"Ten had never seen so much steel in his life. He couldn’t help but stare in awe at Orgrimmar below, the largest city that he had ever gazed upon. Nevermind that the zeppelin he was on, The Fist of the Warchief, had been anchored there for a few days now, or that Ten still had not gotten used to flying on such a contraption. The sheer number of people, movement, noise, and expensive steel left him stunned every time he leaned over the airship’s railing."

"While Azeroth’s great oceans offered countless risks to those who sail across them, there were very few options accessible to the average traveler. This was the case for the Darkspear Trolls who now brave the waters East of Kalimdor as exiles. In a fleet consisting of dozens of smaller vessels and canoes that flocked around larger ships that could trace their history back to when the tribe first arrived on Durotar’s shores, the Darkspear traverse the ocean with the main goal of survival. "

"Undercity stank. At least, that’s what all the living said when they first arrived. That was always their first impression, whether this stink came from its thousands of rotting inhabitants or the ichor floating through its channels. Oh, there was also the fact that this was once the sewer of a major human city, not to mention a royal dungeon. Who knew what sorts of smells had seeped into the walls by this point?"