Welcome to a one off Article about Dwoozle "Scrumper" Kaboozle. Some might well know him, or know of him, some might even have the privilege to know him as a friend, Lucky them! as Dwoozle is a gnome, a grand gnome, a true gnome.. a gnomes gnome.

Now on with the Article in his own words.(CHIEF EDITOR: Heavy editing mind you, he did grow up in old town, what terrible gramma and spelling it was)

There were days when living in Old Town wasn't that bad. They were just few and far between. They came in the spring when the heat hadn't started to make the place stink and the chill didn't make you feel like your fingers weren't about to snap off. The rest of the time we made the best of a bad situation.

You got to know more people than you could remember. Elves, Men, Dwarves and Gnomes, they all had a story to tell and an agenda to stick to. You couldn't tell who was lying or telling the truth. In the end it didn't matter, you couldn't trust most of them anyway.

We scratched an unglamorous living by whatever seemed appropriate. Extortion, robbery, house-breaking, blackmail or pick pocketing. None of it made us burst with pride but that's what we did and it was easy. No need to pound the streets selling wares and throwing ourselves in front of fire breathing lizards wasn't even a consideration. We didn't have much but what we needed we just took.

It didn't take a huge amount of thought to realise that there's safety in numbers. If those numbers were made up of Gnomes then they were more trustworthy to boot. How the guild registrar came to the decision that a motley bunch of low-lifers from Old Town deserved an official name and a tabard is a mystery. I guess like most things in Stormwind though oiling the wheels of bureacracy with our ill gotten gains helped.

So, The Old Town Blades burst into public view and started on it's road to notoriety and infamy. Whether people loved or hated our lack of respect for authority, we became difficult to ignore. One things for certain though, the public face of The Old Town Blades hid a much darker underbelly. The Stormwind underclass was a maze of plots and schemes that was difficult to navigate. Espacially when you spend your days under the mind numbing effects of Silverleaf. One day melted into another and fantasies melted into reality. Surviving on my wits became a dangerous game so paranoid aggression or Gnomish charm became the norm. We gave as good as we got in The Blades. If you treated us with respect then you could expect the same in return. Show the slightest hint of distaste and you had a group of irrate Gnomes to handle.

We weren't monsters and we weren't angels. Murder wasn't our game so requests for our services in that department were politely turned away. After all, none of us wanted to show up on the end of a rope. Casual violence wasn't on the cards either, any need for harming people was purely pragmatic and almost always a result of threats to friends or business. Far better if people didn't realise they had been victims of The Blades.

The Old Town Blades expanded in numbers and operations. From Stranglethorn to Tanaris, despite my personal dislike of Gobbers, we seized opportunites to trade with them in exotic goods and once again the pragmatic approach payed dividends. Wealth accumulated quickly and I bought the deeds to The Pig and Whistle.

I don't how or when it happened but my concience began to get prickly. Constant chatter about the threats to Stormwind from without were hard to ignore. Ancient Troll rites being performed to the south and terrible old gods, Orc armies breeding in the Black Mountain and even hushed whispers of traitors in Stormwind Keep. A few of us decided that we should do our bit for the Alliance. We convinced ourselves that the old pragmatic approach made it necessary and marched off to fight with some of the Alliance's braver souls.

So that was when the new Dwoozle began to emerge. Not so much of a social pariah but more like an emerging hero. With expanded horizons came the realisation that to crawl out of the gutter was more of a worthwhile aim than accumulating gold. The newly formed City Watch was putting the squeeze on Old Town at the time and we couldn't operate with the kind of impunity that we had before. Besides, some of the fellows in The Watch weren't all that bad and they seemed a lot more dignified than I had ever managed to be. Major changes were needed and so The Old Town Blades hung up their tabards.

I spent a few months adventuring in a group with an agenda I never quite got to grips with. Fighting for the small man was their aim but plots and counter plots just confused me. I needed something noble but uncomplicated.

The Gnomish Rescue Squad came to my rescue. I always felt more comfortable in the company of Gnomes, although the Dwoozle that rejected the company of other races was long gone. A new family beckoned, a family of brave Gnomes with no baggage and a willingness to do the right thing with dignity and pride.

I signed up and joined The Gnomish Rescue Squad a short while before the portal to the Outlands opened. We plunged through to see what adventures awaited and who needed our help in that weird place.

There we go, a nice article about everybody's favourite gnome. Dwoozle Kaboozle