These Aren't the Eggs You're Looking For

With a loud crack, the dwarf reappeared. 400 feet above the ground. As Azeroth's normal gravity reasserted itself, Kjallstrom activated one of the redundant safety backups he had installed on his ultrasafe transporter, extending a small set of hang glider wings. Tucking his beard into his belt, he steered his bolted-together makeshift flying machine towards the Goblin trading outpost of Gadgetzan. Another crack, followed by a scream fading behind him indicated that another card-carrying engineer had not taken the necessary precautions before testing out their latest gadget. He shouted some quick advice: "Try th'green button! GREEN!".

Since the Dark Portal had reopened, Kjallstrom found himself visiting Gadgetzan less and less often, although he still kept his transporter's autorecapacitizing power core warmed up, just in case. With the threat of Silithid invasion seemingly quelled again, the desert town was becoming a backwater again. "Still", he thought to himself as he hit the ground running, "et ne'er hurts tae know a goblin when some coin needs t'be made.". A simple business opportunity was why he was here, after all.

For some reason, Gadgetzan was the center of the Goblin culinary arts, and was therefore the best place to purchase the latest fad food in Outland: well-aged raptor eggs. The broken known as Kurenai loved the... robust... flavor. And what better place to age eggs than the desert heat of Tanaris? Kjallstrom pulled what appeared to be a large clothespin out of one of his many small belt pouches and proceeded to clip it over his nose. "Ngall righ laddie, Ngi be ready fer th'negzt shibmend!" His goblin contact went in back and wheeled a medium-sized crate out of the storeroom, grinning madly. "Phew... I doan't think me Gnomish Gnose Gnullifer be workin'..."

Kjallstrom pressed a sequence of indentations on one side of the transporter's control matrix, and a slightly larger crate materialized on top of the shop's counter. "Fredjly egzdracdified rabager eggz, from Hellfire." Kjallstrom unplugged his nose a bit. "Ye sure yer man in Booty Bay can take a shipment from Steamwheedle an' get et tae nobles' tables in Stormwind afore they... ye know... ripen?" A slight squelching noise could be heard from inside the just-delivered package. "I got what you need!" Kjallstrom sighed at the cliched slogan, a favorite of most Goblins he had had dealings with.

"Then ye willnae mind if I check tha' all be in order!" Kjallstrom readjusted his 3G device, making sure his nasal passages were sealed by the best Gnomish aromatech available, and flipped up the lid on the crate that the goblin had brought out. An acrid cloud wafted upward, and Kjallstrom gave the contents a quick once-over through the zoom function of his goggles.

Due to the overpowering stench, which didn't seem to bother the goblin staff in the slightest, Kjallstrom quickly resealed the lid, mogrified the crate into the transporter's cargo buffer, and activated the return relay for Toshley's Station. He never noticed the large blue-green egg nestled below the mottled brown ones.