World of Warcraft®

“Aw, shaddup. You didn’t see any fancy dragon.”

“Yeah, I did! I swear – it was huge! Y’know, spikes, pointy teeth? And it was yellow from tip to tail!” The goblin tried to show, somewhat ineffectively, the size of the dragon with his arms.

“Ain’t any yellow drakes in the Storm Peaks, you idiot. That’s a fairy tale. A story your mama tells you when you’re a baby.”

“I ain’t a baby! I swear, I saw one. Just west of the caverns, about a week and a half ago.” Still trying to emphasize his point, the goblin pointed frantically to the north, jumped onto the table, and flapped his arms as if they were wings.

“Zixxil, if ya don’t shut up about that damn dragon, I’m gonna smash this tankard over your noggin. Then you’ll see yellow drakes flyin’ round your head for sure.”

Aside from the quarreling goblins, the cantina at K3 was relatively quiet that night. The stars shone brightly above a veil of storm clouds on the horizon. An icy wind blew over the harsh, frozen valley in the early morning; most everyone else had long since retired to their warm beds for the night. A young draenei woman hunched over a table near the hearth, writing something on a sheet of parchment. A large cat with dark fur lay at her feet, sleeping. The draenei was so absorbed in her writing that the food on her plate had grown cold.

“Can I get ya something, peach?”

Meriste placed her quill on the table and looked at the petite goblin grinning up at her. The barmaid had appeared at her side dressed in a red and white uniform, carefully balancing a tray laden with frosty mugs of beer. Strands of vibrant red hair, which had once been neatly tucked away, now fell over the goblin’s face. Meriste smiled at her with tired eyes.

“Yes, thank you. I would love a hot tea with sweetened goat’s milk.”

“Would you like me to reheat that plate for ya?”

“Oh…that would be wonderful.” Meriste looked at the plate, realizing she had completely forgotten it was there. She paused for a moment, watching the two goblins bicker. “What are they fighting about?”

The red-headed goblin rolled her eyes, shifting her weight to one side and placing a hand on her hip.

“Oh, those two? Just ignore them. They’re here every night, almost. Drinkin’ and threatnin’ to knock each other’s lights out. Never actually do, though. Zixxil there – the one standing on the table waving his arms around like a fool – he’s always comin’ in here with some tall tale to tell. He’s talked about this dragon before.”

“A dragon, you say?” Meriste stared at the goblin, eyes shining with curiosity. The goblin laughed.

“Oh, peach. It’s nothin’ but a legend. Some say that there’s a special breed of dragons flyin’ over those peaks. Nearly as old as the titans themselves, they say, with bright yellow scales and a maw that can swallow two goblins at once. Me, now, I ain’t ever seen such a dragon flyin’ round. Just a tale. I’ll go get your tea for ya.” Placing the plate of food on her tray, she turned to walk away. “ZIXXIL! Get off that damn table ‘fore I kick you outta here!”

The pen lay forgotten on the table as Meriste sat deep in thought, entertaining the idea of the exotic drakes. She had heard of the powerful blue proto-drakes of the Storm Peaks – how they were able to lift a fully grown wooly rhino, struggling in the unfaltering grip of icy talons, and carry it off high into the mountains. Proto-drakes were not to be trifled with. To track one down, capture it, and tame it...

“Here’s your tea and your dinner, peach. You let me know if you need somethin’ else, all right?”

Meriste gratefully accepted her tea, warming her hands around the sides of the mug. She removed a few gold coins from a pouch in her pack and slid them across the table. “Thank you. What did you say your name was?”

The goblin grinned. “Rynxi.” She slipped the coins into a pocket and started to saunter off.

“Rynxi, wait.” The goblin stopped and turned to look at Meriste.

“Yeah?”

“The legend you told me about, of the yellow drakes. Where did you hear it?”

Rynxi raised an eyebrow at Meriste inquisitively. “Eh…well, it’s well known around here. Our parents told us stories of such beasts. Great hunters come here from all over the world askin’ about ‘em. I guess, if you want, I can tell ya the stories tomorrow, after my shift ends.”

Meriste smiled. “Thanks. I look forward to it.”

Rynxi shrugged, but smiled. “You’re welcome, hon’. Have a good night!”

Meriste quickly finished her dinner, but took long, slow sips from the mug of tea. Turning back to her letter, she looked over the words she had written.

