Ironforge, the Forlorn Cavern.
Leave from the front, and rest and relaxation.
“I had to move from the pool I was fishing in because you came over and threw up in it,” Robaz the Frail said, casting his fishing line into the cave pool. “Killed all the fish.”
“Fishing in an ornamental fountain was a typical elf trick anyway,” Ringo Flinthammer said mildly, reeling in his own line and preparing to cast it out again. “Remind me to go throw up in Teldrassil’s moon wells.”
Bael Flinthammer wouldn’t stop crying. Ringo looked at the child’s mother imploringly.
“Fine!” Beli said, throwing up her hands, “Let’s go back to the inn and put him down for a nap. It’s quieter in there.”
A female draenei stepped between the dwarves and their destination.
“We’ve taken Sun’s Reach from the enemy and our final victory is at hand,” she began, turning to jog after the couple and the crying baby, who had not broken step when she started speaking. “The cost was high and many brave combatants gave their lives so we could achieve this.
“It is my goal to ensure that those who perished in combat are not forgotten. I ask that you take a moment to consider making a donation …”
“Gave already,” Ringo said, wincing as a child sorely in need of a nap howled in his ear. “To yer assistant, or something.”
“We owe you everything, Beli. You have single-handedly shattered the Dragonmaw empire and gathered enough information to keep my brethren occupied for ten lifetimes … My kin have each offered to join you on your mission in Outland. Simply ask and they will bond with you.”
Barthamus, a nether drake disguised as a blood elf, extends his pale elfish hand to the blur of purple-hued kin sequestered in a group behind me in Lower City.
“No, really, that’s –” I attempt to decline politely when a low-pitched grunt distracts me and I glance over me left shoulder.
A green nether drake shakes its head exuberantly and raises a shimmering yellow paw awkwardly in a beckoning motion.
“Are ye OK back there?” Beli Flinthammer called out over her shoulder.
Bael Flinthammer was fine. He was bundled up tight and strapped to her back as they soared through the skies over Quel’Thalas on the back of a gryphon. Beli’s baby laughed and giggled as the gryphon spiraled down toward the harbor. Even from here, she could see Burning Legion forces on the island, engaged in a firefight with dwarven riflemen. If her husband wasn’t among them, she knew he would be champing at the bit to join the fight.