"Saying I am from Kalimdor would be equal to you claiming to be from the Eastern Kingdoms; one cannot gather much of an idea about another's homeland from such a statement. I hail from the great forest of Ashenvale!" Tichrom was first puzzled, then amused as the dwarf began pacing back and forth on the deck. He had never seen a dwarf in the air before, but so far it was proving to be very entertaining.
The sound of wings filled the air; Tichrom knew the sound. Frost wyrms were approaching. Spinning around, he shifted into a mighty bear with fur that was black as night, only to see a multitude of skeletal wyrms being allowed to land on the gunship. Why was nobody attacking them? Are we working with the Scourge? Those who would have us slain, and enjoy the act? It was no ordinary Scourge either; it was a death knight, clad in the infamous armor of a Scourgelord. The situation became even more puzzling as it seemed that the captain and the death knight were previously acquainted. Returning to elven form, Tichrom listened in. There was no kindness between the two; only necessity. Still less than pleased, he went in search of a drink.