Can I keep him?

Can I keep him?

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Ringo Flinthammer blinked in surprise and looked down at the note again.

Dear Ringo,

I hope ye’re doing well and that ye’ve had time to recover from our shenanigans in Ulduar.

Me lads from the prospecting team happened upon this poor ‘alf dead riding-drake hatchling. Must’ve been an Iron Dwarf experiment of some sort.

We’ve patched him back to health and ye’ll find he’s not so wee anymore! None of us know much about riding anything but rams and pack mules and since we owed ye one for what ye did back there … We thought perhaps ye’d accept him as a gift.

Yours,
Brann Bronzebeard

Ringo looked back up at the proto-dragon, covered in rusty metal plates fused to its flesh, and sighed.

“Beli is going to kick me arse fer bringin’ home another stray …”

Keuulm chrwil Lgllluchillmkelllu!

Keuulm chrwil Lgllluchillmkelllu!

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“Any luck?” asked the battle-mage, tapping his weapons together impatiently as he watched the gnome fiddle with some device pulled from her tool belt.

“Not a bit,” she replied, shaking her device and holding it up to the sky, tapping the mechanism with a fingernail before turning back to the glowing field filling the space between the two spinning rings. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out how this thing works.”

…

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Choose your side

Choose your side

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“All right,” the draenei priestess said, wiping the sweat from her lavender brow and glancing at her watch, “We’ll take a 10-minute break.”

Thorim’s arena inside Ulduar was now empty, save for the still-crackling chunks of metal that had been iron dwarves and vrykul just minutes before. The Keeper Thorim had departed, after the force now licking its wounds had literally beaten some sense into him. Thorim now had left the Clash of Thunder to clear his head of the charms Yogg-Saron had placed on him.

“And now,” Belsun Grimaxe said, reaching into his pack, “It’s battle fuel time.”

…

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