"Name?"

"Halvdan Blacksilver."

"Class?"

"Pardon?"

The balding and bored Guildmaster and Administrator of Ironforge's Contracted Irregular Forces looked up from his ledger for the first time during the conversation.

"Yes, your class. What's your occupation, your specialty, your area of expertise?

"Ah, discreet scouting of hidden locations and acquisition of hard-to-acquire information."

"Alright…I'll put you up as a rogue then…" Jondor Steelbrow added some lines in the prodigious list of champions operating under the scrutiny of the dwarven realm and proceeded to fill out a printed form that he then handed over to Halvdan. "This is not a formal license to operate within Ironforge but signifies that you've reported to the crown with all due process. It'll be up to the respective contracting parties within the realm to form their own opinions of your competence."

"That sounds good. So I am free to take on whatever quests the people of Khaz Modan need help with now?"

"That's right! Better stay clear of the more gruesome ones until you've gotten some experience under your belt, though, and always have a word about the expected skill level for the job. We don't want to see any more foolish wipes around here."

"Wipes?"

"When a patrol or raiding party goes missing in its entirety and we have to wipe their names from the list. And we can't afford to have any more of that, so make sure you bring some healer or potions with you, and keep a sharp lookout! Remember, if you wake up something nasty you better be prepared to deal with it – you pull it, you tank it!"

"Indeed. How do you mean, 'tank', by the way?"

"Uh, you know, 'tank', 'contain', 'hold'…like a fuel tank of the flying machines. Someone in the party needs to keep the bastards occupied while the rest support or attack from the side."

"Alright, acting the heavy infantry, hammer-and-anvil, got it! I think my stalwart colleague will be thrilled to take on that honourable task and we shall take every precaution to prevent any unbecoming, ah, 'wipes'."

"You might want to pick up a journal too to keep track of your quests, these things tend to pile up before you know it."

"You really think so?"

"Aye, you should see those really snowed-in guilds of raiders out there…not a thought left for anything but the latest enchanted pauldrons or the next epic expedition. They're dedicated, sure, but there's something to be said for taking a night off at the tavern to keep your feet on the ground too. Well, off you go! Next!"

Halvdan passed by Runar outside the office and discreetly offered a vaguely encouraging nod. But he was a master spy for a reason and decided that he should keep tabs on how the rest of the party was doing. It was a matter of professional pride, after all.

Runar had just introduced himself when Halvdan came within earshot.

"…class? Means profession, if that needs explaining."

"Diplomat. Although I assume you are referring to how I prefer to handle the less diplomatic encounters we are sure to experience… I prefer a crossbow if possible. Always convenient to settle things from a distance. So…dwarven ranger."

There was a small but distinct tinge of pride when Runar made the last statement. Their homeland had ranger units that depended heavily on their crossbows, and from whom Runar had learned to handle the weapon long ago, but Halvdan had a very poignant feeling that his best friend had a quite different kind of rangers on his mind right now.

"Huh, what is it with all these names people make up today… Right, hunter it is then. So, a real purist I see! Don't want any blunderbuss noise and smoke giving you away, right? Make sure you get yourself some solid fellow between you to tank the buggers while you reload and all will be well. And if you need any gear repaired be sure to check with Skolmin Goldfury, he's always well stocked. Or so I've been told. Objectively speaking…ahem…"

Halvdan grinned. He could practically see before him how the unimpressed raised eyebrow and expressionless face of Runar was making the apparently slightly less than objective administrator squirm. While diplomats were of course expected to be discreet about their own opinions, Halvdan knew very well how little understanding Runar had for officials who did not do their best to keep personal interests and biases from influencing their professional conduct, and he could be eerily good at delivering subtle but no less unnerving hints about that. While Halvdan generally shared the opinion on an ideological level it was also an established fact that the spying profession benefitted from unscrupulous corruption among other factions to a greater degree than the diplomatic profession.

When they were on their way out of the administrative wing Halvdan decided to broach the subject of tactics. There was, after all, a bit of a rather large hole in their planning.

"…so anyone can see the logic in you being our outward face and representing our main one-man battle line in an impeccable way for sure." he finished a well-thought and – in his opinion – concisely presented argument.

"Why, thanks so very much, but I'm quite sure that any enemy of not will be wanting to catch a notorious and doubtlessly soon-to-be infamous dwarven rogue before they do anything else. A grander bait – meaning of course decoy – could not be imagined."

