Welcome Back, Barca

Gavrisom had been in few places as conflicted in purpose as the goblin outpost of K3. Certainly the entire place had a strange feel to it. A bizarre cross between aesthetics and function, K3 was all the indulgence and extravagance of the best goblin gambling den combined with all the charm of a scientific outpost at the edge of civilization. In true goblin form, there were lots of lights, guns, card games, and an immense array of alcohol and other mind-bending substances. Two statuesque human blondes sat at the bar beside a goblin wearing a fedora at least two sizes too big for his head, and Gavrisom was sure that either one, and assuredly both if that was your thing, were available to rent by the hour for the right amount of coins. And yet the ceiling overhead was a spiderweb of pipes, and the walls were unashamedly unpainted sheet metal. The pretentiousness of top shelf whiskey was muted somewhat by the stainless steel tumblers it was served in. The low-wattage electrical lamps overhead buzzed obnoxiously, and the whole place reeked of recycled air. All in all, K3 reminded Gavrisom very much of Area 53 in the Netherstorm, except with shittier weather.

He had been somewhat perplexed when the ever-elusive Brann Bronzebeard had asked to meet him in this particular place. For someone who apparently wanted a favor so badly, Brann had taken ages not only to track down, but to respond as well. Both Brann's evasiveness and choice of locale became clearer when Gavrisom learned that the famed explorer had his hands quite full in Ulduar. The nature of that business also then made it unsurprising when Gavrisom found himself stood up. Brann never came, sending instead a subordinate bearing a note of apology in his place.

Short, even for a dwarf, and with an unusually well-groomed beard, Gavrisom recognized him as the fellow in charge of the Steel Gate excavation site. For a period of several weeks during which his wife had become exceptionally irritated with his proclivity towards boredom in Valiance Keep, Gavrisom had found work with the Explorers' League at Steel Gate. Assisting with the dig, transporting supplies back and forth, and routinely flying sorties against gargoyles had given Gavrisom both a steady paycheck, and something enjoyable to pass the time.

“Fancy a drink Munsen?” Gavrisom asked, shaking his metal cup temptingly. The dwarf made a horrid face and shook his head emphatically as he took the seat beside Gavrisom.

“I'd nae drink anythin' a goblin offer'd meh if'n I was dyin' o' thirst!” he groused. “Yer a brave man Gav, or a stupid 'un, to be sippin' tha.”

Gavrisom looked down into his glass with a newfound sense of anxiety, swirling the liquid around and peering into it, looking for anything that didn't belong. “How's Brann doing then?” he asked, still eying his drink suspiciously. “Busy still in Ulduar?”

“Aye,” Munsen said solemnly. “'E'll 'ave 'is hands full o' tha' place 'til th' end o' time. Tha's so much t' be discovered.”

“Ah!” Gavrisom exclaimed before shrugging at his drink and continuing to enjoy it. “So that's why the Explorers' League was so eager to spring me out of jail then? You need another able body and I'm just the chap for the job?” He was taken aback and only slightly offended when Munsen chuckled.

“Nae laddie, we got no stortage o' adventurers up there already. Grunt work, most o' it. Takin' ou' th' garbage. The rest o' it', well, tha's dwarves' work.” Munsen smiled in such a way that Gavrisom was sure the joke was on him. “Wha' we need ye fo' is sommat delicate.”

“Do you mind me asking how it was you convinced the Alliance command to let me go? Whatever it was, it was very impressive.”

Munsen grinned. “Brann 'ad 'is brother write a letter on yer behalf.”

“His brother?” Gavrisom asked, confused.

“Aye, 'is brother Magni.”

“Magni...Bronzebeard?”

“Aye.”

Gavrisom was flabbergasted. “Magni Bronzebeard, the king of all the dwarves?”

“Not all th' dwarves,” Munsen corrected.

“The High Thane of Ironforge, then?”

“Aye, tha's th' one,” Munsen said matter-of-factly.

Gavrisom tried hard not to look as pained as he suddenly felt on the inside. It now made sense why everyone in Stormwind Keep had been so keen on him. It also meant that he was far more indebted to Brann and the Explorers' League than he could have possibly imagined, which in turn meant that whatever they were going to ask him was extremely serious. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath all to the amusement of Munsen.

“I 'aven't even tol' ye wha' it is yet laddie!” he said with a laugh.

“What is it?” Gavrisom asked in resignation.

“Look,” Munsen said gently, “we 'old ye in high regard Gav. Yer practically an honorary dwarf as it is! If'n ye grew a beard, I wouldn'a even know ye was human! An' as such, yer one o' tha few humans in th' whole o' Azeroth tha's as highly respected by th' Explorers' League. Exalted, even!”

Gavrisom dropped back his head and took the rest of his drink. He was apparently going to need it for whateve Munsen was about to tell him. Grimacing, he put the cup down with a sharp metal-on-metal noise. “Quit buttering me up and just say it,” he grumbled.

“Aye, well, ye know a thin' or two about 'istory, aye?”

Gavrisom nodded. “More than most, probably. I've always been rather fond of it. I have more history books than engineering manuals.”

“An' yer also sharp on yer geography?”

“I would have passed my A levels if, you know, the Scourge hadn't happened.”

Munsen seemed pleased. “There's a school in Dalaran, run by the Kirin Tor. Mostly full o' mages' brats an' a few o' the wee kids who's parents are 'oled up at th' Argent Vanguard an' Crusader's Pinnacle. There's a chap there teachin' who also happens t' be a damn fine cryptographer. We need tha feller in Ulduar, an' th' Explorer's League 'as been tryin' t' get a presence in Dalaran fer ages now. We figure this'll kill two birds wi' one stone.”

Gavrisom didn't understand. “I don't follow. You want me to bring the guy to Ulduar?”

Munsen laughed. “Nae! We need ye t' take over teachin' 'is classes!”

If Gavrisom hadn't already finished his whiskey, he might have spit it all over the dwarf. As it was, he was positive he'd simply drank too much already to have heard right. “You what!? That's preposterous Munsen! I'm not a teacher! My wife is a teacher! Not me!”

Munsen shrugged. “Yer wife's nae in th' guild. An' we need ye Gav. Ye been to Dalaran, aye? Ye looked aroun' tha place an' ain't ye noticed wha's in short supply there? Dwarves! Other'n those two chaps at the' leathers shop, I can't think o' a single dwarf who calls Dalaran 'ome off th' top o' me head. They ain't keen on us folk there. We need a human!”

“But I'm not at all qualified!” Gavrisom protested. Munsen waived a dismissive hand.

“O' course yer qualified. Ye know th' subject matter! It ain't like we're askin' ye to teach civilization progression theory t' a bunch o' grad students! This is sixth form history!”

“Sixth form!?” Gavrisom groaned. “Please tell me you're joking Munsen.”

“Nae. It's jus' two classes. One in th' mornin's an' one in th' afternoon. 'History an' Geography of th' Eastern Kingdoms.' All ye have to do is lecture! An' furthermore, as a full member of th' Explorers' League, ye get to be our unofficial liason t' th' Kirin Tor. You'll be the eyes an' ears of th' guild in Dalaran! What do ye say?”

Gavrisom took a deep breath. He had faced the Scourge, the Defias, the Syndicate, and even – most recently – a dragon. Yet the prospect of teaching a classroom full of kids was somehow borderline incomprehensible to him. “I don't really have a choice, do I?”

“Magni Bronzebeard,” said Munsen with a nod and a devilish grin.

“Magni Bronzebeard indeed,” sighed Gavrisom in defeat.