Azeroth was black and smoking. Seared to bedrock from the sulfurous, stinking and never-ceasing fires of the demons who had poured off of Mt. Hyjal like a tidal wave. Their defeat on the slopes of that mountain had not been forgotten, and had been avenged tenfold on the folk of all the races. Abandoning the north, the races evacuated Menethil Harbor and the dwarves collapsed the tunnels of Dun Algaz, using the mountains as a natural barricade. No news had been able to reach them of the north's fate after the last charge was blown. Was it enough? Darkness took him, and he never knew.