"Come on, how am I supposed to sneak around in full plate?"

"How am I supposed to reload a crossbow with a shield in one hand?"

"You could strap it to your back."

"And you could cover yourself in a cloak."

They glared at each other in only half sincere irritation for a moment until both begun to find it hard to suppress a smile.

"Aren't we supposed to be smart enough to come up with something a little better than this crude 'tanking' thing?" Runar asked.

"Hmm, I find myself in agreement. Actually…"

"I know that look. You are cooking up something of questionable sanity and unquestionable danger to the public and society as we know it."

"I have a plan. Timed and ready to the smallest detail. We will need eight rolls of rope, two shovels and picks, one standard size barrel of nails, a smithy…

One load of umbral ore, six copper axes and ditto chain belts, an odd number of reports and a set of honorary picks delivered later, Runar and Halvdan pocketed another days earnings and proceeded toward their rooms at Firebrew's Inn.

"I swear, if I have to hear one more of these ridiculous requests to keep our feet on the ground… As if we would accidentally soar to the skies like kites if we weren't careful or something just as stupid."

"I think it's just a form of well wishing."

"We should buy one of those flying machines just to spite them, gyrocopters or whatever they're called." Halvdan suggested vengefully.

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

Runar did not get an answer as they both became busy with more important things such as the late dinner menu and positioning their armchairs at the optimal spot before the fireplace. The inn was a comfortable place that had so far exceeded expectations and only the outrageous prices marred the overall impression of it. The dwarves did after all have many expensive projects planned that would require substantial amounts of gold coins. These simple jobs they had been able to be entrusted with so far were not especially lucrative and combing Dun Morogh for pelts or tusks felt like something of a grind.

As Runar and Halvdan were laying into a stout serving of Loch Modan longjaw mud snapper and fried potatoes each a visitor emerged from the general crowd seated along the louder tables more to the middle of the room. It turned out to be none other than the administrator Jondor Steelbrow.

"Evening." he nodded.

"Oh, good evening master Steelbrow."

"How's the questing of yours going?"

"No wipes so far it would seem" Runar commented dryly "but my party members seem to be pulling out each and every of these sour trogg fellows of the whole forest." he continued with a grin.

"Only because my party members are too dense to actually do their jobs as hunters and track the blasted creatures." Halvdan immediately added between two bites of mud snapper filet. "But it might be just as well because at least we're more prepared than some poor merchant along the road to Thelsamaar – with all the troggs around it beats me how you manage to have any sort of regular trade going on here."

"They've certainly become a nuisance lately, and I've heard you are becoming popular among some of our shopkeepers and artisans which is all well and good of course. Although…" Steelbrow took a sip of from his tankard and scratched his ear. "…there have been some talk among the quest administrators. Some of your, ahem, tactics, are a tad bit unorthodox."

Runar and Halvdan looked at each other and then turned their equally frowning faces towards Steelbrow.

"How so?" asked Runar.

"I have been told that you are in the habit of luring troggs and such to elevated positions where you take shelter out of their reach and shoot at them from above. Very unsportsmanlike."

"Unsportsmanlike? I was under the impression that this was a military assignment, not a game! Those creatures prey on dwarves and attack on sight, I would very much like to point out."

"Yes, well, that is by all means true but there are traditions, and sense of propriety to observe here in Ironforge."

"If these nuisances are too daft to climb rocks or trees it is – or should be at least – a wonder how Ironforge could need any help at all against them. It is not our fault if troggs are to thick to climb, if that is supposed to be a fault at all. But our contracted parties pay for success and results and not any special effort invested and that is all we have to say on the matter."

"Ahem, I see… I suppose that will have to do for the time being. There is in fact a matter you could look into that might be suited to your…unusual…methods. There is a farmstead, Amberstill Ranch, with a herd of rams that has been thinning steadily these last months. Folks talk about a particularly nasty and frightening wendigo living far up the mountainside above. If you could lend a hand there are quite a few who would be grateful."

"Next one. Nail, please!" Halvdan called out, bent over one of the public forges in the middle of the dwarven capital. Beside him were a number of increasingly decent shaped caltrops made from four nails each, joined together in the middle so that one would always point up no matter how it fell or rolled.

