Flinthammer Hall

Ringo and Beli Flinthammer landed with heavy thumps and blinked at the seemingly bright sunlight as the Schnotzzis jerked the hoods off their heads.

“Ye again,” Ringo spat, glaring up at Commander Schnottz. “This is yer last chance, greenie: Cut us loose and we will nae feed yer naughty bits to the bear.”

“You are in a position unzuitable to give orders,” Schnottz drawled, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “And bezides, I vould not vant to miss zis touching reunion.”

He clapped his hands together suddenly.

“BRING HIM IN!”

A door somewhere behind the Flinthammers was flung open and a pair of goblins dragged in a struggling Brann Bronzebeard, who looked at the Flinthammers and seemed to sag a little in the guards’ arms.

“I vill take ze book now,” Schnottz said, grinning at Bronzebeard’s expression.

“W-what b-book?” Ringo stammered.

“You have ze journal in your pocket.”

“Ye idjit! You think a mountaineer would be that stupid? That he would bring me journal all the way back here?”

He paused.

“Ye didnae, did ye?”

There was a long silence.

“Ye didnae bring it, did ye?”

“Well, uh …”

“Ye DID?”

“Look, can we discuss this later?”

“I should have mailed it to a leper gnome!”

“Will ye take it easy?”

“Take it easy? Why do ye think I sent it to a mountaineer in the first place? So it wouldn’t fall into their hands!”

“Ah came here to SAVE ye!”

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna come to save ye, MOUNTAINEER?”

…

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“Here’s what Ah donnae understand,” Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer said, as he and his wife moved forward toward the tomb’s dark mouth. “If th’ prince wanted us ta do somethin’ with this book, why no’ send a note along with it? It’s jus’ a bunch o’ barely readable scribbles about some bloody coffer.”

“If he sent it to us, it must be because he wants us ta find it before the Horde does,” his wife, Beli said, waving her torch at the tomb’s mouth and squinting.

“Mebbe.”

“Hurry. Ain’t nothin’ ta be scared of here.”

“That’s what scares me.”

Indeed, the opening of the tomb and the first few rooms were merely dusty, but neither dwarf, nor the massive polar bear trailing them, relaxed any.

“Ringo, why is the floor moving?”

“Gimme yer torch.”

He waved the torch ahead of him, recoiling at what he saw.

“Snakes,” he shuddered. “Why’d it have ta be snakes?”

“Asps,” Beli muttered, “Very dangerous. Ye go first.”

“What? Nay, ye go first!”

“Ye have the torch, ye daft idjit: Wave it at anything that slithers.”

“The whole place is slitherin’!”

“They’re just snakes, Ringo.”

“Ah hate snakes, Beli! Ah hate ’em!”

“Come on! Show a little backbone, will ye?”

Placing her boot on his backside, Beli gave her husband a shove, sending him bouncing down into the darkness, screaming.

…

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Brann Bronzebeard peered at the Temple of Uldum and scowled.

“Schnotzzis,” he growled, lowering his spyglass. “I hate these guys.”

“Vat a pity,” a voice came from behind him.

Brann whirled to find himself surrounded by soldiers, each of whom had their rifle pointed at the dwarf. The soldiers’ ranks parted and a goblin dressed in black stepped forward, looking Brann up and down.

“You and I are vedy much alike,” Commander Schnottz drawled, blowing cigarette smoke from his cavernous nostrils. “Archeology iz our religion, yet ve have both fallen from ze pure faith; our methods have not differed as much as you pretend. I am but a shadowy reflection ov you: It vould take only a nudge to make you like me, to push you out ov ze light.”

“Now ye’re getting nasty,” Brann snarled, backing toward the cliff.

“How odd that it should end zis vay for us after zo many stimulating encounters. I almost regret it. Vere shall I vind a new adversary zo close to my own level?”

“Try the local sewer.”

Schnotzz’s soldiers raised their rifles at this affront before the goblin waved for them to hold fire.

“Your notes on ze Coffer of Promise,” he said, holding out a black-gloved hand. “Now.”

The prince of Ironforge shrugged, and smiled.

“I donnae have them any more.”

Schnottzz stared up at Brann a moment, sucking on his cigarette before barking a laugh.

“It’s pervectly obvious vere ze diary is. You’ve sent it to zat mountaineer and his vife. Our scouts saw zem arrive zrough ze portal vrom Stormvind.”

The goblin nodded, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“He sticks out like a zore thumb. Ve’ll find him.”

“The hell ye will,” Brann growled. “Flinthammer’s got a two day head start on ye, which is more than he needs. Ringo’s got friends in every town and village from here to Everlook. He speaks Dwarvish, Common and all the dirty words in Gnomish. He knows every local custom. He’ll blend in, disappear. Ye’ll never see him again. With any luck, he’s got the coffer already.”

…

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“Well, Ah reckon this is better than another long sea voyage,” Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer told his wife and bear. “Remember the Ahn’Qiraj war?”

Beli Flinthammer groaned.

“Spend all that time at sea cold, miserable and pukin’ and they punish ye by droppin’ ye off in Kalimdor after.”

“Still, ‘s weird havin’ all these portals in Stormwind. ‘s like we’re bein’ stalked by Dalaran or somethin’.”

“DON’T USE THEM!” squawked a nearby human. “The Earthen Ring is attempting to hijack a franchise exclusively guaranteed to Stormwind’s mages …”

…

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