Thrall held the Dalaran mage aloft and tore him apart with the cruelest methods, blood raining down. His rage and Bloodlust were met with cheers from the Orcs, a deafening roar.
When the day of success finally arrived, the Orcs no longer needed to endure or hide the bloodlust hidden in their hearts. They tore off their masks of pretense, revealing a cruel and ruthless nature just like their ferocious appearance.
The envoys from all the tribes were horrified and trembled with fear.
Azeroth is a relatively civilized world.
Elves' closeness and harmony with nature, the humans running across the plains, establishing kingdoms, and developing humility and etiquette, the Dwarves ' fine wine and the Gnomes ' wisdom—all these are striving towards Order.
Even the most intriguing schemes must be concealed beneath a gentle and refined exterior.
I have never seen such naked brutality from Orcs.
Thrall devoured the succulent flesh, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
An Orcs approached and pulled the bloodied and mangled Jaina down from the wall. Since receiving Medivh's help and absorbing a small amount of the Spellstealer Wyrm, Jaina had become a half -Lich- like being, and she was not so easy to kill.
Thrall stood on his throne, adjusted his nineteen-meter-high crown, and announced loudly:
"Take a message to your King, tell them what happened today. Tell your King that if they are willing to coexist peacefully with us, we are ready to start trade cooperation with them at any time, as long as you can Consecration a portion of your people's flesh and blood so that we Orcs can be well-fed. If you insist on war, the enemy you will face will be unlike anything you have ever seen before. We were powerful fifty years ago, but compared to us now, that is nothing. Your good fortune allowed you to survive two wars with us, but now your luck is not on your side. If you don't want to die, cut off a piece of your own flesh; otherwise, the destruction of the Kingdom of Lordaeron will be your example."
"I am absolutely certain that you can convey these threats and desires of mine to your King in an appropriate manner. We Orcs are invincible. We will succeed, for our goals are Justice and great. I, Thrall, the Savior of Azeroth, the great chieftain of the Orcs, the Invincible dragon Thrall, hereby declare that I am the only great King, and you are nothing but lowly ants, destined to be the Orcs' Servants or their provisions."
"This... this is outrageous!"
Even though the envoys from various races and nations recognized the Orcs' greed, none of them expected Thrall to threaten war during his coronation ceremony. Looking at the bloodied corpses beneath the throne, no one dared to protest.
Orcs are a typical war-loving race; only constant warfare, slaughter, and destruction can allow them to survive.
Now that they have established themselves in Azeroth, peace is impossible, and war is about to rage.
The peace-loving races of Azeroth have clearly not yet adapted to this pace.
"Now, the banquet officially begins."
A large group of Orcs came up carrying plates, and when they were opened, they were all plates of fresh flesh and blood.
The flesh and blood had not been properly removed; in fact, it remained in its original state. Upon seeing it, the envoys were all horrified, and many bent over to vomit, trembling all over.
"You all surely know what kind of meat this is. If you don't want to be eaten by us Orcs, then join us in celebrating. This will be your beginning, and also your end."
Thrall laughed loudly, looking at the pale faces of the envoys and their embarrassing vomiting. Thrall believed that he was facing nothing more than a flock of lambs. How could such cowardly enemies stand against the mighty army of the Orcs?
Thrall took a sip of the wine stained with blood and immediately felt a sense of euphoria.
He seemed to see the Humans multiplying, powerful Bloodlust Orcs Warriors covering the land, conquering, killing, destroying cities, annihilating living beings, wiping out everything, and devouring everything.
The flames of war raged and engulfed the entirety of Azeroth.
Only superior Orcs are qualified to live in this world.
The banquet quickly descended into chaos. The Orcs gleefully ate meat and drank wine, while the envoys wore bitter expressions, coerced by the Orcs around them into eating bloody flesh. It was a farce, utter chaos.
The ancient gates roared open, the heavy drawbridge descended, and Arthas strode across, followed by silent soldiers. He walked along the cold Passageway, coldly observing the chaos around him.
Arthas habitually looked up at his father's balcony, but sadly, the flowerpots that once represented his father's mood were gone, replaced only by hordes of ferocious, Bloodlust Orcs.
Father is dead, the prosperous Lordaeron is a thing of the past, the beautiful roses have withered, leaving only dry branches.
However, the roots of Lordaeron remain, hope has not been extinguished, and dawn is on the horizon.
"That's Prince Arthas!" a Dwarf exclaimed.
"How did he get here?" The Gnome envoy spat out the raw meat in his mouth and exclaimed, "My God, what a huge sword!"
"Have you heard? Uther the Lightbringer has raised an army in Andorhal and publicly accused Arthas of being a traitor, saying he is destined to destroy the Azeroth Continent."
"Thrall!"
Arthas, carrying Frostmourne, roared.
Thrall was reclining on his throne, was startled, and the nineteen-meter-high crown on his head fell off, scattering precious gems all over the ground.
"Arthas?" Thrall recognized the visitor and let out a mocking laugh.
"How dare you interrupt my coronation ceremony! How dare you come to Lordaeron, a land of hundreds of thousands of Orcs! You are courting death! I will use your blood to raise a banner and write a new chapter of Orcs conquest! Orcs Warriors, tear him apart!"
Squads of Orcs poured in from all directions. The Orcs paid no heed to any distinguished envoys or diplomatic etiquette. Those envoys who couldn't dodge in time were slaughtered. The frenzied Orcs then surrounded the area of Passageway.
Arthas raised Frostmourne, as solid as a door panel, and chanted aloud:
"Darkness descends, light is gone, the power of the dead descends upon the mortal realm."
The earth shook violently, and the Lordaeron City was struck by a massive earthquake. Countless houses collapsed, and the ancient Lordaeron was reduced to ruins almost instantly. Cracks appeared in the ground, revealing countless white bones.
Dark, Power of the Dead surged from the rift, converging on Arthas from all directions to form a massive tornado. Except for the central area, which was safe, anything that dared to approach was reduced to ashes.
"What kind of power is this?"
Thrall realized something was wrong and, surrounded by his guards, quickly retreated to the Throne Room.
"Darkness will come, the dead will rise, Scourge will descend, blood will be paid for blood, people of Lordaeron, return from the world of the dead!"
Countless Restless Souls howled as they surged forth from the ground, crashing into the white bones beneath the crevice.
These are the remains of Lordaeron's people, slaughtered by the Orcs. Now, they have finally seen the light of day again. They crawl out of their graves, stagger into the streets, and let out terrifying roars.
Those people who were insulted, oppressed, and eaten alive finally had their moment of revenge.
"Frostmourne, Frostmourne!"
The countless Restless Souls chanted together, Power of the Dead flowed into Frostmourne, illuminating the Runes on the sword.
Frostmourne took effect; the power of the Runes of the Dead enveloped the entire city, and the resurrected, weak skeletons evolved and mutated.
Some of them grew sharp claws and teeth, some were covered in thick bone armor, and some even grew putrid flesh and blood, becoming enormous Abominations.
Ghosts and Banshees roamed among the Undead, Death Knights mounted their warhorses, and Lich of liches brandished their staffs.
A true army of the Undead has appeared.