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Category: 09. Wrath of the Lich King

Among the champions

Among the champions

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It takes a special kind of cold to chill a dwarf to the bone. The snows of Dun Morogh last year-round, with only the hottest days of summer thinning the ice that cover Iceflow and Helm’s Bed Lakes the rest of the year, save for the fishing holes the dwarves hack out with axes.

Dwarves and even gnomes scoff at outlanders who find Dun Morogh inhospitable: “It’ll put hair on yer chest,” “toughen up, Sally” or “here, have another mornbrew” are their standard replies.

But the cold of Icecrown was different somehow; it seemed almost malicious, creeping inside Ringo Flinthammer’s boots and gloves, plastering his ice-coated whiskers to his face and neck and giving him the first windburn he’d gotten in a cold climate since he was a child. And there were times where the wind sounded like something whispering terrible thoughts into his ears …

Ringo shuddered, putting such thoughts from his head, and headed back inside the tent he shared with Beli. From outside, there was a crash of thunder from the Storm Peaks that loomed above the plain where the Argent Crusade was building their jousting grounds.

…

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In these troubled times

In these troubled times

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“Beeeeeeeeli!!”

A gnome decked out in a hat with lime and pink feathers, complete with a pair of tusks, waved delightedly.

“Wow, Vamen, where in the world did you find that topper?” I marveled at his newest head adornment. Outlandish hats are to Vamen what designer shoes are to human women.

“Got it from an angry jungle gnome. Long story.” He cackled with a dismissive wave. “How are you and Ringo doing — BY BONZO’S BRASS BUTTONS, IS THAT YOURS?”

I place me hand on the head of a blond toddler peeking out behind me robe. “This is Bael, our wee son, aye. He’s nearly two now. He’s off to stay with his ‘Opa and Oma’ while Ringo takes me on yet another fun-filled expedition.”

Bael gave a floppy wave and began quacking enthusiastically, his new favorite game. “Gak, gak!”

“Wow! I’ve been away longer than I thought. Sheesh, what else have I missed? Nothing big, I hope.”

…

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Battle before the citadel

Battle before the citadel

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“The dwarves?”

“Aye, by Khaz, the dwarves! No one has a greater right to split that bloody traitor’s skull in two than us!”

“Sir,” said the man polishing wine glasses behind the counter, his voice raising ever-so-slightly in disapproval, “Here at the Legerdemain Lounge, we keep our voices down as a courtesy to our other customers.”

“Shut yer strudel hole!” barked Ringo Flinthammer, pointing a thick finger at the shocked bartender. “Bloody wine bar.”

“Go back to what you were saying before,” Widge Gearloose said, putting down his own wine glass hurriedly. “Why would the dwarves have more right to deliver the killing blow to Arthas than, say, the humans?”

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Formal introductions

Formal introductions

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“Let’s get to fightin’.”

Ringo and Beli Flinthammer stood before Corp’rethar, the Horror Gate, the final barrier between Alliance and Horde troops and Icecrown Citadel. Strange blue flames, which hurt the eyes when looked upon, formed an additional barrier before the black steel wall. And before the flames were the armies of the Scourge. The Flinthammers were there as part of an effort by Alliance forces based on the Skybreaker to help weaken the Scourge’s defenses.

“Not yet,” came the response, sounding like metal scraping across metal, laced with the accent of a former nobleman of Lordaeron. “Formal introductions first — protocol.”

“Khaz’goroth on a cracker,” Ringo growled, lowering his rifle slightly. Frostmaw behind him relaxed, the bear taking his cue from his master’s body language. “Get on with it.”

“I am Lord Corin Lightstalker, Lord Protector of Corin’s Crossing …”

…

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