Netherlight

Turalyon stood firmly at the front of the Vindicaar, looking down upon Azeroth, the Azeroth he and its champions had saved. He watched as the shifting clouds above the Broken Isles dissipated leaving that once battleground seem serene from his view up in the heavens. He glanced at some other clouds forming a storm at what would be the plains of the Barrens, home to his new enemy, the Horde. The same Horde he had hosted on this ship to wage war on the surface of Argus, to finally once and for all put an end to the Burning Legion and its master, Sargeras.

He shut his eyes for a moment thinking, a thousand years in the Nether fighting, only to come home and have to fight again. His brow furrowed, always another war to fight, he thought. Opening his eyes again to see Azeroth, his eyes resting on Sargeras’ final act, the giant sword looming over the surface, its hilt muddled with clouds in the sky…

“Turalyon…” Alleria’s voice echoed slightly in the Vindicaar’s open deck, breaking his concentration. “Come down to the forge, I have something I wish to speak about,” she told him as she turned to walk down the stairs, her cape swaying with her hips, her voice was soft and inviting. Turalyon took one last look upon Azeroth before turning to head down the other side of stairs that led to the Netherlight Crucible.

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A Day in the Life of Janitor Edwards

“Ah, m-more dirt. It’s a m-mirror into my soul,” Edwards mumbled to himself as he shuffled to the next spot to clean. Do I even have a s-soul after how m-many times I have been r-reconstructed? The thought twisted in his mind, clouding much of what was going on around him, so much so that he nearly singed his long chops on Corvus’ blazing furnace.

“Watch yourself, janitor!” Corvus sneered as he continued to hammer away at a rune blade. The blacksmith was always in a foul mood, and if you asked him why he would ramble on about anything and everything that could possibly give him discomfort, including the various weather.

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