Report #00009: Duties of an Ambassador
I have hoped for a long time that the Gnomeregan Exiles will reclaim Gnomeregan one day. Anyone who personally knows me and reads this report will understand that what I really mean is, “I hope the bloody gnomes leave Ironforge soon”. Due to my own rare position in life, I expected that when the time came I would appeal to King Magni to make me an ambassador to Gnomeregan. It seemed like a logical course of action. Of course, hindsight is 20/20 … often better if one wears the proper goggles… and there were things I didn’t consider. That’s why King Magni is High Thane of Ironforge and I’m not.
I suppose not being a direct descendent of Madoran Bronzebeard has something to do with it, as well.
I recieved yesterday a summons to appear before King Magni, and he informed me that he has decided to bestow upon me the title of Ambassador, and that I am now Fizzytwizzle Stouthammer, Ironforge Ambassador to Kalimdor. I suppose this has all been a bit overwhelming for me. First, earlier in the week, I received a package in the mail from Brann Bronzebeard himself! It seems I’ve gotten lost and wandered around in so many places that he’s heard about my travels and decided to send me a fancy tabard. Imagine that… Brann Bronzebeard knows who I am! Now King Magni’s making me an ambassador. This is all very exciting for a dwarf who turned up in Ironforge a few years ago as a wounded and ill gnome driven out of Gnomeregan.
In between bows and stumbling thanks, I did manage to ask him why he was making me an ambassador to Kalimdor, and pointed out (very respectfully, of course) that I had thought my skills would perhaps be put to use someday as a liaison to Gnomeregan. He seemed to smile with his eyes and frown behind his beard at the same time, and what he said to me was said with great patience.
“There are dwarven engineers who do not mind the company of their gnomish colleagues as much as you do. Diplomatic relations require a certain degree of confidence on both sides of the table. It has not escaped my notice that gnomes put you on edge, yet you seem to carry yourself with confidence among members of the horde.”
I must have looked really confused. I was fighting the urge to start petting Brann (that bear has become the greatest companion I could have ever hoped for), which is something I know I do when I get nervous. I suppose I spent plenty of time in front of King Magni when I was making daily appeals to be allowed a ram, but this was different. I had questions and didn’t like the way Senator Redstone kept frowning at me.
King Magni looked right past me, like he was looking at something outside in the Great Forge, for a few minutes before he said, “Tell me again what it is you said to your elven friends and the human child you brought before me some time back. How you described the Great Forge.”
That was a pleasant enough topic of conversation! I love to tell people how I feel when I walk through there. “It’s the lava, sir. It’s like looking at the blood of Azeroth flowing right through the mountain, as if the heart of everything is Ironforge Mountain itself. It’s warm, and beautiful, and sacred. And it makes me feel alive when I watch it… like that same blood is flowing right through myself!”
This time he did smile for a minute. Others always seem to nod in agreement as if what I said is logical enough, but only dwarves smile when I say it. Then he looked at me very seriously and said, “Fizzy, the Stouthammers have a long, proud history of serving Ironforge. Our Grand Champion at the Argent Tournament is a Stouthammer. Your brother’s father was a warrior who died defending Dun Morogh from Dark Iron attacks. Your brother was a fine warrior himself for many years, and is a fine paladin. Greta Stouthammer raised him well, as well as all the orphans and refugees like yourself that she took in. Many dwarven children lived to be great dwarves because she put the good of Ironforge above herself. I know I can depend on a Stouthammer to put the interests of Ironforge first.”
I nodded and did my best to bow graciously without spilling all the cheese from the bag I was carrying. “What is it you ask of me, sir?”
“Are you familiar with the dig sites in Kalimdor?”
I nodded more confidently this time. “Of course! I’ve been to the Bael Modan and Bael’dun sites several times, in fact.”
“That is exactly what I’m asking of you. Visit the sites. Make peace with local tribes as much as you can without sacrificing our work there. As you know, my brother negotiated with the Bloodhoof Tauren some time ago to protect the Bael’dun site. Diplomatic relations must be maintained.”
“Are you sure I…? Sir, I bow before your wise…”
He held up a hand and chuckled. “You may be one of the smallest dwarves I’ve ever seen, Fizzy, but I believe what I said when I sent you for that ram. You have the heart of ten dwarves. I have complete confidence that someone who has stood at my side to defend Ironforge against occasional attacks can handle a ride through Mulgore or a drink with an orc from time to time.”
I suppose Senator Redstone might have gotten his name from the color he turns when he listens to King Magni talk long enough. He might want to see a priest about that.
I bowed and nodded a few more times, and he gave me a very official letter to identify myself with when necessary, and Brann and I hurried out of there. I’m sure he had other business to attend to, and I was on my way to Winterspring to track down an elf who trains cats in the mountains. I wish I’d stopped long enough to ask him about what I heard him say when I was on my way out, though.
“That one reminds me a bit of my own brother.”
I wonder which one he meant?