“All right,” the draenei priestess said, wiping the sweat from her lavender brow and glancing at her watch, “We’ll take a 10-minute break.”
Thorim’s arena inside Ulduar was now empty, save for the still-crackling chunks of metal that had been iron dwarves and vrykul just minutes before. The Keeper Thorim had departed, after the force now licking its wounds had literally beaten some sense into him. Thorim now had left the Clash of Thunder to clear his head of the charms Yogg-Saron had placed on him.
“And now,” Belsun Grimaxe said, reaching into his pack, “It’s battle fuel time.”