It’s time for action

It’s time for action

Draenei shaman in the Hall of Explorers

Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer looked up furtively, his Gnomish army knife, opened to the arclight spanner tool, poised over his boot. No one in the Hall of Explorers, where he was on guard duty, seemed remotely interested in anything he was doing. He tightened a screw and grinned at the two squirts of flame that resulted.


“Khaz’goroth on a cracker!” Ringo yelped, attempting to stick his boot back on his foot. “Ye donnae sneak up on a veteran o’ the Wrathgate unless ye like livin’ dangerously!”

“By the Light, man,” Curator Thorius snapped, “Does your wife know your socks look like Alterac cheese?”

Ringo tugged on his boot, hopping around on his other foot while he did.

“Don’t ye have some more Ulduar artifacts ta uncrate?”

“I do,” Thorius nodded, and beckoning for Ringo to follow him. “But there’s someone here I think you need to speak to.”

Ringo followed, frowning when he spotted a Broken draenei surrounded by glowing totems. The mutated draenei was speaking in muted tones to a Wildhammer dwarf.

“What’s all this, then?” Ringo asked.

“Do you feel it, mountaineer?” the draenei shaman rumbled in thickly accented Common. “The elements are uneasy. We members of the Earthen Ring have struggled to find the cause of the unrest.”

“Do ye mean the bits o’ rock and dust comin’ down from the ceiling periodically?” Ringo interjected. “Oh, aye. And not a single one of them as are running fer the senate tomorrow has said they’ll do anything about it. Ah’ve had ta start drinkin’ out of one of me souvenir Brewfest steins when I grab a drink at Bruuk’s Corner, just to keep it from fallin’ in me brew.”

The draenei muttered something in his own language before continuing in Common.

Ringo runs with rocket power“Thus far we have been unsuccessful and now turn to others that may aid us.”

“What, ye mean me?”

The draenei nodded.

“Speak with Erunak Stonespeaker in Stormwind and see how you might be able to aid us.”

“So, Ah donnae have to sit here, watchin’ this lot read books all day?” Ringo grinned, glancing over at the curator, who shrugged and nodded. “Ah donnae care if ye need me ta wash Thrall’s unmentionables: Anythin’s better than jus’ sittin’ around here, waitin’ fer me paperwork ta come through and ta be sent back home ta Loch Modan.”

Ringo clicked his heels together, activating the rocket boosters on his boots, shooting off for Tinker Town and the Deeprun Tram.


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