In defense of the king’s lands
Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer rushed out of the Deeprun Tram station and into Tinker Town. The home of the Gnomeregan government in exile had been in the process of shutting down, after the Battle for Gnomeregan and the establishment of New Tinkertown, but right now, it was packed with dwarven and gnomish refugees fleeing Deathwing’s onslaught.
“That’s the last time Ah listen to a bloody squid,” Ringo snarled, half-guiding, half-shoving his in-laws, the Rockbottoms, toward an authoritative-looking gnome with an officer of the Ironforge Guard. “Ah was away from me homeland and family when they needed me most!”
“Mountaineer!” a gruff voice barked from across the crowded hall. “What are you doing here?”
“Sir!” Ringo snapped off the best salute he could manage, as he was jostled by refugees. “Ah was in Stormwind, sir. The Earthen Ring …”
“What is your regular posting?” The guard wore the insignia of an officer of the Ironforge Guard.
“Loch Modan, sir,” Ringo said, then blurted out, unable to stop himself. “Sir, me family is there, is it …”
The day that Deathwing came
It was a cool autumn morning in Loch Modan, but dwarves are made of sturdy stuff. After suffering through her son’s cabin fever for days, Beli Flinthammer had decided the best cure was a picnic lunch on the shores of the loch near the Stonewrought Dam, which she planned to explore with Bael after lunch until the boy was exhausted.
“Dwagon.”
“Nay, Bael, I told ye: That’s a crocolisk.” She was already looking forward to Bael being worn out and asleep on the ride back to Thelsamar on the back of her faithful Sam the Ram.
“Uh dwagon.”
“Bael, help Mommy get lunch set up.”
“Dwagon!” Insistent, the boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve and stabbed a finger toward the south.
“I’m tellin’ ye, Bael, that’s a … Eonar protect us!”
“UH BIG DWAGON!”