Azeroth. A land torn asunder in distant times, ravaged by wars, beset by a legion of unholy creatures and befouled by the footfalls of an undead host spawned forth by a monstrous plague - a realm of conflict.

And yet: there is a world underneath it all that dances to a singular beat of its own. It is a world where time moves in different dimensions, a place of caverns and tunnels, rivers of searing magma and endless cathedrals made of living rock, their spires protruding inwards instead of out.

News travels its own way down here, through vibrations in the ground and a stirring in the air. They tell little of the wars of today but much of ancient times, the walls still shaking with the footfalls of the titans.

Yet today, the stones were crying, trembling at the reemergence of an old, bad memory. Kukruk sensed their anguish, the palm of his hand tracing the outline of a rock protrusion as he peered into the unused brightness of a Loch Modan day from the shadowy safety of the tunnel mouth.

Something in the rock called out to the trogg shaman, a powerful voice that had pulled him, who usually lurked in the deepest corners of the Stonesplinter caverns, to the surface. Snarling, he took a hesitant step forward, towards the light, the uncomfortable brightness usually reserved for the lower scout and warrior castes, uncouth and more suited in their dulled sensibilities to leave the protective darkness of the earth.

A shuffling behind him told Kukruk that he wasn't alone. Turning his head for the second it took to glance over his shoulder, he saw the entire tribe gathered behind him, a single file of confused-looking troggs. All of them, he saw, had brought their weapons.

Kukruk grunted and stepped out of the cave and into the broad daylight. His tribe followed close behind, a long line of primitive warriors moving as one with their shaman in the lead. The march went down the slopes of the Stonesplinter hills and into the valley, where the lowly daylight troggs awaited - the axe swingers and bush creepers who kept the hated dwarves at bay. They, too, fell in line.

The urge that had Kukruk and his people in its grasp dragged them onwards, across the sparsely vegetated valley and out through the pass, as close to the dwarf-made street as a trogg dared to tread and, step by hesitant step, beyond.

The creator, the god, he who was divine - he awaited them at the crossroads. Radiant in his splendor, his will was a tangible force to Kukruk. He gazed into the primordial whiteness and all conscious thought left him.

For mountaineers Dolf and Erkson, the day couldn't have gone better. Their patrol route had taken them along the bonnie banks of the Loch, where they had several opportunities to practice the art of mumping free beer from the fishermen camps, through Thelsamar and down the road, south towards the Valley of Kings.

They steered their rams at a leisurely pace, content in the knowledge that their day would end at the massive gates that blocked off the burning horror that was no longer their land from the king's country.

"Yer comin' along ter t' tavern fer a pint later on?", Erkson said.

Dolf looked doubtful.

"I shouldnae, really. Yer know wha' she can be like."

This earned him a bachelor's grin. They rode on in silence, the footfalls of their rams the only sound on the quiet stretch of road. The paved route slowly sloped downwards, the descent eventually growing steeper as the path neared the Valley of Kings.

"Someone comin' up t'road", Dolf said.

Erkson nodded, squinting against the sunlight.

"Tha' is more than one, Dolf", he answered.

The two mountaineers stopped their rams, shocked, and stared into the distance. A single file of troggs was snaking out of Stonesplinter valley, an orderly line following a single leader.

"Is tha'...? Tha'... up front, is that a dwarf?", Erkson said, his voice hoarse.

Dolf tried to make out the distant head of the marching column. The figure was indeed smaller than the hulking troggs behind it but Dolf had some difficulty focusing on the yet far-away silhouette.

"Do yer want ter wait til they're closer ter find out?", he said, giving Erkson a sidewards glance.

The other dwarf shook his head and tore at the reins of his ram. It wasn't long before the bells started ringing in Thelsamar.

Undisturbed by the distant sound of alarm, the march of the troggs went on.