"Coming!" Runar handed another nail to his friend. "But… Halvdan, isn't the point with these to always prepare the ground before we engage any nasty monster so we can lead them over the pointy area?"

"Yes."

"Then why can't we just hammer them into planks or something instead and leave them upturned in the snow?"

"Because…because…I've just gotten the hang of this, blast it!"

"And you're doing great, and I'm sure there is a blacksmithing apprenticeship with your name on it waiting somewhere, but in the interest of expediting things maybe we could modify our plans to only forge half of them into caltrops and nail the rest through some poles or something?"

"Heh, 'pole arms' again?"

"Always a sound option in the mountains during winter." Runar grinned back.

While learning a new craft, or improving an existing one, is often a joyous thing in some regard it is also just as often the result of long hours of toil and repetition. Before long, Halvdan conceded that crafting caltrops from nails was a learning experience that could suffer to be postponed for a time until he really could approach it with the dedication that the noble art of smithing deserved.

Therefore, both dwarves were soon underway with their new materials loaded on a small sled to ease transportation throught he snow. They had received a number of amused looks, as apparently the size or model was supposedly intended primarily for very young dwarves as a means of transportation downhill, but it suited their needs very well. Their backpacks would always be harder to drop at a moments notice than the handle of a sled and it was surely less cumbersome to pull the sled than carry everything on their backs. Despite the constant need to be ready for ambushes, both Runar and Halvdan felt that the realm of Khaz Modan had a somewhat lacking appreciation for the noble art of skiing and thought longingly of traversing the snowy landscape in that effective way instead.

Despite the primitive logistics they eventually found themselves greeting Rudra Amberstill who met them outside Amberstill Ranch in just a green dress despite the cold and a lantern in her hand. She needed little prompting to go into details about the fierce and hungry wendigo who lurked in the mountains above.

"We heard the cries in the middle of the night. Then this morning, sure enough, the herd was missing two rams. That dastardly beast known as Vagash has been preying on our livelihood. With most of King Magni's army off in distant lands fighting with the Alliance, there is no one to keep Vagash at bay. Perhaps you are brave enough to seek out the beast and slay him. Bring me one of his fangs and I will reward you. Vagash lurks just above the ranch here, but be warned, he is deadly."

It was late in the afternoon and she was all but happy to invite Runar and Halvdan to stay for the night for the promise of being ready in case Vagash would appear again. While neither of them slept well there was no sign of any wendigo and come morning they begun the trek upward that soon became almost a climb. They had left most of their packs at the ranch but were now just as burdened by coils of rope and bundles of pointy and unpleasant objects that were neither easy nor safe to bring with you when mountaineering.

It was not without a growing sense of worry that Runar and Halvdan studied the uncomfortably broad tracks in the snow and the ominous cave they were leading up to. Halvdan peeked out from behind a spruce – also a thing that gave rise to fond memories of another nerve-wracking expedition of the past – and took note of the cliffside with every available care before edging back to Runar.

"It could work. There are rocks near the side, and the snow is powdery. I suggest you do the work of setting it up and I scout, as I am the obvious choice as a spy when we are in enemy territory."

"I agree, but I must point out that it is apparent to anyone that it is the rangers job to keep watch when we are in the wilderness, which we indeed are."

A moment of silence followed.

"Fifty-fifty split?"

"Deal. You take the first watch."

When they were done the sun was lowering and it was well past noon. It was high time to commence their attack because none relished facing a hungry wendigo in the dark in its home territory.

Runar reluctantly made his way up towards the cave. It presented a complication that none knew exactly how deep the cave was. He had no wish at all to explore deep and dark tunnels with this kind of inhabitants waiting behind the next corner.

Hoping for the best, Runar picked up a stone and hurled it as far as he was able into the dark opening. It clattered quite noisily against the stone.

"Vagash! Eater of adorably woolly rams! Come out, ye gluttonous bastard!" he shouted and heaved another rock for good measure.

At first there was only silence as the echo of his voice slowly faded.

And then a bloodcurdling roar.

Runar nearly tripped over himself in his haste to turn on the spot and hurry as fast as possible down the slope towards the trees growing by the cliffside. As he turned around he beheld Vagash.

The monstrous creature was at least four times his height and seemed nearly as broad, with enormous horns and claws and far too notable teeth that he bared when opening his jaws to let loose another roar.

