Rumors swirl with the dust through the streets of Orgrimmar. Dorgot hears it all as he sweeps, refuels the fire pits, or cleans out the worg pens, whatever his Orgrimmar City Maintenance Crew job is for the day.
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A goblin, harried by the Kork’ron “tax collector”, walks sullenly back to his tent with only a few coppers left in his pocket. As he passes by the “pub”, which really is no more than a sheet held overhead with alcoholic drinks served beneath it, a fellow goblin catches his eye and nods for him to come over.
“I see they got you again today. Let me buy you a drink.”
After the drinks arrive, the “helpful” goblin cuts to the chase. “You know what? I can help you. I know a goblin who knows a tauren who knows an elf that can,” the "helpful" goblin glances around to be sure they’re not being overheard before he continues, “get you out of here: down to Ratchet, up to Azshara. No questions asked. 20g. Interested?”
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A tauren mother, her young daughter holding tightly to her apron strings, carefully makes her way to the tauren market in the Valley of Wisdom. She is skittish from nerves, fatigue, worry; it is not safe to not be an orc in Orgrimmar these days.
But . . . they’ve waited too long to leave, and the Kork’ron hold, no, practically bar the gates.
With one hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she picks through the few fruit available with the other. The merchant behind the stand leans over and whispers: “We can get you out. All of your family. If you need to.” The woman looks up, hope flaring in her eyes.
-------
A goblin, harried by the Kork’ron “tax collector”, walks sullenly back to his tent with only a few coppers left in his pocket. As he passes by the “pub”, which really is no more than a sheet held overhead with alcoholic drinks served beneath it, a fellow goblin catches his eye and nods for him to come over.
“I see they got you again today. Let me buy you a drink.”
After the drinks arrive, the “helpful” goblin cuts to the chase. “You know what? I can help you. I know a goblin who knows a tauren who knows an elf that can,” the "helpful" goblin glances around to be sure they’re not being overheard before he continues, “get you out of here: down to Ratchet, up to Azshara. No questions asked. 20g. Interested?”
-------
A tauren mother, her young daughter holding tightly to her apron strings, carefully makes her way to the tauren market in the Valley of Wisdom. She is skittish from nerves, fatigue, worry; it is not safe to not be an orc in Orgrimmar these days.
But . . . they’ve waited too long to leave, and the Kork’ron hold, no, practically bar the gates.
With one hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she picks through the few fruit available with the other. The merchant behind the stand leans over and whispers: “We can get you out. All of your family. If you need to.” The woman looks up, hope flaring in her eyes.
