“All right,” the draenei priestess said, wiping the sweat from her lavender brow and glancing at her watch, “We’ll take a 10-minute break.”
Thorim’s arena inside Ulduar was now empty, save for the still-crackling chunks of metal that had been iron dwarves and vrykul just minutes before. The Keeper Thorim had departed, after the force now licking its wounds had literally beaten some sense into him. Thorim now had left the Clash of Thunder to clear his head of the charms Yogg-Saron had placed on him.
“And now,” Belsun Grimaxe said, reaching into his pack, “It’s battle fuel time.”
Grunting in assent, Ringo Flinthammer reached into his pack as well. He and Belsun slowed, watching each other as they carefully removed bottles. They both held up red bottles and burst out laughing.
“Ah’d hate to have to kick yer arse,” Ringo barked, “Especially after Beli just healed it back again.”
“Bah, Ah’m no filthy blue fuel drinker,” Belsun said, uncorking the bottle and guzzling it down, drops of the liquid sticking to his beard.
“What are ye two idiots on about?” Beli Flinthammer snapped, as she cinched a bandage around the head of an elven knight. “Red fuel? Blue fuel?”
“Red battle fuel!” Ringo roared, holding up the bottle. “Fortified with sugar, chemicals and electro- … electra … thingies!”
“Aye, it’ll put the piss back into yer vinegar,” Belsun enthused. “There’s two colors, red and blue, and this shop in Dalaran will sell ye five bottles a day, and each day ye buy it, ye can enter into a contest and win fabulous prizes.”
“Anyone ever won a prize?” Beli asked, looking at the bottle in Ringo’s hand and mentally calculating how much money he’d wasted on them.
“Nay,” Ringo said, hurriedly closing his pack, so that his wife wouldn’t see his empties. “But it’s just a matter of time.”
“Oh, there is the robots,” Belsun said. “Of course, they run on battle fuel, too. Gotta buy more of it to feed them.”
“So, this shop in Dalaran sells ye two idiots that sweet-smelling crap, or blue crap …”
“Nay, blue drinkers are the enemy,” Belsun snarled.”We’ll kick their teeth in if we find them.”
“Right,” Beli said, feeling a headache starting. “Ye two idiots buy this sweet-smelling red crap, both for yerselves and for some robots ye bought that can’t function without it?”
“Exactly!” Ringo nodded. “It’s that Jepetto Joybuzz fella.”
“He a goblin?”
“Nay,” Belsun said, “But Ah think he might be a goblin engineer …”
“Beli, sweetheart, this stuff makes us fight like bears. Did ye see the way I cut through them iron dwarves earlier? Dazhbog drinks it by the bucket,” Ringo said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the draenei Argent Crusader, who was in fact gulping red battle fuel as they spoke. “It makes him …”
“GAK!” Dazhbog squawked, dropping the bottle and clutching his throat. He began to shake violently, clutching at his arms and torso.
“That’s the fortification,” Belsun nodded sagely. “It’s made with 100 percent natural ingredients.”
Dazhbog gripped his head and screamed, even as the draenei’s tentacles shifted and twisted. His torso rippled, and when they stopped …
“Did he just grow a rack?” Ringo finally asked.
“He’s a … lassie,” Beli gasped.
Belsun and Ringo threw their bottles down, smashing them, before burrowing into their packs frantically.
“Water! Ah’ll even drink water!”
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