Runar took aim, and planted a crossbow bolt in Vagashs upper chest. It was not a bad shot, but it only seemed to enrage the wendigo further. Runar hurriedly dropped his crossbow and readied a long-hafted, halberd-like axe, hoping that the increased range could keep some distance between them. Unfortunately Vagash did not appear intimidated by it's blade or spear tip and barrelled into Runar who had to threw himself to the side to avoid being trampled by the charging wendigo.

Vagash turned to the side and roared again, and Runar felt his limbs grow cold as if the bitterest winter winds had all just hit him from every side. Vagash was a dark-furred beast with scars criss-crossing his massive frame all over and the stench of rotting meat reeked from his mouth. He charged again across the evenly groomed patch of powdery snow that Runar had been circling and swiped widely with his one claw which forced the dwarf to quickly duck and jump to the side to avoid the return slash.

Some distance behind them one of the snow-covered rocks rose and cast off it's cloak to reveal a dwarven rogue with half a dozen ropes in his hand.

"Now!" Runar shouted as he retreated even further back and around a deceptively even part of the snow-covered ground as fast as he could.

Vagash snarled and barreled after him.

The wendigo's heavy foot crushed right through the snow and into the pole that had been hidden underneath, a pole with nails hammered into it in every direction.

As Vagash roared another time and furiously shook the foot he had just impaled on several of the spikes to free it from the debilitating piece of wood now stuck to the foot, Halvdan pulled with all his strength on the six snares also hidden underneath the snow, overlapping so that every part of the spot next to the nailed poles was covered.

Vagash had stepped right into one and distracted as he was by the state of his other foot, or simply too wrathful over the puny bearded things audacity, he was not quick enough to prevent Halvdan from pulling the snare taut and hurry towards the cliffside and the opposite ends of the ropes. He would perhaps have rushed after Halvdan if not Runar had stepped forward to distract him with a quick slash against his paw.

Just as Vagash was about to retaliate a sudden tug made him lose his balance. Halvdan had pushed the rock tied thoroughly to the other end of one of the ropes, ropes which were also tied together, and proceeded to push the next one over the edge. They were all positioned so that each rock would help drag the one closest to it down the cliff and for each one that Halvdan kicked over the cliffs edge Vagash was more and more firmly yanked, until he lost his footing completely and was dragged backwards, clawing at the snow, by the weight of all six boulders hanging from his ankle. Runar and Halvdan rushed in to strike at Vagash's arms and paws until the strength of the great wendigo failed him and he slid over the edge to tumble down the steep mountainside below.

Panting, Runar and Halvdan looked at each other.

"Well, as Jondor Steelbrow would say, if we pull it, we tank it…" Runar huffed.

Halvdan let out a despairing sigh and hid his face in his palm.

It was only then that they realised the slight flaw in their otherwise successful plan. How would they now acquire one of Vagash's fangs?

The trek down the mountain was profoundly easier than up without the hindering amount of field fortification materials they had been forced to drag with them, but the prospect of having nothing to show for their efforts did dampen their spirits. There was no telling where Vagash's broken carcass would have ended up and if any fang was still at all salvageable.

However, when they arrived at Amberstill Ranch, Rudra laughed heartily at them as she ushered them in to share a most welcome dinner after a long day climbing in the snow.

"Hah! Think nothing of it, the whole valley heard him crashing down the mountainside if they didn't see it! And now we can skin the beast for the fur and mount his ugly head over the hearth. Very well done! Veron will be so happy when he hears the good news. To kill Vagash is no easy task. I imagine one day you'll be fighting alongside King Magni's men on the Alliance Front."

Runar and Halvdan privately found Rudra Amberstills idea of decorations of somewhat questionable taste, but her cooking was on the other hand unquestionably tasty.

Halvdan slowly pushed an oversnowed birch a little out of the way to view the sparse encampment below. He sometimes found it peculiar how all camps and dwellings seemed to be so conveniently situated for spying on them. Cover form the wind was of course always desirable but why did it not go hand in hand with cover from sight?

Him and Runar had spent the better part of an hour crawling through a series of low hills and ridges with flaring white cloaks draped over them and snow in their mouths. Especially the latter had made him bloody cold by now. He supposed it was still less uncomfortable than taking a spear through the skull from someone ahead of them.

Marginally, at least.

