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Category: 25. The Tomb of Sargeras

The escape

The escape

Beli in Stormwind Harbor

“Flinthammer! Lt. Commander Flinthammer!”

Beli Flinthammer’s shoulders tensed, and she refused to look to see who in the crowd was yelling at her.

“Mom, that dwarf is calling you,” Bael said, tugging her sleeve.

“I know, it’s just … complicated.”

And then the dwarf shoved his way through the people thronging the docks of Stormwind Harbor.

“Ye’re Lt. Commander Flinthammer, aren’t ye?” the dwarf panted, carrying what looked like all his worldly possessions in an overstuffed backpack. “Ah fought under yer command in Alterac Valley. Ah was an adventurer like you, then Ah took an arrow in the knee.”

“I just have one of those faces,” Beli said, giving Bael a warning squeeze on the shoulder to keep her son quiet. “My name is Azora Rockbottom.”

“Oh, my mistake. Ah should have realized. Lt. Commander Flinthammer is in the Broken Isles, Ah reckon.”

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Rusty in the skies over Wrynnfall

“There, you see?” the gnome warlock cackled, doing a triumphant dance on the outcropping overlooking Wrynnfall. “Ringo Flinthammer is dead!”

“You still don’t get it,” the human mage said, shaking his head. “Ringo’s not as brave as his brother Durkon, he’s not half the hunter that Bragh is, and he’s nowhere near the fighter that Mordun is, but he … oh, and you also forgot about that.”

The mage pointed.

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Make them bleed

Make them bleed

The skies above the Tomb of Sargeras

“At long last, our plan comes to fruition,” the gnome warlock said, watching the battle from a nearby hill, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.

“Your masters wanted him dead before the Armies of Legionfall ever got inside the tomb, didn’t they?” the human mage replied.

The gnome turned and glared at him.

“No matter! Ringo Flinthammer will perish, his brothers’ resolve will break and they may even die themselves in their attempt to save him.”

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The brotherhood of light

The brotherhood of light

The Tomb of Sargeras

Durkon Flinthammer was the tip of the spear.

As a member of the 7th Legion, he had fought in the Dragonblight, Gilneas and Krasarang Wilds, never faltering, even when all had seemed lost.

And, on the Broken Shore, specifically at “Wrynnfall,” where the human king, Varian Wrynn, had been cut down by the Burning Legion, the ashen soil stained with his blood.

The Armies of Legionfall had broken through here, getting a force into the Tomb of Sargeras. But Burning Legion reinforcements had arrived, cutting off the force’s escape route and preventing any reinforcements from getting through.

Unless the Flinthammer Boys had something to say about it, that is.

Durkon’s sword bit deep, spraying his shield with fel green blood as he jerked his blade free of one demon’s torso even as he whirled to face another, surrounded on all sides by them. He was focused and fearless, whether facing one demon or one hundred.

“Ringo?” Durkon’s head darted to the side, peeking around one of his advancing foes.

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The Trial of Frost

The Trial of Frost

Baelan, Ikeya and Ringo at the edge of the Dreamgrove

“I could just light something on fire,” Archmage Ikeya said. “There’s some dry leaves over there, and then that whole tree would go up pretty quickly.”

“For the last time, we’re not lighting any trees on fire,” Baelan Grimaxe grumbled. “Especially given your history with these fellers.”

“OK, sure,” Ikeya shrugged, closing his fist and extinguishing the flame that had been floating above his palm. “It’s just that every time we take a step further into the Dreamgrove, we all fall asleep and wake up back here on the trail.”

Ringo Flinthammer stroked Frostmaw’s head and sighed, turning back down the trail to where, somewhere among the towering trees of Val’sharah, the druids of the Cenarion Circle had their base.

Ringo unslung his Boarshot Cannon and fired three shots into the air, sending birds wheeling away in panic, squawking in outrage.

“Lesaris! Show yerself!”

Something dropped through the canopy, perhaps an enormous raven or maybe an owl. But when it rose up before Ringo a moment later, it was a towering night elf with burning golden eyes.

“Flinthammer,” Lesaris rumbled. “Last time we saw each other, you made it clear that you were uninterested in honoring the debt between your family and myself.”

“Aye,” Ringo shrugged. “It turns out Ah’m not interested in killin’ helpless elves, no matter what they might say about me back in Quel’Danas.”

“I have little patience for you, oathbreaker. Tell me why you disturb the peace of this forest.”

“It’s Frostmaw,” Ringo said, stepping aside to reveal the great white bear, unconscious and hovering on Ikeya’s flying carpet. “He’s dying. Some sort of poison from Pandaria, they say. He’s been dosed with it for months, and Ah had nae idea.”

Lesaris’ face softened.

“I see. Surely the huntmasters of the Unseen Path could save him, if anyone could.”

“Nae. They say he’s beyond hope.”

“So why bring him here?”

“Ye spent hundreds of years sleeping below Mount Hyjal with the other druids, aye?”

“The Druids of the Claw slept for roughly 7,000 years in the Barrow Deeps, yes.”

“Or, more properly, ye hibernated, did ye not?”

“In bear form, yes,” Lesaris said, nodding with sudden understanding. “Your hope is that the Druids of the Claw might have some way to bring your bear companion back from the brink of death that we learned in our centuries in bear form.”

“It’s th’ only hope Ah have left. Ah’ve raised him since he was a cub.”

Lesaris reached down and lifted up the unconscious Frostmaw, giving only the slightest grunt of exertion.

“There’s no telling how long a cure, if there is a cure, will take. It could be months or even years. And whether this works or not, Ringo Flinthammer, you now owe me a considerable debt. One that I will collect when the time comes.”

Ringo watched Lesaris carry his best friend into the woods, wondering if he’d even see him again.