Garrosh volunteered to go.
The so-called "golden kiln" was nothing more than a place of debauchery, gambling, and female Orcs, all of which were Garrosh's favorites.
When Garrosh arrived at Somval alone, carrying a bulging bag of gold coins, he was met with a scene of desolation and ruin.
The desolate seaside, covered in snow, was bitterly cold.
The waves, laden with ice, pounded weakly against the shore, which was littered with excrement and reeked of foul odors, and was dotted with unidentified seabirds.
Several elderly Orcs were fishing on the beach, their yellow fangs and dim eyes warily eyeing Garrosh.
Garrosh felt tricked, and approached an old Orcs, asking:
Do you know Durotan?
"You're looking for Lord Durotan?"
The old Orcs's eyes lit up, and nearby Orcs were fishing came over when they heard this, but he rudely pushed them away.
"Lord Durotan lives in a small house at the foot of the cliff. Listen, Durotan's father is the chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, and his brother is the undisputed ruler of the Thunderlord Clan. Lord Durotan is generous and hospitable; everyone in Frostfire Ridge speaks highly of Durotan. You must be from out of town. Young man, you're in good health. What race are you?"
" From the Warsong Clan." Garrosh grinned.
"The Warsong Clan are all great young men, and they're very popular with the girls."
The old Orcs's weathered face winked and made faces.
"Young man, Lord Durotan is the best at making friends. You can find the best wine, the most delicious roast meat, the hottest girls, and some fun things you wouldn't even imagine in Frostfire Ridge. Frostfire Ridge, hehe, Frost and Flame, a kind of fun you absolutely can't experience anywhere else."
Following the directions of the old Orcs Joey, Garrosh, in high spirits, hurried briskly towards the cliff by the sea.
Turning past a towering rock, a beautiful red building came into view.
The gilded lace on the roof and the shark heads adorning the spikes all demonstrate the owner's extraordinary taste.
The Orcs guarding the gate gave Garrosh a careful look and asked in a deep voice:
Who recommended you?
"Joey Fisherman."
The Orcs, with a stern face, issued a harsh warning:
"Listen up, stranger. Lord Durotan is hospitable and enjoys making friends. You can eat, drink, and play as you please here. However, there's one thing: Lord Durotan despises Ogres. All Orcs in Frostfire Ridge hate Ogres. If you have any connections with the Bloodmaul Tribe or Bladespire Tribes, get as far away from them as possible."
The Bloodmaul Tribe and Bladespire Tribes are long-established Ogre factions in Frostfire Ridge, having built sturdy towers to withstand the harsh environment of Frostfire Ridge.
"The Warsong Clan hates Ogres and wishes they could kill them all," Garrosh stated his position.
The gatekeeper Orcs smiled with satisfaction and patted Garrosh on the shoulder, saying:
"I knew it. The Warsong Clan isn't cowardly. I have a feeling you'll soon become friends with Lord Durotan."
Upon entering the red building, a wave of heat immediately washed over me, and the chill on my body vanished instantly, replaced by a warm feeling.
The fireplace was burning hot, thick animal hides were laid on the floor, bows and arrows and axes hung on the walls, and the grotesque head of Ogre was displayed in the alcove as a testament to the master's achievements.
A chattering sound reached their ears as a large group of young female Orcs sat or lay down, laughing and sizing up the newcomers.
The female Orcs surrounded a young Orcs in brown fur dressed in Bai Lang skin. He had a resolute face and fierce eyes, and his appearance bore a resemblance to Thrall.
Without a doubt, this is Durotan.
"Wow, a distinguished guest who has traveled a long way! I can smell the fresh scent of the Nagrand plains on you."
Durotan stood up, a full head shorter than the burly Garrosh, and greeted Garrosh warmly, first introducing himself:
"I am Durotan. To survive, the Orcs of Frostfire Ridge must fight against Ogres. I enjoy befriending truly strong and powerful individuals. Anyone who opposes Ogres is a good friend of mine, Durotan."
Garrosh sat opposite Durotan, introduced himself, and servants brought out wine and food, which the two drank heartily.
Durotan is knowledgeable and witty, but he can't stop talking about Ogres, as if he has a deep-seated hatred for Ogre.
Garrosh's strong expression of hostility towards Ogres, especially his description of the brutality of the Highmaul Arena, resonated with Durotan.
Durotan slammed his fist on the table and began to sing haltingly:
"I wish I could slaughter all the Ogres of Draenor, eat their flesh, and drink their blood. I, a true man, should shed my blood, fight fiercely between ice and fire, my blood boiling, indulging in unbridled heroism."
After a few drinks, Durotan, slightly tipsy, patted Garrosh on the shoulder and said:
"These are my wives and concubines; they cannot accompany a warrior. Come with me, and I will take you to see the best girl in Frostfire Ridge."
Durotan, staggering, led Garrosh to the backyard, where a large hot spring had been built. There were over a hundred young female Orcs, and upon seeing Garrosh's imposing figure, they all cast flirtatious glances at him.
Garrosh's eyes widened in disbelief, while Durotan chuckled and said:
"If you see one you like, just tell me."
Garrosh was overwhelmed by the choices and couldn't make up his mind. Amidst the rising steam, sat a female Orcs with braids. Her face bore a resemblance to Agna, but her expression was somewhat melancholic, as if she were unhappy, yet she possessed a unique kind of beauty.
Durotan whistled, "You've got your eye on Agatha! She's the most beautiful woman in Frostfire Ridge, but she's fallen for a poet. And that heartless scoundrel, he's probably off somewhere. You just go to your room and wait there; I'll talk to her, and I guarantee you'll get what you want."
Led by a servant, Garrosh arrived at a cozy little house.
An enticing aroma wafted into his nostrils, and Garrosh's mind wandered, filled with joy.
Suddenly, an indescribable sense of fear surged through Garrosh, who realized that he had let his guard down without realizing it.
Was it the fine wine and roasted meat, or Durotan's deep-seated hatred for Ogres?
Since entering Somval, everything he has seen and heard has been subtly influencing Garrosh.
"I am the Warchief of the Horde."
Garrosh roared as he stood up, but it was too late. He felt a sudden dizziness and collapsed unconscious.
In his dazed state, Garrosh heard a fawning voice; it was Durotan.
"Great Lord Gorsog of Dota, I have brought you a strong Orcs, said to be from Nagrand. He will surely satisfy you."
The ferocious voice of the Ogre came:
"Can you guarantee he'll survive after you skin him alive?"
Durotan said in a humble voice, "Just a small bottle of ointment is enough to ensure that even if we cut off the last piece of flesh from his body, he will still be breathing."
"Very well. Today I'm entertaining a distinguished guest, who specifically requested a strong Orcs. Durotan, you've done a good job."
Garrosh was terrified, his mind clearing instantly, but unfortunately, he was bound by more than ten thick chains and could not move.
Looking around, there were countless Orcs corpses, none of them intact, with severed limbs scattered everywhere, their faces contorted, clearly indicating that they had suffered terrible torture before their deaths.
"The 'gold-burning kiln,' so this is the true meaning of 'gold-burning kiln.'"