The Flinthammers descend to an Uldum tomb

“Here’s what Ah donnae understand,” Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer said, as he and his wife moved forward toward the tomb’s dark mouth. “If th’ prince wanted us ta do somethin’ with this book, why no’ send a note along with it? It’s jus’ a bunch o’ barely readable scribbles about some bloody coffer.”

“If he sent it to us, it must be because he wants us ta find it before the Horde does,” his wife, Beli said, waving her torch at the tomb’s mouth and squinting.


“Hurry. Ain’t nothin’ ta be scared of here.”

“That’s what scares me.”

Indeed, the opening of the tomb and the first few rooms were merely dusty, but neither dwarf, nor the massive polar bear trailing them, relaxed any.

“Ringo, why is the floor moving?”

“Gimme yer torch.”

He waved the torch ahead of him, recoiling at what he saw.

“Snakes,” he shuddered. “Why’d it have ta be snakes?”

“Asps,” Beli muttered, “Very dangerous. Ye go first.”

“What? Nay, ye go first!”

“Ye have the torch, ye daft idjit: Wave it at anything that slithers.”

“The whole place is slitherin’!”

“They’re just snakes, Ringo.”

“Ah hate snakes, Beli! Ah hate ’em!”

“Come on! Show a little backbone, will ye?”

Placing her boot on his backside, Beli gave her husband a shove, sending him bouncing down into the darkness, screaming.

Ringo in a tomb

“And now it’s clear o’ snakes.”

And she followed.

“Khaz’goroth on a cracker,” Ringo snarled, as she slid to a halt beside him.

Beli slapped him in the back of the head.

“That’s fer blasphemy.”

“Ye’re enjoyin’ this far too much, woman.”

“Well, Flinthammer, at least ye hannae forgotten how to show a lady a good time.”

There was the click of a rifle and they looked up to see a group of black-clad goblins surrounding a blood elf dressed in white.

“Mountaineer Flinthammer,” drawled the elf, who wore the badge of the Reliquary, the Horde’s pale imitation of the Explorer’s League. “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. Your appearance is exactly the way I imagined.”

“Ah’m like a bad penny,” Ringo said, spitting out a mouthful of sand and wiping away the cobwebs that coated him. “Ah always turn up.”

“Pack them up,” the elf barked, snapping his fingers at the soldiers, “They’re coming with us.”

One thought on “Diggerer

  1. Ah, nothing like the adventures of Ringo Flinthammer. Decorated mountaineer, slayer of the Lich King, and how does one say it… obtainer of rare antiquities.

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