Halvdan signed quietly to Runar to fall back, who nodded and matched Halvdan's sluggish crawl back from the top of the ridge. Halvdan spat out his serving of "a scout's lunch" as the dwarven term was for the snow you chewed on to keep the breath cool and leaned back against the slope. He felt stiff and slow after the uncomfortable crawl.

"So these things really are trolls…" he mused.

"Yes. Not like home." Runar remarked thoughtfully.

"Not like home. When they wanted to send us against a camp of troll brigands I thought it was a bad idea of a joke or that someone had had way too much ale… Things are so different here sometimes."

"Not like the ghostly elves or anything, right? Those are completely every-day."

"Don't even think about calling A…them everyday, you diplomatic disaster." Halvdan admonished absent-mindedly. "But trolls that aren't large and thickheaded is the height of nonsensical things. I mean, what's next, green orcs?"

"Who knows, kind-hearted red dragons maybe? Those tusks look a bit nasty, though."

"How can they eat like that?"

"How may did you see?"

"Five."

"Where was the fifth?"

"The tree to the right of the fire. They're keeping watch. We need to approach from the pines to the west I think."

"Five is a bit many. How about if we could persuade them to each wait for their turn before hacking us to pieces, if things go badly?"

"And how exactly, oh master of negotiations, are we supposed to achieve that diplomatic feat after said things have gone badly?"

"Pointed arguments and webs of intrigue."

After a cold lunch fit for other dwarves than extremely stoic scouts Runar and Halvdan made a wide sweep around to approach from the lower ground west of the trolls' encampment. The Dun Morogh pines were relatively low and bushy, forming a snowy maze. There were plenty of spots to hide in, for good or ill.

"Here." Runar determined. "This is a good lane, we have a clear line of sight but it's not too wide."

"It will get ugly real fast here. For once I vote for heavy armour."

"For once I will agree."

"Alright then."

They got to work creating a half circle of unpleasant surprises hidden from view as best as possible until only the chosen approach of Runar was left. Even there the dwarves discreetly left a trail of spike traps in the snow on one side.

"Make sure you stay on track. You know I would never let you live it down if you stepped on one of your own traps…" Halvdan said cheerfully as he pulled down his wool-lined helmet.

"Be ready to move over when I get back, it wouldn't do if I had to waste time kicking you out of the way." Runar muttered and went going towards the open ground outside the canopy of the trees.

Halvdan strained to register every sound. Despite their constant jabs about baits and distractions he never was and never had been comfortable with staying hidden while Runar exposed himself to danger out of his sight. Too many images of roots and stones under the snow floated before him, of boots that got caught and spears and arrows that tore into the exposed neck between the helmet and the shield Runar carried strapped to his back.

In the distance there was a distinct sound of talking but Halvdan could not quite make out the words. At first.

"…Usurper! Stealer! Thief!" It was a strange variation of Common, gnarly and uneven somehow.

"Please, can we talk about this!" Runar's voice was rapidly coming closer.

"Murder-thing!"

There was Runar, running as fast as any dwarf in heavy mail could before five fur-clad Frostmane trolls. They carried spears and axes and looked altogether fierce enough to make up for what they lacked in size. Runar nearly crashed into their small free path while Halvdan took aim and shot the foremost troll in the shoulder which made him cry out and roll to the side. The rest spread out as the experienced hunters they were but among the dense pines they ran into the web of ropes that crisscrossed the entire place and underneath those lurked a multitude of various spike traps and caltrops buried under a thin layer of snow. Angry shouts and curses in a strange language resounded but the largest of them howled a battle cry and charged through the narrow passage directly towards the dwarves. It wasn't long before he had treaded on a spiked log and Runar and Halvdan had each put a quarrel through his chest. By now the rest of the trolls had begun to cut their way through the ropes, hobbling but furious.

"This way!" Halvdan called out.

He and Runar ran left and surprised the outmost of their hunters who had been about to climb over and under the impeding ropes. The trolls displayed impressive agility despite their crippling injuries and after they had succeeded with a surprising slash at the leftmost, the rest of the pack were bursting and cuting through the defenses and throwing themselves at the dwarves. Runar and Halvdan fought close together with Halvdan at the front with hammer and shield and Runar behind with his longer axe. Their mail and helmets took several hits but the craftsmanship withstood the test. After two more trolls had fallen the remaining two, one with the first bold embedded in the shoulder, ran and Runr and Halvdan breathed out. The chaotic battle had been short, far shorter than it felt.

