Hooves dug into the moist soil of the Cape of Stranglethorne at a frantic pace, winding through a path scorched through the coastal stretch of jungle. Two humans and a dwarf pushed their steeds faster still, breathing heavily from fatigue and then from smoke exhalation as they broke out of the burnt underbrush and onto the trampled shore.

The dwarf turned atop her ram mount. "There! I see them! We're not too late!" Marinna said in a heavy Bronzebeard accent.

Linda, a Kul Tiran, rode next to her atop her charger, struggling to keep up. "They're still on the march; I see the trolls making camp further up the hill. Thank the light, we made it!"

The trio continued riding down the shore, reaching the tail end of a group of skirmishers marked by clanking metal, smoldering torches, and deep chanting. A group of Dark Iron dwarves marched in formation in spite of numbering no more than fifty, followed by small golems dragging baggage and a Flamewaker prodding flame imps foreward with a pitchfork. On the hill above them stood a group of Zandalari trolls, slightly higher in numbers and surrounded by crawgs. The dwarves marched toward that hill with grim intent, stamping down the grass nearest the shore and hefting battle axes without any visible signs of tiring.

Semir, a human wearing a Stormwind tabard, pointed toward a dark-haired dwarf with flames crackling around her hands. "She might be the leader," he said as the trio rode alongside the Dark Iron soldiers, who were ignoring the three diplomats.

Marinna dismounted and left her ram trailing behind her. "Wait! Stop, there's a truce!" she said while running over to her counterpart. The Dark Iron pyromancer stopped and turned around, facing Marinna with a slight frown. The Bronzebeard diplomat fumbled through her pockets whil her two companions dismounted and approached over the unstoppable march of the soldiers from Shadowforge. "Here! I have it here!"

The Zandalari on the hill stirred at the sound of a war drum and began taking up defensive formations, and the diplomats all shook nervously. The pyromancer wasn't enthused. "It?" she asked derisively. "What exactly is 'it'?"

Marinna pulled an envelope from an inside pocket of her cloak and held it out to the pyromancer. "Here! It's an order to end hostilities over Azerite nodes! I know that Darbakh is leading your forces, he needs to see it!"

The pyromancer looked at the envelope much as one would look at an expired sandwich offered to them. "Overseer Smokestack is leading the column at the front; it isn't wise to run in between the frontlines in combat."

Waving the envelope around, Marinna raised her voice as the Dark Irons continued marching with heavy footsteps. "Overseer Smokestack!" she yelled at the soldiers, though she couldn't tell which one was their officer. "Please stop, a truce with the Horde is being prepared! Hostilities must cease immediately!"

The pyromancer stood in their way, blocking them from reaching the ironclad troops. "No truce has been announced."

"The Zandalari have started their own march - the two sides will clash in moments!" Linda said urgently while pointing over the flame imps, which were now performing backflips in front of the group.

"Overseer! Listen to me, you have to stop!" Marinna yelled again, much to the pyromancer's disapproval. The dark-haired Dark Iron sidestepped to block Marinna's view.

"The Overseer is hard of hearing; it was a dynamite explosion in the mines, you see. He won't hear you."

The two humans looked worried, especially when the Flamewaker slithered behind them, but Marinna crooked her neck back and gave the pyromancer a quizzical look. "Our people are raised to dynamite explosions as our lullabies. That won't damage a dwarf's hearing."

Marinna stopped and turned to look at the scaly elemental. The Flamewaker wasn't too big, not much bigger than Linda, but the Kul Tiran diplomat still looked bothered by its position behind them. Semir looked to Marinna, who reacted with moral outrage rather than the fear displayed by the humans.

"What is this?" she asked while vaguely motioning toward the Flamewaker.

"For your protection," the pyromancer replied with a feigned concern too unrefined to fool anyone.

"I'm Marinna, a diplomat coming directly from Ironforge!" She stood up straight and raised her voice again, inspiring her human companions and causing the Flamewaker to shrink away. "You can't interfere with our business!"

The pyromancer glanced askew at Marinna with an anger-inducing skepticism. "Battlefield protocol dictates that personnel protects diplomatic staff, especially once hostilities begin."

"They're almost in charging distance!" Semir warned as the Dark Irons and Zandalari drew dangerously close, many yards further down the coastline.

The two dwarven women stared each other down, each too classy to begin pushing and shoving, though Marinna spoke with distress in her voice. "Please, stand aside - people will die! There's supposed to be a truce between the factions after what happened in the Shadowlands." The pyromancer rolled her eyes at the mention of the much-maligned campaign. "I'm being serious! Oh, forget you. OVERSEER! Overseer, peace is being negotiated within days! I implore you to stand down-"

All three diplomats were taken aback, and even the Flamewaker shook with a measure of fear, when Overseer Smokestack yelled his orders, sending his voice echoing over the waves. "Spread ruin on them!" the Dark Iron overseer ordered from the front of the column of black-clad soldiers.

Whether the Zandalari understood the words or not, they responded to the sentiment. Rushing from atop the hill, fifty-plus members of the Raptari Honor Guard rushed down their hill to meet the Dark Iron soldiers in combat. The diplomats were too late; the post-Shadowlands truce would have to wait.