“Spit it out, already!”

Ringo Flinthammer swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Sorry — pretzel. What was th’ question, again?”

His cousin sighed, and gestured with his beer stein.

“In all yer travels, havin’ seen all the changes since the Cataclysm, which was the craziest? Like, the people.”

“What? Ah reckon ye’re drunk, Mangorn.”

“Nay, I mean, like night elf mages. That’s madness!”

“Pfft, they’ve always been ’round — Ah reckon this lot jus’ found out they couldn’t blow up a continent again, and are just lookin’ fer something to do.”

“Still, pretty crazy. Almost as hard ta figure them in the Alliance as Dark Iron mages and warlocks.”

“They’ve been ’round forever, o’ course.”

“Aye.”

“Troll druids, too,” Ringo mused. “Some act like that’s somethin’ surprisin’, but Ah spent a fair ‘mount o’ time killin’ bat-women and snake-men an’ th’ like in Zul’Gurub. So no surprise that some o’ them joined th’ Horde.”

“So, not the craziest.”

“Nay.”

“So, what then?”

Ringo looked around and lowered his voice.

“Gnome priests. That’s just … odd. Do they believe in the Light? Or ha’ they figured out some sort o’ healing devices they will nae share with other engineers? They used ta be wee clockwork men — Ah’m nae comfortable with their little fingers pokin’ around in me wounds, like they’re checkin’ fer spare parts.”

“…”

“Mangorn?”

“…”

“There’s a gnome right behind me, I reckon.”

“… aye.”

“Khaz’goroth on a cracker!”

((Inspired by the Blog Azeroth shared topic Class/Race Lore.))