The wood of the chair creaked loudly behind Fulguralis. Ignoring it, he reached back over his right shoulder with his fishing pole, and then flung it forward. The line buzzed at it went out, splashing into the water several spans from where he stood. He watched the bobber intently for any signs of a bite. The chair behind him creaked again.
He turned back to regard his wife. She had insisted on joining him on this fishing trip, after having spent almost a week running around with the girls, doing whatever it was that girls did when they weren't slaying dragons. Knowing her, they probably had about twenty more pets hidden away somewhere in the house.
Something tugged on the line. Fulguralis pulled hard to set the hook, then began fighting his catch back toward the shore. By the time it was about halfway in, he knew it was no fish. It didn't fight like one. Sure enough, when he pulled the hook out of the water, the only thing wriggling at the end of the line was a circle of rubber.
"Felling Gnomes been testin' them newfangled flyin' machines over mah pond again", the Warlock accused.
Fuubaar simply grunted in response and continued knitting.
Where did I get that weird accent? Fulguralis shook it off and cast again. There was just something about fishing that was relaxing. He wasn't sure whether it was his kind of relaxing or not, though. He still didn't see what was wrong with torching a few critters, but the therapist had suggested fishing. The chair behind him creaked again.
The Warlock's grip on his pole tightened. What the fel is she even making? He tried to puzzle out why his wife was even here. She never knit before. Didn't she have better things to do? Like polish her armor and deal with her parents. And what were they up to? He'd tried to get the Captain to go fishing with him. Seemed like the thing to do, but his wife wasn't having any of it. They were gardening in the backyard of the manor. Gardening! Like the dead, twisted shrubbery back there wasn't good enough. Not for the first time, Fulguralis wondered how long they'd be staying.
"Ma said dinner'll be ready 'round sundown," Fuubaar noted.
Fulguralis grunted in response, and cast again. Nothing on the line that time. Probably would have helped had he stocked the pond.
The chair creaked again.
Fulguralis was about to throw his pole and Hellfire something, but fortunately a Dwarven woman huffed up behind them. She came from the direction of the manor and her face was flushed. Her previously white robes were a bit travel-stained and she quite out of breath. She bent over, gulping air, and held up one finger. Warlock and Paladin simply stared.
"Jessabelle, what are you doing out here?" Fuubaar broke the silence.
"I... looking for... you," she managed.
"You know, you could have borrowed a mount," Fulguralis pointed out.
Her face got redder, "You! You just zip it, Warlock! You're lucky I like you're wife otherwise I'd bubble you to death right here and now!"
Fulguralis grinned, "Isn't that sort of against Priestly code or something?"
"I'll make an exception." Jessabelle stood up straight and faced Fuubaar. "I hadn't heard from you in a while and just wanted to-"
"I'm fine," Fuubaar interrupted.
Silence settled back over the three adventurers. Jessabelle looked from the half finished knitting project to the shouldered fishing pole. She raised two delicate, Dwarven eyebrows. The chair creaked.
Jessabelle shrugged. "Well, we were going to get the team back together, but if you're fine here..."
Fuubaar jumped up, tossing her knitted articles aside. Then, her face reddened and she attempted to play it off. "I, uh, I don't know. I mean, if you need us..."
"Of course they need us," Fulguralis spat, already putting his pole away. "When do we start?"
"You didn't ask me," Fuubaar said through clenched teeth. Then she added as if her husband had not just said it, "When do we start?"
"Tonight," the Dwarf grinned. "I have to warn you though, there'll be a lot more travel this time. Deathwing's really done a number on things and it's sort of muddled our points of attack."
"Great, we'll see you tonight," Fuubaar promised.
The Dwarf smiled, turned on her heels, and pulled a shroud out of one of her bags. She flung it out and it began to glitter. It seemed as if a replica of Stormwind had been stitched into it beneath the crest of their adventurer's guild. With a girlish giggle, she stepped through the cloak and disappeared in a flash. Fulguralis stared at where the cheery little Dwarf had been.
"Guild perk," Fuubaar explained.
The chair creaked.
Fulguralis spun and flung a ball of fire at the rocking chair. It exploded into a million flaming shards, scattering embers on the two of them. Fuubaar stamped one out on the ground and then brushed at a few of the burn marks on her clothing. Her little knitting project burned nearby, but the Paladin just looked at it and shrugged. Then, she turned back to her husband and raised a questioning brow.
He smiled, "Warlock perk."
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