Sepha,

I have responded to the request of the goblins of K3 for aid in finding a missing goblin. The goblin I was to find, Balizzar Pickstone, worked as a miner. His coworkers informed me that he had gone to work inside the Crystalweb Caverns in the morning and was reported missing when he did not check in at the end of his shift. She’ahu and I went into the cave that night and found Pickstone deep in the cavern next to the dead body of a giant purple spider. He had apparently killed the spider by stabbing it with his pick, but not before he suffered a venomous bite that left him paralyzed and slowly dying. I removed the venom glands from the spider and carried Pickstone back to safety at K3. An antidote was prepared and administered, but Pickstone remained in critical condition and was transported by air to the infirmary in Dalaran. His family thanked me for finding him and returning him. They believe that he will recover, and so do I.

Meriste stared at the paper a long time, deep in thought, before adding:

I had planned to return immediately to Stormwind tomorrow morning, but I have decided to stay for a while longer. I plan to stay here at K3 one more night then travel to Dalaran to check on Pickstone’s condition. I have also heard interesting rumors of a rare breed of dragon that I’d like to look into. Depending on what I find, I may be gone for only a few more days, or for months. As always, I have my hearthstone with me in case I am needed.

Light keep you,

Meriste

Satisfied, she folded the parchment, sealed it with wax, and dropped it in the post box outside the cantina. For a moment, she gazed upwards at the peaks surrounding the northern face of the valley. Cold air stung her cheeks and her breath escaped her lips in soft clouds. The sky had cleared somewhat and she could see what must have been millions of stars threaded through an aurora, which stretched across the night sky like a ribbon made of pure light.

Meriste felt something brush her leg and looked down to find the large black cat standing beside her. The cat butted her head against Meriste’s leg and purred.

“Watching out for me, She’ahu?” Meriste smiled.

She’ahu stared up at Meriste with impatient golden eyes, tail swishing from side to side. She turned and pawed at the door to the cantina, meowing loudly.

Meriste laughed. “Okay, okay! You’re going to wake someone up.”

They withdrew into the warmth of the cantina, shutting out the frozen valley. Meriste crawled into a hammock and quickly fell into a deep sleep. In her dreams, she called out to the yellow dragons, but the only reply was the howling of the wind.

(to be continued.)

((Meriste and I are doing a collaboration on this story. We got our drakes a day apart and we figured it'd be fun to see what we come up with.))

It was a typical hot Barrens day, hot enough that if one looked closely, it was possible to see the heat rising from the grassy plains. The longhouse stood with every window propped open to encourage the circulation of air, and its high ceilings were designed to let hot air flow upward and out through strategically-placed vents in the roof.

On a day like today, most of the rag-tag “family” that made up Poni Darkspear’s clan could be found in the the cool, relaxing grove not far away. The grove was far cooler than the open plains were, for many trees grew in the grove and a small lake of cool, clear water lay in their midst. The lake fed a nearby stream that wound its way through a paddock, and the paddock was populated with the assorted pets and hunting companions and mounts of the members of the Clan. (There were a surprising number of raptors to be found there, which was readily enough explained by the fact that the matriarch of the clan was affectionately nicknamed the Raptormama by her friends).

Today, as on many other days, there was a visitor passing through. Although the clan was able to get news of the wider world from the Horde’s hearthstone “network”, and many of its members travelled far and wide to all parts of Azeroth, visitors were always welcomed. News, even in a society where messages could be transmitted instantaneously by hearthstone or a courier could cross half a continent by wyvern within hours, was precious -- although there were always those who said, laughing, that the real appeal of visitors was that there was always much food, drink, and merriment put forth to welcome them.

This time, the visitor was a goblin from the K3 outpost in the Storm Peaks of Northrend. When asked why he was so far from home, the goblin explained that his wyvern had fallen ill on the flight from Orgrimmar to Ratchet, and the creature had seen the shimmering lake and the clan’s wyverns swimming, drinking, or lounging under trees. And so it had wobbled into the paddock, and the goblin riding it had knocked on the longhouse’s front door.

While one of the clan’s healers (a tiny white-haired elf maiden) tended the wyvern, the goblin sat inside the longhouse, chattering amiably with the locals and partaking liberally of the beer. The goblin was telling tales of Northrend, and among his audience was a blue-furred purple-haired troll woman. A small troll toddler played at her feet, while the heavily-pregnant woman worked to tan a piece of leather, now and again adding the finished piece to one pile and then picked up another from a small scattered heap, beginning to sc%**% it with a small implement. Here and there, orcs and elves and tauren sat about the room and also listened, but the troll woman was especially fascinated by the tale.

