Flinthammer Hall

“Ringo! Beli!” Widge Gearloose yelled, jumping up and down, pointing up into the evening sky. “Look at THAT!”

Widge was not more specific about what he was staring at because, frankly, it was hard to know what it was.

“Khaz’goroth on a cracker,” Ringo breathed, flinching as Beli raised a hand to smack him for blasphemy. “What is that?”

Widge touched a knob on his Destruction Holo-gogs. Gears whirred and the lenses of his goggles extended and the purple sphere soaring through the clouds seemed much closer.

“It looks like Dalaran,” Widge said after a moment, “But a flying city? That’s ridiculous, right?”

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