Beli Flinthammer, Widge Gearloose and Frostmaw arrived on the deck of the Skyfire. Beli had been on Alliance gunships before — the Skybreaker during the war against the Lich King — but they always made her nervous. To her, the mighty ship seemed eager to plunge out of the sky at any moment. At least there was water below.
“Civilians on deck!” barked a soldier, startling Frostmaw, who growled in response.
Beli looked over at the soldier’s uniform and slumped.
“Oh, nae … it’s tha 7th Legion …”
“Little sister-in-law!” a voice boomed from the poop deck. Widge squinted at the figure in armor.
“Is that …”
“Commander Durkon Flinthammer,” the armor-clad dwarf said, snapping off a quick salute. “The Horde couldn’t kill me at the Battle of Theramore and I mean to make them sorry for having tried!”
“Hello, Durkon,” Beli sighed. “Ye’re lookin’ very … shiny.”
“Damn straight! Military discipline from top to bottom!” He turned to Widge. “You can return to your post, engineer. I got the periscope unstuck with a few good whacks.”
“Er, no, I’m not …”
“He’s with me,” Beli said.
“Why would you bring your accountant with you to Pandaria?”
“He’s not …”
“SIR, I am a mage of the Kirin Tor and …”
“Oh,” Durkon’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, why are you here, with all that’s happening in Dalaran? We told Lady Proudmoore that it’d take some time before we could give her any military support, and she said she had it handled.”
“Worry about that later,” Beli interjected. “Why’d ye want tae see me, Durkon?”
“My little brother, your husband,” Durkon said, in a tone that conveyed Beli should be keeping a better eye on Ringo, “has no business here in Pandaria. He is a mountaineer and belongs in Loch Modan, not getting mixed up in military campaigns where he and that creature of his,” he nodded toward Frostmaw, “are in way over their heads.”
“What?” Beli spat. “We fought with the Shattered Sun! Ringo was there at the fall o’ th’ Lich King! He …”
“… has been lucky. This is not a merry romp, plundering some trogg’s treasure. We’re not talking about Frostmane Whelps here; the Kor’kron Guard are in Pandaria. Take Ringo and go home, or he’s going to get himself and everyone else killed. My nephew needs his parents.”
“Beli,” Widge said, laying a hand on her shoulder. But it was too late.
“YE LISTEN TA ME, DURKON FLINTHAMMER!” She shoved a finger under her brother-in-law’s nose. “While ye sit here on this gunship, polishin’ yer hammer, me husband has been out there, bringin’ th’ fight to tha Horde alone, after survivin’ the bombin’ o’ Theramore. He didnae wait fer permission or a few thousand o’ his closest friends tae keep him safe. Ah donnae know what he’s doin’ out there in the jungle right now, but Ah know he’s doin’ it tae keep our family safe and the families o’ these furbolg-types that live here.”
She turned to Widge.
“Me idiot brother-in-law is right: Bael needs his parents. Open a portal and send me home. But you, go find Ringo and make sure he’s in nae trouble he cannae handle and make sure Frostmaw gets back together with him. Because if this war is gonna be won, it ain’t gonna be won by idjits like Durkon here.”