Azjolnak

As the pit grew deeper, the Scourge Nerubians they encountered became stronger and more numerous. Inside the pit, there was no light apart from a little sunlight and a few glowing gems and mushrooms. Dranosh Saurfang lost all sense of time. Even he did not know how long he had been inside the pit; all he knew was that they had descended at least several hundred meters.

After prolonged, intense fighting against Nerubians with formidable defenses and vitality, Dranosh Saurfang was somewhat fatigued. Taking advantage of a brief lull, he leaned on the High Warlord's Battle Axe to rest.

"Here, General Dranosh. Have some water and take a break." Nazgrel appeared beside Dranosh Saurfang and handed him a waterskin filled with ordinary purified water.

Dranosh did not stand on ceremony. He snatched the waterskin and took a deep drink, instantly feeling much better. "Is this Draenor spring water?"

Dranosh had noticed that the water in the skin had an incredibly familiar taste, utterly unlike the water of Azeroth.

"Yes, General Dranosh." Nazgrel was an Orc raised in the internment camps of Azeroth and was unfamiliar with the old Draenor, but he knew it was their homeland. Thus, he had spent a hefty sum buying Draenor spring water from the Goblins of the Steamwheedle Cartel. Whenever he drank it, he felt the relaxation of returning home.

Nazgrel hesitated for a moment before finally asking Dranosh, "General Dranosh, could you tell me what our home was like? You grew up there."

When Outland opened, Nazgrel had still been studying at the War Academy and had not taken part. Even now, he had yet to set foot on Outland.

"Our home?" Dranosh knew Nazgrel meant Draenor. The question filled him with longing, so he simply sat down and began recounting it slowly.

As