The dust was too much. I couldn't stand it any more and neither could the deathcharger. Both of us were coughing endlessly.
I hate outlands.
In a fit of rage I rode west, unsure of what was at the end of the road but if it wasn't red I was prepared to get off my charger and kiss it.
As it turns out, the end of the road was a small village of Night elves and Tauren who followed the druidic teachings. It was in a swamp. A swamp which appeared to stretch for hundreds of miles. Mushrooms! Taller than trees! I hate mushrooms!
A very muddy two hours later I find myself in a troll village which is as mud spattered as this entire part of outlands seems to be. I had hoped to find someplace dry to stable the charger, but to these trolls "dry" means "only a foot deep".
I hate swamp-outlands.
The blood sucking insects common to Durotar during the rainy season are the size of large wolves here, and about as mean, and probably smarter. There are hydras, and Naga (always with the naga! How did they GET here?!) And horrible pumping machines that seem so dastardly a goblin would blush if he saw one.
I'm counting the days until the Cenarion Expedition (as the druids call themselves) tell me I can leave.
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