Guerir chugged down another mug of beer, he was standing infront of the petrified giant Sun Roc talon, attempting to prove that his parrot, Stakey, was a decendant of the giant birds of Tauren folk lore (and failing). When something metal clucked and hit him in the back of the head, the aging dwarf swore, preparing to give whatever beardling that threw it at him a big bout of dwarvish dicipline.

Guerir wheeled around, an empty mug held high, he then threw it with all his might, only ending up barely missing Curator Thorius, the empty mug bouncing off the stone pillar witha dull stone-on-metal clang. The Explorer scratched his beard, then by chance, looked down. Seeing a mechanical pidgeon, obviously of gnomish design on the floor, it's neck and a wing poking out at wierd angles, in it's beak it held a note. Guerir frowned and bent over, picking it up and reading it numerous times, his vision slightly blurred after five pints of Thunder Ale.

"Dark Iron, Shadowforge Incentive, Crypt, Trapped, Menethil Harbour, Inn, Basement, Help, Glenin" it read. Guerir frowned, but then enlightenment appeared on his face and his eyes widened "Blimus! Er... Blimey!" the aging dwarf exclaimed and threw another mug he had picked up, which was half empty, over his shoulder and over the giant sun roc talon. Only barely registering the angry cries and curses of Curator Thorius, Guerir ran off, parrot and a thrown beer mug flying after him.