“Oi,” said the human boy tugging at her sleeve. “Got something special.”
Or maybe he was a very small man. The very small man continued, “From the wildest deeps of Stranglethorn, and I only got a few.”
She corrected herself again. No grown man could have skin like that. A boy after all. She tried to figure out what he was talking about. “What are you talking about?”
On the other hand, his skin didn’t look right for a boy either. And his face was peculiar. The wide mouth and snub nose made him look a little like a murloc. She realized she was neglecting to listen.
“…aye, I know how rare they are and I know you know! Times are hard, though, and I need the money bad so I’m letting them go cheap.”
The boy-man-murloc held up a wicker cage. Inside was a tiny frog, bright orange with a violet underside.
“Some people just lick ’em, but what you wanna do is rub ’em with a leaf to get the oil off and then take that. Much classier.”
Verthilde looked at the frog skeptically. “Why?”
“It’s like nothin else. Puts those mushrooms to shame!”
“Ah. I’m not susceptible.”
“It doesn’t affect me. Drugs, drink, anything.”
“Now that is a sad, sad state of affairs.” He tsk-ed, then brightened up. “But maybe useful, miss…?”
“Verthilde. Useful how?”
He presented her with a small piece of paper. “My card. I’m sure we’ll have a long and fruitful relationship, Miss Verthilde.”
This seemed to be the end of the conversation, as he darted off toward the noisiest part of the carnival. Verthilde looked at the slip of paper. “COSIMO the AMAZING,” it read, “Dark Carnival”. She let it flutter to the ground and walked back toward the gates of Orgrimmar.