In the absence of a star map, Ral'rush ended up taking a winding path back to Bradensbrook. The distance from the town to the cabin should have been a day's walk, but he'd been unable to find a road for two days because he didn't know where he was. Having gorged himself on his attackers for a week and a half of recuperation and regeneration in the cabin before that, as well as having spent however many weeks it had taken his body to grow his head back while laying in a ditch, he'd actually lost a considerable chunk of his time from the whole ordeal.

At least he'd been able to build a sled full of their stuff and pull it behind him before he burned the cabin down. That felt kind of good.

As he finally merged with throngs of travelers and traders entering Bradensbrook, he felt like he'd won his life back again. The local humans paid him no mind, and he saw a few fellow members of the Horde pass through as well. Knowing that humans of any political stripe loved their rules and regulations, he hauled his cache of appropriated goods straight to the town hall in order to appeal for permission to sell in the town.

Inside the door, he lined up behind various locals and outsiders waiting in line for things. Nobody seemed to care about his presence until the Bradensbrook constable entered and gasped as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You," the portly human said while tugging on the leather cloak the troll had appropriated from the cabin. "Look here for a second."

Ral'rush vaguely recognized the man, and he correctly guessed that the worgen who'd attacked him must have visited the town. "Sir," he replied, turning his head around a bit to let the constable get a good look at him.

The constable mouthed a few words silently before regaining his voice. "Good, it's you. You need to come see the mayor now." The constable pulled him out of line and rapidly walked to a back room, leading Ral'rush to an empty office with a large-sized chair. "Please, wait here. It's good you're alive, but the mayor needs to see for himself."

"Thanks."

A few minutes later, Mayor Heathrow walked in. The Gilnean closed the door and sat down quickly, looking the jungle troll over for a few seconds.

"I remember you. Blimey, we would've been in big trouble...I mean, some hooligans came through claiming they'd killed someone who looks just like you. It almost caused a riot."

"Who said they'd killed me...who was gonna riot?" Ral'rush asked.

"Five of them, some of my people but not locals. A few weeks ago they caused a ruckus in a pub down the street when they claimed they'd murdered three Horde members. They described two local orcs plus you to the tee, and the shite hit the fan. We had a bunch of traders here from Orgrimmar, and they were understandably ticked off. They almost brawled about it, and our town hasn't seen anything like that. We welcome anyone in if they're willing to work."

"That's why I'm here."

"Good, I'm happy to hear that. But listen, Rush, is it? You've done business here before. I'll need you to help our town if that's to continue."

"How?" the troll asked.

"You know Bradensbrook. A lot of us have affiliations, but we can't afford to let that affect the town. We let anybody come through here, and that requires us to put a lid on any factional problems. I need you to calm down all this Alliance-Horde shenanigans."

For a few seconds, Ral'rush paused and gave the request some thought. He hadn't planned on talking to the mayor at all and was taken aback by what he was being asked to do.

"Look, mister mayor...I got no problem with any whole race of people, but I'm no carebear either."

"It's not like that - look, let's view this another way. I don't need you to like the Alliance. Forget them, this isn't about them. It's about Bradensbrook. Right now, we have fifteen orc peons who were supposed to train some of our people in roofing and now they don't want to work. Our town can't go on like this. I'm not asking you to change your views; I'm asking you to help the families who live here."

"How?" the troll asked again.

"Just show your face. These hooligans were bragging about how they killed you, so show the people that it's not true. Word spreads fast here - if you even show your face at the pub around Alliance members, go talk to those orcs and show that you have no axe to grind, then you can calm tensions here."

Ral'rush folded his hands over his lap and thought. His only experience with Mayor Heathrow had shown that the man was usually quite hard-nosed and short-tempered. Asking for something instead of demanding it down the barrel of a gun must have been hard on the old human. Plus, if Ral'rush refused, he was sure he'd be staring down the barrel of a gun anyway. Heathrow was, by the grizzled human's standards, being generous.

"I'm gonna do it for your kids and families."

"That's what I want to hear," Heathrow answered swiftly. "You're a traveler; stick around for a while. You know this is a good place for travelers, and the longer you stay peacefully, the better you drive home the message that everything is fine and no harm has been done."

No harm has been done? Ral'rush thought. He thought twice before saying that out loud.

"You got it, mister mayor. While I be here, I have wares to sell-"

"Duty free, it's duty free. Don't spread that because it's an exception to the rule, but if you keep it quiet, then you don't need to worry about taxes on whatever you sell during the coming weekend. Just make sure you sell everything at that weekend, not later, and don't say a word."

Mayor Heathrow wasn't a softie nor a beggar; Ral'rush was either very lucky or Heathrow was in an exceptionally good mood. The jungle troll knew when it was time to take his chips and cash in lest the mayor grow annoyed at any perceived obstinance.

"I'm gonna go have a drink first," Ral'rush replied. Heathrow stood and nodded, so Ral'rush stood too. "I'm not gonna be too obvious or patronizing...I'll make sure it comes off as natural."

Heathrow shook Ral'rush's hand, and the troll was surprised at how such a small being could have such a firm grip. "You're a good man. And this was a good talk about your recent trip, and only your recent trip." Heathrow didn't even bother winking, and Ral'rush kept quiet as the two of them exited in opposite directions.

Outside the office, the constable passed by, and Ral'rush stopped him. The rotund human followed him into a corner, almost as curious as the troll was.

"What did those people say about me?" he whispered.

The constable shook his head in disapproval. "Proper thugs, they were. They gave your exact description, what you were doing - remember when you left with those two leather merchants who hired you?"

Ral'rush wanted to know more, but he couldn't pretend not to know - not if he wanted to maintain the illusion the mayor had asked of him. "Hmm...the two orcs, or the two elves?" he dishonestly asked.

"What? I don't remember your elf friends. The two peons, the ones you left Benny's Uptown Pub with, remember?"

"Yeah," the troll lied.

"Right. So anyway, these thugs described you and your friends exactly, then start bragging about how they murdered you all in the night. They said something about a guitar, which was just nonsense, that they followed the sound of a guitar and jumped on your friends. They said you were half asleep and they just shot you in the back of the head, and that they chased one of your friends for a while before mauling him to death. Oh, and something about monsters from Outland...it was sheer nonsense, but the way they said it was the problem."

Ral'rush didn't feel angry anymore, even when he reflected on the truth of what had happened. Unlike some people, he actually felt rather fulfilled by exacted revenge, not empty. "Sounds like a tall tale," he chuckled nervously. "No, things didn't work out with me and the peons. I just want get myself back on my feet."

"You're in the right place. Listen, I've got to get back to work, but make sure things stay quiet with all this politics, okay?"

"Understood, constable. Thank you."

Eager to leave and hold on to the tax-free promise he'd received, Ral'rush hurried outside to haul his appropriated goods to an inn. He didn't understand banking, so renting a room and hovering around it was the only way he could keep the stuff safe until he sold it all. He could always have a drink at the inn's ground floor to show his face that night; the town was terrible for gossip, so people would hear about his presence fast.

That was the most ironic aspect. He had to keep the reality quiet, especially since the peons gaping at him across from the town hall as he dragged a sled full of wares to the inn might have known the two who'd died. He'd need to concoct a story about them leaving town and him not knowing the five thugs who'd attacked him; nobody could know the truth.

He'd been decapitated in his sleep, grew a new head, wandered sick for half a day, booby trapped the hideout of his attackers after following their tracks to it, killed then, ate them, and set all that remained of the scene in fire.

And he couldn't tell anybody.

"Shit."