In a prison deep beneath the streets of Orgrimmar, the air was stifling hot, and uncomfortable. Black stone ringed in iron surrounded the lone prisoner, Thrall, who was left chained, humiliated, and wearing nothing but the clothes of a previous prisoner of war. The distant sounds of thunderous machines of war creak through the walls on occasion, reminding the once mighty Warchief of where he was.

It has been several days after the siege, and the air smells foul with the stench of death and failure. A red sun dips slowly in the distant horizon, casting long shadows along the crags of sharp rocks. Within these shadows, a lone orc - still adorned in dented armor smelling of the bitterness of battle - stands in a hidden bluff overlooking a small makeshift memorial. Nazgrim, General of the Horde, stands in silent vigil.

As the Greymanes left the harbor, accompanied by a small retinue of guards, they found themselves walking through the Cathedral District. Many people who had come to watch the ships return - some in the hopes of good news - now pass on what they had seen and the city itself, once so bright, now seemed darker as the realization flows through the populace.