“Why,” the goblin said as he waved his mug of beer around, “I’ve been makin’ that supply run to the crash site twice a week for the last four years! Now, if you ask me --” the goblin lowered his voice and furtively glanced about the room, “I think the thin air up there on that mountain is getting to their heads. They’ve had a flight master up there on that mountaintop with them the whole time! They could have left any time they wanted! It’s a conspiracy, I tell you!”

A few moments’ silence followed as the goblin paused to take a swig from his beer stein. Foam splashed on the floor as he used the mug as a prop to illustrate his tale.

((To be continued))

“I can smell profit from a mile away, I’m telling you! And they’re hiding it to keep good, upstanding goblins like me from getting in on it! There’s got to be gold in those hills! If it’s not the dragons, it’s under the snow somewhere! That’s all the place is good for. Dragons and snow!”

Heads around the room nodded, and although a few of those present dismissed the rantings as drunken exaggerations, the sound of tool on leather slowed and then stopped.

“Nobody would stay in a place like dat without good reason,” Poni Darkspear said, her words slow and careful as her mind worked. Gold … dragons ..” She frowned. Something tickled at the very edge of her memory. Something from the time when she passed that way on errantry for the Argent Crusade, seemingly a lifetime ago. Before the fall of Arthas, before the Scourge came under control.

“Oh, yeah. Doesn’t everyone know that story? The legend of the golden dragon?” The goblin squinted at Poni, his eyes trying to focus on her through his drunken stupor. Then he blinked, and his tone changed -- as if he realized that he’d said too much.

“Tale told to little goblins! Bedtime story. Be a good goblin and someday you get one too! Show off your bling as you fly about! But there’s no such thing, you see. It’s just a story! A gold dragon would be too heavy to fly!” He laughed, and more beer spilled on the floor. But the spill seemed to be just a bit too convenient, as if it was meant to distract everyone’s attention.

But Poni frowned. She wasn’t so sure -- a tale of gold coming from a goblin wasn’t something to be taken at face value. A goblin would just as soon send you to Kalimdor when the treasure was really in Stranglethorn Vale, after all. She nodded and smiled at the goblin, then resumed her leatherworking as conversation moved on to other things. But her thoughts lay with her sister, and an overheard remark during a long-ago quest. She began to quietly make arrangements, mentally considering supplies and her near-future obligations. Surely, the week’s foray into the Bastion of Twilight could wait, just a bit.

That night, when the Moon was full and the longhouse asleep, anyone who looked up thereafter would have seen a dark winged shape passing overhead, making its way steadily northward.

((I like the story alot so far...then again any story with a goblin gets my approval!))

When Meriste awoke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. Its rays filtered through the clouds with a cold brilliance, setting the newly fallen snow ablaze with light. She did not normally sleep in so late, but she had been especially tired. Turning over in her hammock, Meriste reached down to stroke She’ahu.

Despite being born the runt of her litter, She’ahu had grown into a beautiful nightstalker. She was not as large as other cats of her type, but she made up for her size with superb speed and agility. Powerful muscles were visible under sleek black fur streaked with faint silver stripes. Fangs extended from her upper jaw like scythes and her eyes shone with a radiant gold hue. She’ahu lifted her head to watch Meriste for a moment, licked the draenei’s hand in acknowledgement, and curled up to go back to sleep. She had gone hunting earlier that morning and had no intentions of abandoning her rest.

Meriste rose and washed her face and arms in a basin of clear, cold water. Abandoning her woolen shift, she fitted her body with leather armor lined with soft, warm fur and stepped out of the room into the cantina. Rynxi sat alone at a table, sipping from a mug of hot black coffee. Meriste slipped into a chair across from the goblin. She noted that the barmaid looked exhausted from working the night shift.

“Good morning, Rynxi.”

Rynxi mumbled something that sounded roughly like a “good morning” and took another sip from her mug.

“Eventful night?”

The goblin chuckled. “Nah, no more than usual. The customers keep me on my toes.” She paused, draining the last of her coffee from the mug. Placing it on the table, she looked up at Meriste. “But I promised ya a story, didn’t I, peach?”

