Chaka chaka chaka. Chaka chaka chaka.
The swift yellow mechanostrider. Brassy yellow. Obnoxiously yellow.
Chaka chaka chaka. Chaka chaka chaka.
And the abhorrently loud mechanization was about to be all mine … all mine.
Chaka chaka chaka. Chaka chaka chaka.
“I’ll take one of these to go.” I say as I check out me reflection on the metallic surface of the mechnostrider, winking at meself.
“BELI! You may have already WON a million gold! Details inside!�
I scoffed as I sorted through the mail, tossing the junk letters into the burning fire. Frostmaw, who had been snoozing on the rug near the fireplace, gave me an irritated growl as a misaimed envelope tripped over his head. I crouched down, patting him as I inspected the last envelope in my hand. It was a red envelope with no return address at it, addressed to me in fancy gold lettering.
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This was supposed to be a happy occasion.
The Horde and the Alliance, together, dancing around the ribbon pole, took some getting used to, but there it was. The war against the Qiraji had brought back memories of the Battle of Mount Hyjal when the Alliance and Horde first worked together and the Midsummer Fire Festival might have been the first holiday in a long time that had passed without bloodshed.
And then the Scourge had crashed the party.
Randis crouched down in the reeds surrounding Loch Modan. Ringo had to give him credit: The orphan from Stormwind had never seen a swamp before, much less been in one up to his waist, but even after the stern warning about leeches and loch frenzies, the boy hadn’t hesitated to wade into the makeshift blind Ringo had chosen. He was determined to throw himself into experiencing life beyond the orphanage walls this Children’s Week.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this back at the orphanage,” the boy said.
“Ach, don’t worry about it, lad,” Ringo said, beard spreading out in the loch water around him like a white lily pad. “A boy who’s been through what you went through in the last war can handle the grisly facts of life.”
They waited in silence for a while, the air growing quiet except for the sound of cicadas and bullfrogs and the occasional leap of a fish on the loch.
And then they heard it.
Handing over the last of the armor scraps to Murgot Deepforge, I rubbed me eyes and looked to smoke filled sky that covered Alterac Valley.
“Thanks, Beli! These supplies will help our troops!” The shaggy haired dwarf commended, hauling off the armor scraps to the forge.
For many months now, I had often traveled to the heart of Alterac Mountains and lent a supportive hand to the Dwarven Stormpike Expedition in their ongoing land conflict with the Frostwolf Orcs. Because of the constant onslaught from the orcs, the Stormpike search for natural resources and ancient relics were greatly impeded.
The hour was late and I was in need of rest. I knew someone would arrive to replace me so I reached into me backpack and rubbed me hearthstone. The stone briefly glowed with a green aura and with a rumble of thunder, light enveloped me and portaled me back to Ironforge, me home sweet home.