Taking the Fight to the Enemy
Three militias, the Brothers in Arms, were assembled in the sand just south of Cenarion Hold. Many still had wounds from the war, bandages caked with blowing grit and dust.
“Is this going to be a stand-up fight, sir, or another bug hunt?” Faenor said. The elf wore a scarf across his mouth and nose, blocking the worst of the windswept sand.
“All we know is that there is still is no contact with the king’s brother, and that the Qiraji may be involved,” Ulrich said, buckling on his platemail greaves.
“Excuse me, sir, the what?” For a warlock, Danira was unfailingly polite. Maybe that’s what it took to deal with the entities that she did.
“The Qiraji,” Ringo said, climbing onto his ram, turning its unwilling head towards the newly risen city to the south.
After reviewing me duty papers signed by Captain Blackanvil, Windcaller Kaldon wrinkled his nose and flipped through his clipboard.
The last of the cargo had been strapped to the hippogryphs and was now winging its way southeast from the dark wood platform overlooking the gray waters of Auberdine.
Guumbah had reminded Ringo that we needed to pay our respects in Moonglade and celebrate the defeat of the demi-god, Omen, at the annual Lunar Festival. Just in case Ringo needed more convincing, Clou also pointed out that the soliders abroad were returning home specifically to celebrate and be with loved ones once again. I had done me best to look disappointed when Ringo glanced at me, but I don’t think he bought it.