"All…all in one piece?" Runar grunted.

"Uh, yeah…but next time we're building a tower to defend instead…"

Halvdan led their advance out of the forest. There was no sign of the remaining trolls as they were searching the encampment.

Runar was leaning over an upturned crate next to the campfire. He took hold of it with unusual care for moving such a thing.

Underneath was a small pile of bones, and the saddest thing Halvdan had seen since arriving in Khaz Modan. A reddish-brown squirrel, terrified and in pain, dragging itself frantically away from them on its front paws and one leg, the other bent at a very, very wrong place.

"Keep watch!" Runar commanded while he threw his gauntlets to the ground and fumbled with his girdle of potions. Neither of them had been unfortunate enough to have to try out these brews for themselves.

Runar scooped up the squirrel with one hand as gently as he could with the frightened creature struggling to get away and biting his thumb viciously in the process. Runar somehow managed to produce his wooden mug and pour a little of the potion into it, but it proved useless as the squirrel would not even deign to look and much less drink.

"I'm sorry, but you've got to get this in you somehow…" Runar mumbled apologetically and poured the vials contents over and into the squirrels mouth. It sputtered and twisted but suddenly, as if it had just caught a trace of a delicious taste, it started to lap and gulp down as much as it could of the red liquid.

"Halvdan…look…" Runar whispered.

The bent leg…straightened itself. A tiny creaking, and the squirrel raised its head in confusion at its now mended leg. It was painfully obvious how it relaxed and thrived from no longer feeling the pain and the sight was utterly heart wrenching.

Runar slowly lowered the squirrel to the ground, but it no longer thrashed to get away and if anything was curling up and holding on to his sleeve.

"He must think he will be hurting again if you put him down." Halvdan realised. "Poor thing. I'll go look for some pine cones or something."

The deeply frozen pine cones Halvdan could find did not interest the squirrel in the least.

"It's got to be too much bother in this cold. How about some bread?" Runar suggested.

"What would you like, normal bread or corrupted one with raisins and nuts?" Halvdan asked, and presented a piece of each alternative. He could see the nose twitch and the squirrel raised its head in the direction of the latter.

"Haha! A fellow of exquisite taste, wouldn't you say?" Runar declaimed in a smug voice.

"Bread with raisins is still a twisted idea." Halvdan protested, but not very sincerely.

"You're just uncultured. Looks like he likes it. Ha! Overruled! Bread with raisins rule the day!"

After he'd had his fill of their provisions, Runar tried to put the squirrel back on the ground. But he wouldn't move and buried his claws deep into the dwarf's sleeve and pressed himself flat against it.

Runar frowned a little.

"We're happy to help, but we need to go now." he tried. "Our home isn't very, ahem, homey, not a tree in sight anywhere and I don't think any other squirrels live there…"

"Either your squirrelish needs work or you seem to have gained an ally, or vassal even. Or maybe he considers you to have accepted vassalage?" Halvdan smirked.

"But we can't keep a squirrel… Or can we?" Runar hesitated. He actually hesitated a lot as he looked down on the tiny creature clinging to his arm.

"We're not keeping anyone, we're letting him tag along if he wants to. Heck, for all we know the trolls could have caught him miles away and he'll be lost in the cold without a nest and food if we leave him now."

Runar knelt and shouldered his backpack again, careful not to pinch any paw or tail underneath the straps. He then raised his arm and placed the squirrel on his left shoulder.

"Onward then, to discover all the nuts of Ironforge!"

The squirrel squeaked enthusiastically.

Halvdan half expected their new companion to bolt anywhere along the trek back to Ironforge but by the evening the three of them passed under the massive vaults and into the bustling Commons closest to the main entrance. Vendors were packing up the days merchandise here and there and packs of restless children would usually skirt the premises on the hunt for snacks and melon juice or other life's necessities. Runar and Halvdan had learned far too late to keep up a discreet appearance in that company and were as usual quickly swarmed.

"What is that?"

"It's a squirrel, you dunce."

"You moron."

"Now, now, please don't start another war of three hammers…" Runar yawned. "We rescued him from a band of trolls earlier and he followed us home."

"Is he your animal companion?"

"Did they break his legs?"

Halvdan frowned. How did they know that?