“You did. A bedtime legend for young goblins, or so I hear.”

Rynxi smiled. “That it is.” She cleared her throat and began to speak.

“Long, long ago, the Titans overthrew the mean, nasty Old Gods, and locked them deep in the earth. Azeroth was blessed with a new age of peace. Life was breathed into the world, and the Titans smiled at their creation. Seeing that the world was abundant with riches and goodness, the Titans decided that they needed something to protect their world. And so they created the first dragon and called him ‘Galakrond.’

Galakrond was a massive drake with scales of pure gold. His fire was as white as snow and colder than the coldest ice. When he roared, all of Azeroth shook. His feet stamped craters into the ground, and he ate everything he saw. See, Galakrond was not very smart, but he was strong. Seeing that Galakrond was eatin’ everything and stampin’ too many holes into the earth, they put him to sleep and took him apart to make new dragons. Now all that’s left of Galakrond are his bones.”

Rynxi giggled mischievously and grinned. “We normally tell the goblin young’ns here that they shouldn’t eat too much or stamp around breaking things or they might get taken apart too.”

“Oh my.” Meriste burst into laughter. “Does that work?”

Rynxi shrugged. “Nah, not really.” She smiled, continuing her story.

“But even before the Dragon Aspects were born, the Titans tried a smaller version of Galakrond ‘cause they thought that it wouldn’t eat so much or stamp big holes into the ground. These smaller dragons the Titans called proto-drakes. But the Titans saw that, although the proto-drakes were smaller and not as much trouble, they were still not very smart. And so they took what was left of Galakrond and made the mighty Dragon Aspects: Nozdormu, the Timeless One. Alexstraza, the Life-Binder. Ysera, the Dreamer. Malygos, the Spell-Weaver. And finally, Neltharion, the Earth-Warder, who is now known as Deathwing. But they have legends of their own.

Although the proto-drakes weren’t too smart, they were still well-behaved and didn’t eat too much or stamp around crushin’ giant craters into the ground. So the Titans put them in Northrend to hunt rhinos and make more proto-drakes. They grew in number and spread out all over Northrend, and their scales changed into all sorts of colors. But legends say that the oldest strand of proto-drakes still exists, and that it lives right here in the Storm Peaks.”

Meriste leaned forward in her chair, arms resting on the table. “You’re talking about the yellow dragons now.”

“Yellow? More like gold – these proto-drakes are said to be the first of Galakrond’s firstborn. Legends say that these proto-drakes have scales of gold, just like Galakrond, and that they inherited his white fire. They also say that these proto-drakes have the ability to fly in and out of different passages of time, but I dunno about that. They’re probably just hidin’ somewhere high in those desolate peaks. That time-traveling bit is why they’re called Time-Lost proto-drakes.”

“An ancient strand of drakes, lost to time. Interesting.”

Rynxi snorted. “All I know, peach, is that plenty of you hunters come out here lookin’ for ‘em. Horde, Alliance - all walks of life. They lose a lot of time and come up empty handed, ya know what I mean? That’s what Time-Lost really means, if you ask me. In any case, that’s the legend for ya.”

Meriste leaned back in her chair, trying to absorb all of the information that Rynxi had given her. She sat for a few minutes, thinking pensively. Finally, she leaned across the table and smiled at the goblin.

“Thank you, Rynxi. That really was a fascinating legend.”

“You’re going to look for that yellow dragon, aren’tcha?”

Meriste nodded. “I am – but I want to find out more about that legend first. I’m heading for Dalaran this afternoon.”

Rynxi picked up the empty mug and ran her finger around the rim, eyes focused on the table and expression grim. “I wish ya the best of luck, peach. Most hunters that go lookin’ for those drakes come back changed. The Storm Peaks ain’t for the faint of heart.”

“I will heed your warning. I don’t blindly wander into situations unprepared, but I am also not fool enough to think that I can prepare for everything. Thank you again for all of your help. Goodbye – I hope to see you again.”

“Goodbye, peach. You come back anytime. Oh, and could ya bring me back one of those golden scales if ya find one of those drakes?” Rynxi winked.

Meriste laughed. “Sure, why not?”

With that, she rose from her chair and began her preparations for the flight to Dalaran.

