It’s difficult ta know when things begin.
In a tale or a song, there’s a beginning, a middle and an end. But as me father always said, “life ain’t no song, lad.”
Did it begin the day, three decades ago, when th’ Dark Portal opened in th’ Black Morass, letting the first orcs into tha world? Did it begin tha day my mother strapped me baby brother to her back, stuck a gun in me hands, and told us to keep quiet as we ran through the snow and trees so tha Dragonmaw orcs wouldn’t spot us as we fled our home? Or did it begin tha day I shot me first Dragonmaw, rifle shaking in me hand so badly, Ah almost shot me brother’s ear clean off?
Did it begin the day Muradin Bronzebeard hired me brothers to accompany him on an adventure to Northrend? Or did it begin when Prince Arthas of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil, Arthas tha Betrayer burned their ships, abandoning them to tha cold and tha spiders and tha undead in his quest for vengeance, to die in the frozen north?
Did it begin the day Ah joined Feanor Steeltoe’s expedition to Lordaeron ta help him stalk tha black dragon Searinox? Or when one of Searinox’s whelps fell on me leg, dead, breaking it in two places, laying me up, keeping me from going to war when the great horns of Ironforge Mountain sounded once more?
Did it begin when tha undead Scourge swept through Lordaeron, and th’ Alliance was too slow, too comfortable to rise to tha challenge? Did it begin when Ah stood on crutches in Menethil Harbor, waving farewell to me father and mother as they boarded the ships, sailing west to some land called Kalimdor, following Jaina Proudmoore of the Kirin Tor, while Lordaeron burned in tha north? Did it begin when me parents died, side by side, me mother singing a battle hymn as she stood over me father as he bled out into the Mount Hyjal snow, watching the approach of the Burning Legion, a warhammer clutched before her? Or did it begin that day when I received the letter from Theramore, telling me what had happened?
Ah am Ringo Flinthammer o’ Clan Bronzebeard.
Me story begins here.