"Trolls take small beasts alive, and then they break their legs so they can't run and get all frightened, and then it makes them wet themselves and then afterwards the trolls eat them alive when they are still warm. Mom says they will eat my little brother if we stay out after dark." one of the young dwarves explained solemnly.

"No they won't! They will eat you instead!"

Halvdan thought of the overturned crate and the bones in the troll encampment and felt slightly sick. Did trolls around here really do that? What happened to just biting the head off everyone like a decent cave troll back home?

"What was that about an animal companion?"

A girl of maybe ten winters looked at him like it was the stupidest question ever asked in the history of Azeroth.

"A hunter has an animal companion." she lectured. "A big and strong animal that can track and guard him and such. Like a bear or a lynx or a wolf or something. Not a squirrel. That is dumb."

"Oh, I don't know…" Runar grinned. "What if this is secretly a Miniature Giant Space Squirrel, for example?"

The doubtful look he got in return did not speak highly of the credibility of that idea.

"Did you know, I actually had a squirrel years ago for a time. Sort of. Halvdan here was turned into one when we fought against a wicked wizard who had imprisoned a green fairy's little sister in a great jar of glass. They can be such nuisances sometimes... The rogue squirrels I mean. Wicked wizards too of course, for that matter."

"Yes, so long as you can refrain from feeding this one into the jaws of a hungry wolf like last time you should be doing great." Halvdan remarked acidly.

"Don't be like that, they only tossed you around a bit and then you got to toss them when you were returned to dwarf form." Runar dismissed the criticism. "And yes, I suppose he is my animal companion now and helps us negotiate." He offered the squirrel a nut. "This is what you call a trade rights agreement."

"More like an alliance in exchange for tribute." Halvdan snickered.

No matter the terminology, the children wished to see Runar's new animal companion at work and promptly decided that everyone should follow him and Halvdan back to Firebrew's Inn.

"Make him woo Gwenna so she gives us melon juice!"

"Woo Gwenna!"

"Woo Gwenna!"

Gwenna Firebrew was the barmaid of the inn. She was busying herself with wiping a set of tankards when Runar and Halvdan and their tail of followers entered.

"What have they put you up to?" she asked at once while absently scratching the squirrels ear.

"Blackmail and extortion, my lady." Runar promptly admitted.

"Let me guess, melon juice again is it?" Gwenna sighed as the squirrel leapt down on the bar and looked around and up into her eyes. Halvdan almost thought it looked like he tilted his head. "Alright then, but only one mug each!" She tried to sound stern but the corners of her mouth twitched when the horde of young dwarves rushed forward and lined up before the bar.

"Great woo!" they congratulated.

"Voo? Is that what they call you?" Gwenna asked as she handed the squirrel a couple of nuts. "Now remove those dreamy eyes from my bar before he makes me give away the entire larder." she told Runar.

Runar picked the content squirrel up and scratched his neck.

"That's my boy, go for the eyes Voo."

It was evening in Dalaran. Rhonin was reclining in his bed with Vereesa's head cradled in his arms. She almost appeared to be sleeping.

"There weren't any news today either, unfortunately."

It had become a dreary nighttime ritual of theirs. Rhonin would report how he had still no news about Vereesa's sister or about any concrete plans of the Kirin Tor to investigate the matter or to contact any other faction that might know more or to do anything at all in response to the introductory letter he had delivered what seemed like endless months ago despite being closer to two. Vereesa would report her shameful and unacceptable lack of energy and inability to do her part for her fellow elves in the city despite her privileged position as ranger captain and wife to a high ranking Kirin Tor mage.

Rhonin knew today had been a bad day.

There had been many bad days lately.

"The Scarlet Crusaders are not too talkative. I actually don't know for sure if they keep secrets from us or if they actually don't know. I get the feeling of some sort of disarray among them but then again they were not very stable people to begin with."

"Thank you for trying, love. I know you do all you can." Vereesa whispered.

Rhonin stroked along her eyebrow with the hand that was not holding up her head.

"I'm so sorry I can't be of any help to you." Vereesa continued. "I'm not of any help to anyone."

"Stop apologising."

"If I can't apologise to you then to who should I apologise! I'm useless."

"You are not useless, you're enduring magic withdrawal and the greatest grief of millennia." Rhonin protested vehemently. "And so is Spitzamina and all the others and if anyone has anything to say about it, it will be my pleasure to turn them into toads. Knobbly ones. With warts. And three eyes."