It was a long flight to Northrend. It always had been, and as she had many times before, Poni took the time to reflect on the trip. She knew that this would be different from so many of the previous journeys. Then, Poni had been seeking adventure and had been a younger, less-experienced troll. Then, she’d been traveling with her sister and the two had no idea what lay beyond the next sunset and not a care in the world beyond surviving the day. Everything else came secondary to that -- even the favors the two were asked by various people here and there. One day, it’d be a traveller they met on the road; another, it might be a king or queen. The endless variety kept life interesting. But these days, Poni had settled down, had married, had had children -- and her life didn’t include so much sisterly wandering. But Poni missed it. The world had changed, for better or for ill, and maybe her sister would want to hit the road once again.

But for now, an errand called, and Poni had flown to the zeppelin base in Orgrimmar. She’d bought a ticket on the next zeppelin north, and although the ship’s crew had looked surprised to see a visitor board along with the cargo, they welcomed her as they went about their busines.

Several days later, as the Moon rose above the eastern horizon, Poni stood at the starboard rail, lost in thought. The wind howled through the rigging and far below, the moonlight cast a surprisingly bright silver glow on the ocean waves.

Unbidden, a thought came to her mind. She couldn’t remember the circumstances of that long-ago day, but she did remember that she’d been young then. She’d heard of the fallen king Arthas Menethil and the terrible Scourge that was at his command. And, like many young children, she’d complained. Why did she have to live at such a terrible time? Why did her parents have to die and leave her all alone?

The wisdom of the village elder drifted back to her on the cold night wind: "So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Wise words, indeed...

"‘Ey, miss, you’re gonna catch cold out here!" said a voice. "It’s not safe. A storm’s comin’ and you’d better get below. Can’t have the passengers falling overboard, now can we? Costs me money, you know!"

Poni turned from the railing, looking down to see a young goblin grinning up at her. The green-skinned creature wore a red-and-black shirt with some sort of gold pin attached to the left breast. This was the captain, and he’d been friendly, if a bit gruff at first. He’d shown genuine compassion for his crew and his sole passenger, though, as time went on. And he’d even invited Poni to join him and the ship’s officers for dinner.

He gestured toward a nearby gangway. "Food’s ready, and my cook’s a good one!" The goblin laughed. "Barely fits in there, too! Who’d’ve thought one of them tauren would be such a good cook?"

Poni smiled at the captain, and the two crossed the deck toward the companionway. After securing the hatch behind them, the goblin gestured Poni forward toward the mess hall. The troll had to duck to avoid hitting her head on the piping overhead; the zeppelin on which she’d booked passage predated the Bilgewater Cartel’s arrival in the Horde. She showed her age, but every fitting gleamed, every line was neatly coiled, and the engine room was a merry beehive of activity. This ship was old, but she wore her age with dignity.

After several rounds of well-cooked food (for which Poni profusely thanked the chef, an ex-Grimtotem who’d fled Mulgore when the fighting began), the ship’s officers one by one rose and excused themselves to resume their duties. The captain and first officer (a rather gangly-looking but well-preserved forsaken) remained behind with Poni, and as a steward removed empty dishes, the first officer spoke up first.

"We don’t get many travelers," he said, his voice bearing only a hint of the lisp that was an unfortunate side effect of undeath. "This ship is a supply ship. We carry bats, we carry supplies, and we carry … well, you’d have to ask the Dark Lady about that cargo." He looked resigned and weary. "The old girl still has a lot of life left in her, but …" He sighed.

Poni could appreciate that. "She is in good shape. She served in the war?"

Prickyard, like a proud father, nodded. "We like to think we helped defeat Arthas." He paused a moment, then seemed to remember that he was a goblin. "Thrall paid us a lot of gold to do that." He sighed. "But since the end of the war..."

Poni nodded sympathetically. "Business is down. I saw the hold." The cavernous spaces were only half-filled with supplies, and Poni’s own raptor was the only animal in the stalls that had once held enough for an entire platoon.

The XO absently fingered his nearly-empty (he’d eaten a little for appearances’ sake) plate, and went on. "Since the Scourge War ended, business has pretty much disappeared. We’ve been thinking of trying to find ways to keep the line open. Captain Prickard" -- the goblin nodded slightly -- "and I are co-owners of this ship, and we’ve got to come up with something. When we’re in port, we toss around ideas. Maybe Deathwing’s a good thing."

Poni frowned. She’d lost family, she’d lost friends to the dragon’s fire, and she let disapproval show on her face.

