I don’t have a lot of pleasant memories from growing up, but there’s one that always stands out to me. On occasion, when I was little, my father would take me with him to some of his treks into Dalaran. I remember the smell of old tomes, the crackle of arcane in the air, and how important everyone looked and felt. Acting as my father’s apprentice, I felt important too.
We would always lunch in the Purple Parlor, and while my father would always get something more exotic, like bovine steak or seared scallops with a nice wine of the appropriate color, I always wanted the same thing.
I always wanted Dalaran rolls.
Weeeell…
Feed the Horde 