High up in the peaks of Highmountain, Trueshot Lodge was a rustic hunting hall, the hidden base of the Unseen Path. The hall was surrounding by target ranges and animal pens and, inside, featured trophies and an armory of bows, guns and crossbows. Huntmasters of the order bellied up to the bar and shared stories of hunts and discussed gear.

Alliance and Horde allegiances were supposed to be left outside of the grounds of Trueshot Hall, but Ringo Flinthammer regularly caught Forsaken Huntmasters elbowing each other and muttering what sounded suspiciously like “Dun Garok” when they passed him. Fights were forbidden at Trueshot Lodge, but Ringo did his best to memorize the decayed faces in case they ran into each other out in the wilds after all of this was over.

But there was also something out of place in one corner of the hall, a disc of cobalt and titanium, forged within Ulduar itself.

Ignoring nearby troll and blood elf huntmasters, Ringo carefully approached the disc and cleared his throat.

“Are ye there, Mimiron? It’s me, Ringo Flinthammer.”

Above the disc, a translucent blue image of the Keeper flickered to life.

“Champion of Ulduar,” Mimiron’s voice crackled from a continent away. “Is there an issue with the Boarshot Cannon Mark 2?”

“Eh?” Ringo glanced back at the blunderbuss slung over his shoulder. “Nae, nae. It’s about the same as the Mark One.”

“Yes, the even-numbered releases are mostly refinements of the odd-numbered models. Slightly faster processor, a little better at keeping a charge. The Mark Three will be ready soon and you should see some more dramatic improvements.”

“Thank ye, Keeper Mimiron. That’s nae why Ah asked to speak with ye today.”

“This isn’t really a good time,” the keeper said, flickering in and out. “But tell me what the issue is.”

“There’s this naaru, ye see, or chunk of a naaru. It’s made certain claims about the Titans. Ah told me wife that it does nae matter whether or not the bloody windchime was telling the truth, but, well, she’s gone now and Ah’d be lyin’ if Ah said it did nae bother me when Ah’m tryin’ ta sleep at night.”

Widge and Vamen had tried to cheer Ringo up the other day. They said it was “aerial surveillance,” but there was no serious reason to closely monitor Stormheim this way, now that Helya had been slain. And the Armies of Legionfall seemed unlikely to conduct surveillance by hot air balloon. Still, it had almost worked, but Vamen had mentioned Beli by accident, and that had sent Ringo spiraling back down into the gloom he was in now.

“Hey!” Mimiron said sharply, looking back over his left shoulder at something. “Don’t you see the sign that says ‘DO NOT PUSH THIS BUTTON?’ Have you forgotten what happened last time?”

“Keeper?”

“I’m sorry, herald, I have to go …”

“But, Keeper, Ah just wanted to know …”

Mimiron’s image abruptly vanished.

Ringo bowed his head and sighed.