There is no war, and there is no peace.
Printed in Booty Bay, where we sell to anyone who pays and ask nobody their business.
Explore Azeroth
The state of things
Lordaeron is gone.
Destroyed from within by an undead plague. Its survivors are refugees; its capital is a graveyard.
Stormwind stands, barely.
A ten-year-old king, a regent doing his best, an empty treasury, and provinces that have noticed nobody is coming to help.
The orcs have a homeland
for the first time — a red desert nobody else wanted, with a city four years old built out of raw timber and iron.
The night elves are mortal now,
after ten thousand years, and they are not handling it well.
There is no war and there is no peace.
Alliance and Horde raid each other over lumber and old grudges while both leaderships insist it isn't a war.
Where you might begin
The great cities
The two factions
Rules for your character
From the docks
A note on our editorial standards. The Chronicle prints what walks in off the docks and what our correspondents can verify. We do not print rumour, we do not print what the Steamwheedle Cartel would rather we didn't, and we certainly do not print anything a paying customer hasn't yet earned the right to know.
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