At the Moonlight Rose Inn in Darnassus, Robbie ordered a pudding, a small piece of pine nut cake, and a glass of Moonlight Wine.
A refreshing breeze wafts through the air. This city, built on the World Tree, is practically a natural oxygen bar. The air is fresh, with a sweet scent, and everywhere is intoxicatingly green.
Intelligence is crucial for any race. Through Kel'Thuzad's efforts, an intelligence network was first established among the humans of Theramore, and then, through Jaina's relationship with Thrall, it was extended to the Orcs.
Among the Orcs army, there were quite a few who harbored resentment towards Thrall and were greedy for gold. Even many of Thrall's Personal Guards, who were members of the Frostwolf Clan, had been infiltrated by the Scourge.
The Orcs' actions and plans were all under the Scourge's control. After Doras, Garrosh, Vol'jin entered Darnassus, Robbie quickly followed and observed their every move.
Robbie had always had a question in his mind: the history of Rag City, the civilization of the Troggs, had completely disappeared from history, leaving no trace. Even the secret files of SI:7 contained no record of this history.
This is rather strange, as there are obvious gaps in history. For example, what was the land of Durotar called before the Orcs arrived in Kalimdor, and what races once lived there?
Although this land is arid and barren, the adaptability of its inhabitants is terrifying. Even in harsher natural environments, such as the icy and snowy Northrend, intelligent life still exists.
It's impossible for a land without intelligent life and without a name to be found by Orcs.
Robbie thought of the glorious magical civilization of the Highborne, forgotten by the world, ten thousand years ago.
This level of historical blankness is not something any single race could achieve; only Elune, could completely erase a piece of history by using the power of Aman'Thul.
Thinking of Elune, Robbie was filled with vigilance and dared not make any rash moves, so he could only act in secret.
Out of courtesy to the donor, Tyrande had to meet Doras. Although Tyrande, who had lived for ten thousand years, was stubborn and Pride, conservative and old-fashioned, she was by no means stupid.
Tyrande had already guessed that Doras must have some ulterior motive.
All of Kalimdor's attention is now focused on Rag City, where the Troggs have successfully repelled the Orcs attack using Dwarf firearms. This has astonished the races that fear the Orcs, making them realize that the Orcs are not invincible.
Although it was out of politeness, Tyrande fully displayed the Pride of the Night Elf race. She received her guests in a simple meeting room with minimal furnishings, consisting of only a long table that stretched for a hundred meters.
Tyrande sat on one side of the long table, while the guest sat on the other, seemingly disgusted even by the other's breathing.
There was no lavish banquet; all that was placed in front of the guests was half a piece of Osmanthus Cake and a small cup of Fresh Water.
Doras gazed at the Fresh Water before him, sensing Garrosh's anger beside him, and gently shook his head at him.
Vol'jin, however, was prepared and didn't care. He picked up Fresh Water to moisten his throat, secretly observing Tyrande across from him, trying to figure out what the woman was thinking.
Tyrande's gaze swept over the obese Doras, then she stared intently at the strong Garrosh, her heart filled with complex emotions. As the Chief Priest of the Moon Goddess, she had a special feeling for Orcs.
Ten thousand years later, after the Sundering, Tyrande would occasionally receive divine pronouncements from the Moon Goddess. Whenever a major event was about to occur, the Moon Goddess would send her Emissary, all of whom Emissary in the form of Orcs.
There were no Orcs in Azeroth. Tyrande, who had forgotten the ancient history, did not know what race the Orcs were until the Dark Portal opened and the Orcs invaded Azeroth.
At that time, the Night Elf generals all urged Tyrande to send reinforcements to support Stormwind City.
After all, this is an invasion of Azeroth from another world. Whatever conflicts exist between the various races of Azeroth, they should put aside their differences and unite against this common enemy. Moreover, humans and Night Elf race have always maintained a friendly relationship.
However, because the Orcs's appearance was exactly the same as the Emissary, Tyrande made the wrong judgment.
She believed that the invasion was the will of the Moon Goddess and a symbol of the Moon Goddess's divine kingdom descending upon Azeroth, so she insisted on her own way and rejected the proposals of her generals.
Later, the Orcs destroyed the Kingdom of Stormwind, massacred the people of Stormwind City, and the smoke and flames of war spread throughout the Eastern Kingdoms, committing all sorts of horrific atrocities. Unfortunately, Tyrande's stubbornness still prevented her from making a rational judgment.
What changed Tyrande's mind was the Orcs' defeat. If the Orcs were the Emissary of the Moon Goddess, they could not have been defeated by mere humans. Tyrande then realized that the Orcs and the Emissary the Moon Goddess were probably not the same race, but only resembled each other in appearance.
"I'm glad you've chosen to become a follower of the Moon Goddess." Tyrande's expression remained unchanged, showing no sign of emotion. She nodded to Doras: "The Moon Goddess will bless you with eternal youth and robust health, Doras."
Doras felt pressured in Tyrande's presence. Pointing to Garrosh, she politely introduced him to Tyrande: "This is Grom Hellscream, son of Garrosh Hellscream."
Tyrande nodded, her expression calm, and said, "Indeed a young hero. I've heard that Orcs value honor highly and are willing to give their lives for it at any time. Is that true, General Garrosh?"
Garrosh roared proudly, "Of course, honor is everything to the Orcs!"
Doras lowered his head and remained silent, his face grim. He knew Garrosh had been tricked; this Tyrande was no simple character!
Tyrande wore an expression that said, "I knew it," and slowly whispered:
"Grom Hellscream was a great hero, yet he lived a life worse than a dog under Thrall's chains. I protested to Thrall more than once that we should show respect to the elders of the Orcs. Thrall told me that Grom only deserved to be a dog. General Garrosh, what is your opinion on this?"
"I"
Garrosh was dumbfounded, unsure how to respond. He was still Thrall's subordinate. If he said Thrall was wrong, it would be disloyalty; if he said Grom Hellscream was a dog, it would be unfilial piety.
Tyrande ignored Garrosh and, without waiting for Doras's introduction, took the initiative, staring at Vol'jin and saying, "This must be Vol'jin, the Warchief of the Darkspear Tribe. How is the Darkspear Tribe doing these days?"
Vol'jin's heart tightened, and he cautiously replied, "The Darkspear Tribe has risen from the ashes."
Tyrande smiled faintly, her words carrying a hidden meaning. "I utterly despise Arthas. Legendary that he killed his own father and slaughtered the people of Lordaeron. I've heard that the old chieftain Sen'jin died at the hands of the Murlocs, and the Darkspear Tribe was massacred by the Orcs. You are now Thrall's confidant, helping the Orcs in their conquests. You are indeed far superior to Arthas."
Vol'jin frowned, a growing sense of unease creeping into his mind. What did this Tyrande know?
Clearly, Tyrande doesn't care much about diplomatic rhetoric. Elisande of Suramar City is a master of sarcasm, and Tyrande seems to be no less adept at it—this is probably a consistent tradition among the Elves.
Vol'jin, unable to follow Tyrande's lead, had to seize the initiative. He proclaimed loudly, "Honorable Priest of the Moon Goddess, the Night Elf race are facing imminent calamity!"