned. Her dragon authority surged. “What did you say? You little worm, coveting a dragon?”

Dalen quickly begged forgiveness. “Just joking, don’t mind me, ha ha...”

Onyxia huffed and turned away.

Dust hung heavy in the stone house, sunlight slanting through the half-closed window, illuminating floating particles. Dalen covered his mouth and coughed, waving his hand to disperse the dust, but with little effect.

“This place is dirtier than I thought…” he muttered, bending to pick up a worn notebook. Flipping through it, he saw alchemical formulas scribbled roughly, most blurred by stains.

---

Standing at the doorway, Onyxia furrowed her brow. She raised a hand, fingertips glowing a dark purple as she murmured a draconic incantation.

In an instant, an invisible force swept through the room. The dust gathered, coalescing into a floating sphere. Cobwebs dropped away, stains on the floor vanished, even the moldy sheets transformed as if newly laundered.

Dalen’s eyes widened. “…That’s possible?”

Onyxia snorted softly. “Mortals always like the most foolish solutions.”

Dalen grinned, giving a thumbs-up. “No wonder you’re the Black Dragon Princess—even cleaning is done with style.”

She ignored him and strode to the window, flicking it open with a sharp bang. Fresh sea air poured in.

Dalen sat at the now-clean wooden table, pulling out several crumpled parchment sheets and a quill. He dipped it in ink and began to write and sketch.

Onyxia glanced over, noticing he wasn’t drawing maps or runes, but a peculiar chart densely filled with dates, places, and names.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A plan.” Dalen didn’t look up, his pen flying over the page. “We need to act in stages—the first step is to establish a foothold, second to experiment with synthetic fertilizers, third…”

His pen stopped suddenly, ink blotting the paper. He rubbed his temple, eyelids heavy.

Onyxia noticed his fatigue—this human hadn’t rested properly for days. She narrowed her eyes, fingertips glowing once more.

“You should sleep,” she said coldly.

Dalen opened his mouth to protest but was suddenly overwhelmed by drowsiness. His vision blurred, then went black as he collapsed onto the table.

Onyxia gently waved her hand, and a soft force lifted him, carrying him slowly to the nearby bed.

When Dalen woke again, night had fallen. He sat up sharply, feeling energized but his empty stomach loudly protesting. Thankfully, a steaming cup of tea and a sandwich with smoked meat sat on the table beside him.

He blinked, then looked toward the other side of the room.

Onyxia sat by the window, moonlight shimmering on her silver hair in a cold glow. She held an old book she’d found in the house, speaking without looking up:

“Eat, mortal. Your stomach growled three times while you slept—it disturbed my reading.”

Dalen blinked, then smiled. He took a big bite of the bread, mumbling, “Thanks. Never thought the Black Dragon Princess would care for anyone.”

Onyxia snapped the book shut with a sharp sound, glaring at him. “One more word, and next time you sleep on the floor.”

Dalen wisely stayed quiet, but the smile on his lips lingered. He finished the bread in a few bites, drank half the tea, then returned to the table, energized and ready to refine his plan.

Onyxia watched his back, her dragon eyes flickering with an inscrutable emotion.