Shattrath. A golden city at the heart of Outlands. For so long the political struggle between the Aldor and the Scryer have left this city in constant turmoil. The ignorant politicians foolishly believed that their cause was superior than the opposition's. I laugh now at their blind incompetence.
I do not know how I managed to escape. The tiny stone in my hand still glows hot, and my common sense tells me that this is impossible. It becomes strangely apparent that I've teleported myself here through my hearthstone. Oddly though is the fact that I had already used it earlier that day, it should not have been usable.
I look southwest toward the beckoning blackness that is the destruction of darkness. It grows larger exponentially as it consumes all that remains in its wake.
I wonder at what poor creatures and souls will be caught in its consumption, the garish thought provokes imagery far too intense to describe, I can only suggest a few words that would make you see it as I do.
It is as though I were staring into the maw of hell.