“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-haw!” Ringo Flinthammer roared as his proto-drake soared through the struts of the Thandol Span. “Go, Rusty, go!”

The proto-drake beat his wings heavily, the metal plates bolted and fused to his flesh by Loken’s iron dwarves pinging as a summer shower sprinkled raindrops down on the pair.

“Ha!” Ringo barked, looking over his shoulder. “Foggy cannae believe what he just saw! If’n that donnae get him to kick th’ moonshine, nothin’ will!”

Rusty snorted noncommittally and followed the water east out of the Thandol Valley, wheeling north along the eastern coast of Lordaeron, the dark waters of the Forbidding Sea reflecting the sun back up at the pair.

Most of this coast was impassable, giving the sea its grim name: For centuries, both human and dwarven kings forbade most of their fleets from sailing this coast, as any trouble at sea would lead to valuable ships and crewmen being lost.

Despite this prohibition, there were a few signs of life: Rusty rolled sideways and half fell, half soared down toward a dwarven farm in a rare spot of cleared land.

The proto-drake landed heavily, dislodging some ancient mossy cobblestones, jogging to a halt on a worm-eaten dock that creaked heavily under the metal-clad dragon.

Ringo patted the great beast’s neck, reaching in through a gap under the creature’s armor plating to scratch Rusty’s scaly hide.

“Good boy,” Ringo said, slipping out of the saddle, then removing the creature’s tack, and carrying it to the empty stable. “Ah cannae spend as much time wit’ ye as Ah might like, what with both Alliance and Horde still twitchy ’bout frostwyrms and the Black Dragonflight, but Ah can tell me prince Ah truly did me best ta take care o’ ye despite that.”

He stepped outside the stable to find the proto-drake headfirst in the ocean, splashing like mad. A moment later, Rusty’s head resurfaced as he gobbled down a whole shark. The dragon blinked at Ringo and let out a monumental fishy burp.

“Aye,” Ringo nodded. “Ah donnae who th’ dwarves were who founded this here farm, or where they went, but Ah reckon they wouldn’t mind us usin’ it fer yer home away from home, at least fer now.”

He stepped into the farmhouse where he’d left several sacks of gear. Finding the one he wanted, he stepped outside and walked over to the dragon. Throwing open the sack, he pulled out a stiff brush and began scrubbing off the worst spots of rust on the beast’s armor plating.

“Ah donnae want ta think o’ what we’ll have ta do when these start ta rust straight through,” Ringo said, scrubbing hard as Rusty groaned with pleasure at the scrubbing. “One day soon, we’ll bring ye back ta th’ loch an’ away from all this salt water. They cannae keep the prohibition on flying o’er Khaz Modan fore’er, now can they?”

((Inspired by the Blog Azeroth shared topic, “RP a scene with your Favorite Mount.”))