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My tank is broken, but I know the chiron ore is in these hills somewhere. I told Hammerfoot to stay and watch our tanks.
I'm continuing the search alone. If I don't make it back, then this journal is my last testament.
--Buron Hildelve, Pilot Ironforge Steam Brigade
Tonight as I prepared my camp, I heard a growl echoing through the canyons.
That growling continued throughout the night, and followed me all today, distracting me from my hunt for ore. I think there's a bear following me!
I hope he comes close. I'll bury my pick into his head!
My supplies are running low. I still have plenty of food, but I didn't plan for such a long stay in the wilds outside my tank and I only brought two kegs of ale with me.
I've been up all night the past two nights, listening to that cursed growling, and I've nearly drained my kegs dry!
I'll have to head back to Hammerfoot and our Steam Tanks tomorrow. I don't want to get lost out here, booze-less.
The cursed bear did me in! It attacked me at midday, roaring and charging at me from behind.
I would have smelled it coming had it charged from upwind - its stench was something awful! The reek of its mangy coat and rotted breath alone nearly sent me spinning!
I fought the thing off but it chewed my leg up good. Now I can't move, my ale's gone, and I never did find that ore. Curses!
The bear hasn't yet returned - I must have given him a good beating! But I can still hear his growling. I think he's waiting for me to die!
To whomever finds this book, I have a task for you. Kill that mangy bear. Kill it, and take this book back to my friend Hammerfoot. He'll want to know what happened.
And take my armor. You'll need it against old Mangeclaw!