Clank. Hiss. Thud.
The lift ground to a halt at the bottom level of Ironforge.
When they were high above, looking down from the Iron Wall, the city had looked like a marvel of engineering, a glowing, churning beast of brass and steam. But down here, in the streets? It looked like a prison.
"Watch your step," Hephaestus warned, stepping over a puddle of oil that shimmered with a sickly rainbow sheen.
"The drainage systems haven't been maintained in months. The Regent diverted all the maintenance mana to the weapon factories."
Damien pulled his hood tight, his eyes scanning the surroundings as instructed. Fortunately, it seemed the cloaks Aelinor had given them had a bit of a stealth function, so they didn't stand out too much.
The air was thick with smog that tasted of sulfur and unwashed bodies. The towering brass buildings that looked majestic from above were stained with soot and grime at street level.
And the people…