Vereesa sniffed, something that may have counted as a sad laugh these days.

"What is wrong with people anyway who expect someone to let things like that just slide? Are we just pieces on someone's chessboard? Dibs on being a rook by the way."

Vereesa had once gifted Rhonin with a very finely crafted set of pieces, with mounted archmagi as knights, mage towers as rooks and so on. Rhonin had loved it and to this day he could become distracted by the masterly craftsmanship in the middle of a game, and his own creative ideas of how the pieces could be enchanted to enhance the immersion of the game. Vereesa had strictly forbidden any such experiments at home after listening to some of those ideas.

Vereesa moved a little.

"I'm so tired, Rhonin. So tired." Her voice was not exactly a whisper but it was so dreadfully heavy somehow. As if every word was made of lead. "I can't help my rangers anymore, or their close ones. I have no ideas. I can't think of anything."

Rhonin had long since run out of counter-arguments to that. And he felt very much the same most days. What was the point of being an archmage if your magic couldn't do anything to ease your wife's suffering? He would trade every knowledge of every spell he knew for something that helped against this bottomless lethargy and, more and more, melancholy of Vereesa.

"Sylvanas always did her best to look out for everyone. Every single ranger. She would have known what to do."

Throughout their travels, Runar and Halvdan had faced many intimidating sights. But the vast throng now arrayed before them could give pause to the bravest of champions.

"I was thinking…" Halvdan began.

"You were?! The time of wonders has not yet come to an end!"

"That comment is an annoying and immature habit unbecoming of any diplomat worth the title. Yes, I was thinking that if you could pull your wits out of your backside for a minute, should we try to find the same colours and patterns for all or should we vary them?"

"Ah, yeah…team colour versus individual tastes?"

Halvdan nodded.

"Hm, to start with, do we even know their, ah, favourite colour? I mean, what if dark red is universally considered deeply offensive for instance?"

"I guess scarlet is out of the question at least…"

"Yeah, that would be pretty embarrassing… Besides, maybe it would be prudent to not have something uniform that could look like some inner circle marker or similar thing for a select few either?"

"Fair point, we'll go with varying colours then. Might be a good thing actually to encourage people to remember to be individuals and not just a bunch of fiends lumped together. So, I scour the stalls to the right and you the ones to the left and we meet up then?"

Runar watched the Loch Modan autumn market ominously. Vast swathes of a labyrinth of market stalls spread out before them and seemingly uncountable hordes of shouting vendors and elbowing buyers.

"Good luck. See you on the other side."

"If I fall, save yourself."

Even for an experienced spy, the mission presented substantial complications. Halvdan had to use every bit of his slyness and agility to avoid being bumped into, having his toes stepped on or becoming the target or various pieces of greasy or sticky, but doubtlessly tasty, pieces of food and refreshments that were dropped or spilled by an overenthusiastic visitor.

It was especially paramount that the spoils of their effort would not be, so to say, despoiled in such a manner. It would not do to send anything but the finest.

After nearly an hour of gruelling wandering among decorated cups, newly sharpened pickaxes, jars of eleven variants of marmalade and forests of knitted shirts Runar and Halvdan rendezvoused on the other side inspecting the fruits of their labours and lightened purses in Thelsamar's thriving tavern. The finest wool that Khaz Modan could produce lay neatly folded in a sturdy wooden box before them, in a dozen different colours and square-like patterns.

"So…time to finally put this postal service of presumably legendary reputation to the test." Runar concluded.

"With all the extra fees and tips we have invested it had better deliver." Halvdan muttered.

Runar snorted. "Deliver..."

"Yes, yes, and I am sure the couriers need to be armoured in mail too and whatever… By the way, we should write something. Apart from the report I mean. Like a gift card."

"To my dark sweetheart Alina whose eyes put the reddest of roses to shame…" Runar pretended to recite until Halvdan's boot connecting with his shin put an end to any further poetic obnoxiousness.

"Kindly leave sensitive matters in the hands of the professionals. And it's supposed to be addressed to all of them, in case you've forgotten."

"Right."

As the sun was setting outside and Voo constructed a nest among dwarven mittens, Runar joined Halvdan in earnest in finding a suitable phrase that would move hearts that no longer beat.

"…maybe something other than 'warm'? Gentle?..."

"…no, 'warm' is good, don't change that…"

"…'in a world that offers too few'…"