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What was to become known as the Battle for the Dark Portal went back and forth for days, and several times, the Burning Legion broke through the lines of the Alliance and Horde to set fire to the encampment erected by the Argent Dawn.
But a week after the Dark Portal reopened, the Alliance and Horde pushed the Burning Legion all the way back through the portal and followed them through to the far side.
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It was as O’ros foretold.
The first time Ringo had come to what had once been the Black Morass, the Dark Portal had stood dormant, quietly gloating of the fel energies that had once poured from it, baking the land and turning it into the aptly named Blasted Lands.
But now, only a month after the Exodar had arrived on Azeroth, the Dark Portal was dormant no longer.
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The draenei’s descriptions hadn’t prepared Ringo and Beli for the reality of the Exodar. It was not a “ship,” nor a “palace,” nor even a “temple,” as the dwarves thought of those terms.
“That’s a bloody big crystal, that’s what that is,” Beli breathed, when the glowing bulk of the Exodar finally came into view against an overcast sky.
Ringo was on the last chorus of “Good King Bronzebeard” when the draenei joined in.
“In his master’s steps he trod,
Towards the goodly numbers;
Poison on his daggers went
So they dripped and glittered.
Therefore, Dwarven folk, be sure,
Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will save the wee,
Shall yourselves find blessing.”
With that, Ringo drained his mug, blew the foam from his whiskers with appreciation and sat down at the long table in the forest.
“There’s no snow here on Azuremyst, but this is a proper Feast of Winter’s Veil, right enough,” he grinned, slapping a draenei next to him on the shoulder. “Still, it’s hard to wrap my head around you lot celebrating the coming of Greatfather Winter a world away with the Wildhammers.”
“Well, surely you don’t actually believe in Greatfather Winter, do you?” asked an oddly lovely draenei woman across the table.
Beli dropped her cutlery onto her plate with a clatter. The guests all fell silent.
Ringo Flinthammer was having fun.
“Dashing through the snow, looking for demons ta slay, o’er hills we go, shooting all the way!” He grinned, cocking his rifle with one broad thumb. “Bang, bang, bang, bang!”
Behind him, Beli jogged along, holding her warhammer with both hands.
“Should ye really be singing? It’s going to know where we are.”