“Any luck?” asked the battle-mage, tapping his weapons together impatiently as he watched the gnome fiddle with some device pulled from her tool belt.
“Not a bit,” she replied, shaking her device and holding it up to the sky, tapping the mechanism with a fingernail before turning back to the glowing field filling the space between the two spinning rings. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out how this thing works.”
“Are ye two daft?” Ringo Flinthammer snapped, limping up. “It’s a transporter! Ye just saw two dozen people use it!”
He gestured behind him, where the aforementioned people were getting their gear repaired, weapons sharpened and supplies refilled by goblin engineers from K3. A despondent Dahzbog — now referred to by everyone as “Dazhabelle” after his sex change — was among them, shooing away goblins who wanted to dote on her.
“Ah’ll show ye how to use it, if ye like. It’s so simple that a wee child could …”
Ringo lifted his feet in alarm as more than two dozen small murlocs, some armed with spears and shields, others with guns, others seemingly unarmed, darted past his knees, into the transporter, and vanished.
“Khaz’goroth on a cracker!”
“Keep at it,” the battle-mage sighed, ignoring the retreating murlocs racing back out of the transporter and between his legs. “If our suspicions are correct and this is a transporter, it could prove extremely useful in our assault.”
“It is a transporter, ye idjits!” Ringo roared. “Did ye both get hit by a discombobulator back-firin’?”
“I know, I know,” the gnome said, sticking a finger in one ear to drown out the dwarf. “I haven’t given up yet. Don’t get your hopes up though, this technology is way behind me.”
“ARGH! EVEN A MURLOC CAN DO IT!”