A cool breeze moves across Osull's skin as he looks out upon the Azerothian skyline. The picturesque towering citadels of Dalaran float a mile high in the air before him. The breeze causes him to shiver briefly in his heavy plate armor, something is wrong.
The shiver has an almost mystical quality to it.
"Greetings," comes a wispy voice from everywhere but nowhere.
"We are performing our weekly scheduled maintenance this morning." Osull gets the feeling that something terrible is about to be said. Bracing himself and looking stoically out towards the bustling city in front of him, he is steadfast in the knowledge that no matter what the challenge before him, Humanity's spirit will always prevail.
"No realms will be... available," the voice says with a nearly sadistic tone to it. He gulps as he realizes that his very existence will be naught during these times, "between the hours of 5:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. PST."