PREVIEW

... stood at the edge of Stormwind's excuse for a waterfront, face scrunched in dismay as the stench of fish guts, sun-baked seaweed, and hopeless dreams assaulted his nostrils. Windsor stood beside him, eyebrows twitching like they were trying to flee his face. It smelled like someone had pickled disappointment in a barrel of dead sardines.

"Stormwind has a dock?" Windsor muttered, half in disbelief, half in mourning.

If it weren't for the occasional fish gracing the barracks menu, ...

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