“Tighten that cloak up, me lad. Yer mother will skin me if Ah come home with you havin’ caught yer death.”
“OK. Da.”
“Did ye like playin’ with that bow earlier?”
“Aye!”
“They’re fun, when ye’re a wee one, Ah reckon. Elf rangers still like ’em, too, but Ah reckon that just shows how soft-headed they are. Troll hunters use ’em, too, which just goes ta show, they’re good for those as can’t be trusted with a gun.”
Ringo Flinthammer was back in Silithus, site of the Scarab Gate, where Ringo and his wife had once been part of the Might of Kalimdor; the army that had fought to drive the Qiraji back into their ancient city and keep them from spilling out across Azeroth.
But he didn’t see the qiraji – although the sound of their clicking communication echoed around him constantly – but about the maddened humanoids in the Twilight’s Hammer, the cult devoted to bringing about the end of the world.
“HE RISES!” the cultists, dressed in purple hoods and robes, screamed. “HE RISES AND THE WORLD BURNS!”
Wherever Ringo turned, however fast he rode, there was nothing but endless blowing sand and grit and more of the howling, capering cultists.
“Dearest Beli,
“We are in ‘hurry up and wait’ mode again. The surface of Gnomeregan is free, although Thermaplugg‘s forces still hold the interior for now. With victory this close, the gnomes have grown proud, and some are insisting that the rest of the Alliance leave the final retaking of the city to them. I reckon I can understand that.
“Citizens and friends of Gnomeregan!” High Tinker Mekkatorque called out to the troops standing in the new-fallen Dun Morogh snow. “Today is the day we take back our glorious city from the vile traitor Thermaplugg!”
“I am not a coward,” snapped Sgt. Widge Gearloose. “I’m a patriot!”
“And you’re mostly back here because you’re tired of being sent to wipe out Malygos loyalists in Moonrest Gardens,” Sgt. Voca Lodestone scoffed. “The Kirin Tor were very clear about their requirements when we …”
“I didn’t know they wanted me to be writing books all the time! I can’t do that! So, instead, they send me off to fight terrorists non-stop!”
“What do you think ‘publish or perish’ means, Widge?”