Deep within the depths of Molten Core the source of both Dark Iron ale and ore, two pansy blood elves were having a chat inside the grim guzzler, in which they sat they were chugging down pints, and speaking in thalassian and on the table, rested the severed head of Nefarian “It was hard, damn dragon refused to die” thus I said Carasar nodded “Best we hope this kill get us well paid…”
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