"Sandy's Mother's Fish and Chips... This must be the place."
As a Golden Adventurer, the Dwarf Singrev would occasionally take on private jobs, bypassing the Adventurer's Guild. He had just arrived in Stormwind City—the Istani Royal Capital, which was more deserving of the name "Smog City"—and was short on cash.
As it happened, someone had advertised a quest in the newspaper, and Singrev planned to make a private deal with them to avoid the Guild's commission.
Therefore, today's meeting was crucial. He needed to understand the client's request clearly, and also assess whether he could rely on his hammer to get what he was owed if the customer tried to skip out on the bill. Without the Guild's guarantee and supervision, he could only rely on himself.
With this in mind, Singrev patted the cloth-wrapped iron hammer on his back, chuckled to himself, and walked inside.
'A bean sprout... I can take this job.'
Singrev spotted the one waiting for him at a glance. In the small shop, while everyone else hurriedly ate their food, a single Elf, clad entirely in white, was chewing his fries one by one and glancing around.
His entirely white appearance wasn't because he had rolled in a pile of flour, but because he had silver hair, snow-white skin, and a pure white coat. The male Elf's elegant bearing was completely out of place with the other customers wolfing down their food and, indeed, the entire establishment.
"Singrev, Gold Level Adventurer. Mr. Elf, are you the client?"
"Indeed. My name is—"
Before Mr. Elf could finish his introduction, the proprietress—whose waist was as wide as Singrev and the bean-sprout Elf combined—walked over. "Hey, Dwa...rf, you haven't ordered yet!"
The Elf gestured for him to deal with the proprietress first. As it happened, the Dwarf was hungry, and the greasy aroma filling the room made him swallow hard.
"Fish bites or fillet?"
"Fillet."
"Fries or wedges?"
"Can I get mashed potatoes?"
The proprietress's eyes widened. "Then you're getting wedges! You can turn them into a pile of mush yourself with your fork and knife!"
After he ordered, "Sandy's Mother" turned and headed for the kitchen. Singrev suddenly remembered something and shouted, "And a beer! Your largest mug!"
"You drink, even during the day?"
"I'm a Dwarf, genuine article! Beer's just like water to me."
The Elven client accepted this bit of Dwarven lore and handed the Dwarf a parchment Scroll. When Singrev unrolled it, his eyes widened. He saw the outline of a coastline, simple drawings of waves, a sea route, and fish... lots of fish. Tiger sharks...
Although the Dwarf had a rough exterior, he was no simpleton. He immediately rolled the sea chart back up and asked in a hushed, excited voice, "Well, I'll be... Is this a treasure map?" His voice was thick with excitement.
It had been a long time since he, a bona fide Golden Adventurer, had been on a proper, grand adventure. He couldn't even swim, but Singrev swore he would see this through, even if he had to ride a beer barrel to do it.
"It is..."
Once he had his confirmation, Singrev immediately unrolled the Scroll again, but he didn't see any mark for a treasure.
"Where's the treasure?"
"These fish *are* the treasure." His pale, slender fingers, like talons, drew a circle over the markings of the fish. At that moment, the proprietress set down all their food with a CLANG, glanced at the parchment, and said disdainfully, "Eat it while it's hot!"
"The treasure I want is the Arctic Fish!" The Elf unceremoniously speared a piece of fried fish from Singrev's plate, took a large bite, and closed his eyes as if savoring the flavor. "These fish are mine. All of them are my fish! I let it slide when the Dwarves to the north did a little fishing, but now the Istanis are hauling them out by the ton! They're catching fewer and fewer, and now I have to pay to eat them in a restaurant! Despicable, utterly despicable..."
The Dwarf, not expecting his client to treat Arctic Fish like a priceless treasure, shook his head. "You say they're all yours. What proof do you have?"
"That's precisely the problem." The white-clad Elf spread his hands. "I have no proof. According to reliable sources, the Dwarves and the Istanis are about to come to blows at sea. Whoever wins will own the fish in the northern fishing grounds of the Atlas Sea. So, I plan to act as a third party and beat both fleets to a pulp. That way, the fishing grounds will be mine again!"
Singrev nearly sprayed a mouthful of beer into the Elf's face. "So your quest is to defeat the Istani *and* our Dwarven North Sea Fleet? I'm a Gold Level Adventurer, not a Royal Navy Marshal!"
"I have money!" The Elf produced a heavy cloth sack from thin air, tossing it onto the table with a loud CLANK. Singrev opened it and sucked in a sharp breath. The entire fish and chips shop seemed to grow hotter.
Gold! Gold Coins, gold jewelry, even an unknown crown, a golden orb, a golden Scepter, gold teeth...
The golden radiance from the sack lit up the Dwarf's weathered face, causing the other customers to look over. However, upon seeing the Dwarf with a hammer as large as his head and the strangely dressed Elf who was clearly a Caster, they all thought to themselves, 'Nope, not my business,' and quickly turned away.
"Well... If you were just hiring me, that would be no problem, but you need an invincible armada. This much money is only enough to buy drinks for the sailors on board."
"I understand. More money!" THUD! Another bag of gold slammed onto the table, and the flimsy little table let out a pained groan.
"This is... really..." Under the allure of the gold, Singrev's brain kicked into high gear, like a CPU going from stock speeds straight to overclocked. He glanced around at the other customers, who wanted to ask about the path to riches but didn't dare get close. Suddenly, an idea struck him. "It's not... completely impossible. As long as you can put up a bit more for 'activity funds'!"
.....
The Istani Kingdom and the Dwarf Federation to the north had been having some "minor friction." For the past few years, the two sides had been fighting over the fishing resources in the northern part of the Atlas Sea.
Arctic Fish caught in the Atlas Sea would be processed with the utmost speed into fillets, strips, or bites, and then shipped to the various cities of Istani, especially the Royal Capital, Storm City. Every fried fish shop would coat the fillets, strips, or bites in starch and egg wash; more imaginative shopkeepers would also give them a roll in breadcrumbs. Fried to a golden, crispy perfection, the smell was enough to make the child laborers in the neighboring textile factory cry with longing.