“Tighten that cloak up, me lad. Yer mother will skin me if Ah come home with you havin’ caught yer death.”

“OK. Da.”

“Did ye like playin’ with that bow earlier?”

“Aye!”

“They’re fun, when ye’re a wee one, Ah reckon. Elf rangers still like ’em, too, but Ah reckon that just shows how soft-headed they are. Troll hunters use ’em, too, which just goes ta show, they’re good for those as can’t be trusted with a gun.”

“Dwarves made guns!”

“That’s right, son! The gnomes an’ th’ goblins get all the credit fer their engineering advances, but that ain’t what dwarves care about. We invented the third great branch o’ engineering, makin’ guns an’ scopes an’ ammunition an’ steam-powered vehicles. We weren’t tryin’ to prove nothin’: We were doin’ it to bring home food to our villages and protect our people. Dwarves went down into tha earth and used fire and steel and created weapons ta serve a need.”

“No’ fer a story.”

“Nay, not ta get famous. A great rifleman might be known fer what he has slain, but he does it fer practical reasons.”

“Like their pets?”

“Aye. An elf ranger might gab on about bein’ one soul in two separate bodies about their bloody cats, and troll hunters treat their raptors as disposable – they’ll eat them when they die – but a dwarf knows his bear is a true friend and a comrade in arms.”

“Ah like bears.”

“‘course ye do! Dwarves an’ bears got a lot in common: Slow to anger or make friends, but once we do, we mean it. No one’s fiercer ’bout protectin’ their kin or lands. They ne’er look fer trouble, but won’t run from it if it comes. Some riflemen prefer other companions – mostly them as has spent too much time in Quel’Thalas to be healthy – but a proper rifleman guards Khaz Modan with a stout bear at his side.”

“Rif … riful …”

“‘Rifleman.’ We’re the guardians of Khaz Modan. No’ ‘hunters’ or ‘rangers,’ we are the dwarves who carry rifles, like Khaz intended.”

“An’ axes.”

“Aye, and axes. Practical again, ye see, not like elves with their bloody swords, which ain’t no use for cuttin’ firewood. Likewise, ye ride a ram: They’re strong, an’ sure-footed, an’ they can carry a load of gear with ye in the field, or the body of a slain comrade ta bring home ta his family.”

“Prac’cal.”

“Aye. Speakin’ o’ family, Ah reckon yer ma probably has dinner ready now. Time ta get ye out o’ th’ snow and on home, Ringo.”

“Ah’m gonna be a proper rifulm’n like ye one day, Da.”

“Ah know ye will,” Mountaineer Magnus Flinthammer nodded, putting his young son on the back of his shaggy ram before climbing up behind him and guiding the beast back toward Kharanos. “Ah know ye will.”

((Inspired by the Blog Azeroth shared topic, “The Way of the True (Class).”))