Flinthammer Hall

“Everything OK back there, Lt. Commander Flinthammer?”

“Aye,” Beli called out the engines as she checked their course on a compass. “How’s the Skychaser handling, Knight-Captain Flinthammer?”

“All right, Ah reckon,” Ringo said, scanning the skies over the Arathi Highlands. “We sure have come from oor Alterac Valley days. Lt. Commanders travel in style now.”

“Tack south a bit,” Beli said. “We want to avoid Galen’s Fall; there’s likely to be Forsaken spotters there.”

Ringo nodded.

“Ah wanted tae pass o’er Dun Garok anyway,” he said as they flew over the ruins of Thoradin’s Wall.

“Even in death, the Dun Garok brigade holds the base,” Beli said as Ringo slowed the Skychaser and put it into hover mode over the mountain fort. “The Forsaken have never claimed it.”

“Nae wan should be surprised that Sylvanas attacked attacked th’ World Tree,” Ringo said after a moment of staring over the side at the base below. “When everyone else were tryin’ tae reco’er from th’ Cataclysm, she chose to attack an’ slaughter Southshore an’ Dun Garok.”

He sighed, and then gunned the Skychaser’s engines, steering the flying ship to the northwest. The smell of the lakes of Blight in the ruins of Southshore to the west made him scowl.

“After we’re done with Lordaeron, the Alliance should do something about Hillsbrad. The dead deserve no less.”

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“And that’s why it’s called the ‘marginal tax rate,'” a beaming Ely Flinthammer explained. “Boop!”

Bael Flinthammer stood there, dazed, not even objecting to his uncle booping him.

“Um, I have to take Lucky for a walk. You don’t want a lion peeing inside the house.”

“Sure, sure,” Ely said, sitting back. He craned his head over one shoulder, calling to deeper within the Thelsamar home of his brother Ringo and his wife, Beli. “Are you two planning on having any other children?”

Sunlight from the open door filled the living room.

“Oh, hello,” Bael said to the figure in the doorway as Lucky inspected the human with several mighty sniffs.

“Hello,” said the man wearing the blue uniform of a Stormwind soldier. “Is Lt. Commander Flinthammer, er, your mother home?”

When Beli returned from the door after about five minutes, she was carrying two letters, one sealed, one unsealed.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ringo said, having emerged from a deeper chamber of the house in search for some tools to work on one of his rifles. “What’s goin’ on with yer face?”

“It’s Darnassus. The Horde burned Teldrassil. It’s … gone.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Lucky deciding he really did have to go outside. A flabbergasted Bael followed after the black lion with a questioning look, no more sure than the adults about how to feel about all of this.

“So, what are those?” Ringo nodded his chin at the papers in Beli’s hand.

“Orders. The Alliance is marching on Lordaeron.”

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“Postmaster Flinthammer,” Katy Stampwhistle said, holding out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“It’s just ‘Ely’ now,” the youngest of the Flinthammer Boys said, shaking her hand. “I was only assigned to monitor Alliance mail during Operation Legionfall.”

He glanced ruefully around the mailroom, hidden below the streets of Dalaran. Mail zipped overhead under its own power, while mailementals sorted more mundane correspondence.

“Where will you go now?” Katy asked. “Will you be monitoring mail to and from the front lines still?”

“I’m going to visit family in Thelsamar while I figure that all out,” Ely said, with a shrug. “Not sure where those ‘front lines’ would be. Still, it was fun messing with my brothers with the censoring quill.”

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