It is a city on lockdown. The Kor'kron patrol the streets in packs, brutally putting down even the slightest hint of subversion from any citizen within the city walls. Trolls are held at gunpoint, their lives dependent on the whims of xenophobic zealots.
Gone are the hints of spiritualism and balance. Spikes adorn every rooftop. The constant clang of hammers echoes throughout the city as blacksmiths create weapons of war. They are matched only by the intermittent screams, another victim of Garrosh's tyrannical rule.
Dust chokes the air. The sun beats down unmercifully. Grommash hold stands tall, a giant looking down on its domain. Within is Garrosh, king in his own little world. The city has become one giant testament to one man's paranoia, greed and vainglory.
And you look slightly to the left.
PRESENTS! AND DAMN THAT TREE IS FESTIVE!
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BATS.
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