The exec realized his misstep and apology flickered across his face. "To us, anyway," he quickly added. "No one’s seen him in Northrend. Not yet."

The captain spoke again, clearly warming to his topic. "With that big ol’ Aspect of Death makin’ a big mess in Azeroth, there’ll be lots of people like you looking to escape! Who wants to get randomly burned to a crisp when you can chill out in Northrend? The Scourge has even been pretty quiet since the Lich King fell, and you don’t have to keep looking up, wondering if ol’ Deathy’s creepin’ up on ya!"

Poni wondered privately how a dragon as big as Deathwing crept up on anybody, but she thought better of saying so. Instead, she leaned forward. "What of de legends? Dere are tales of mythical creatures across de land. Surely, I am not de only one to hear de stories, if dey came to me all de way in de Barrens."

The two looked at her, then at each other, then the captain made a "go on" motion with one hand. The only other sound in the room was clinking dinnerware as the steward removed the last of the food.

Poni let out a long, drawn-out sigh. What harm could it do to tell? A creature able to slip between time would surely be there again even if these two told someone of her journey.

"I am here chasing a legend. A legend as old as de hills, or as old as time itself."

"Ah!" exclaimed the exec. "You seek de dragon dat is lost in time!"

Poni, startled, could only manage a small nod. Had word gone ahead of her? She frowned.

Prickard took one look at Poni’s expression and laughed uproariously. He signaled the stewart for a round of beer. "Ain’t never seen anybody who actually thought anything of that old story." He took a long sip, then went on. "My uncle used to tell me that if I was a good little goblin boy, I’d get a golden dragon of my very own. Paid me two gold a week, he did, to be his cabin boy!" He slammed his mug down on the table. "On this very ship! He was a good skipper, but a mite crazy -- what’re you lookin’ at me like that for, Speck?"

The first officer blinked, then shook his head. "It’s not just a story." His voice was quiet, so quiet, so quiet that Poni had to lean closer to hear. "They’re really out there." He hadn’t touched his beer, and one bony finger ran idly around the lip of the stein.

"You have seen dem." Poni knew, somehow.

"I have. Just a fleeting glimpse, but that was enough. I’ll never forget it as long as I --" The man stopped short, looking as rueful as an undead ever can. "Well. Not such an apt metaphor, is it?" After a moment’s pause, he went on.

"I was sent to Scholazar Basin to visit Hemet Nesingwary’s camp there. The Dark Lady wanted to have a word with him. I took a bat from Vengeance Landing, and I’d been flying for about an hour when I saw it. I thought the thin air and cold was getting to me, somehow... never mind that I don’t breathe and I don’t feel the cold like you do." He closed his eyes, remembering. "It wasn’t quite gold... it was sort of yellow, actually. And it didn’t breathe fire. Not like the others."

"De others?" the troll prompted, her own beer forgotten.

"There are wild blue proto-drakes in the Storm Peaks, you see." The narrative was taken up almost as if the question had never been asked. "It breathed ice. Ice the color of the snow. Or maybe the color of those blue proto-drakes. It looked … old. Old as time itself."

Prickard laughed. "Your brain’s gone bad, too, Speck. Maybe you ought to get a new one when we dock." It was hard to say, though, how serious he was -- and he looked troubled by his first officer’s words.

The forsaken frowned He, too, was unsettled. "It frightened me," he confessed slowly. "Something like that isn’t meant to be here. Not among the living." He laughed at his own words, but just for a moment. "Or the undead." The man leaned forward, an unnerving glow in his eyes. "Go to the outpost at K3, near the Storm Peaks. There’s a goblin there named Rynxi. A barmaid -- she’s got the best brew in the entire place. She’s the lorekeeper around there. If she hasn’t heard of it, it’s not to be found in the Storm Peaks, and possibly not anywhere."

Poni let that sink into her head. Slowly, she nodded. "Den to K3 I must go, to seek out dis Rynxi." She rose from the table, careful to mind the low overhead clearance. "I must see to my raptor, and den I will retire. Thank you, Captain, for de meal." Poni curtseyed to the two, then made her way from the room. Behind her, she could hear the Forsaken remarking to the goblin that a tail wind had put them ahead of schedule and that they would arrive in Vengeance Landing a few days early.

It was but several minutes later that the zeppelin creaked slightly as she changed course toward the towering mountains of K3 and toward the mysteries that lay lost somewhere among their soaring peaks.