Clad in black armor, the Orgrimmar Doomhammer never misses an opportunity to personally process his prey. He skins the deer, cuts the meat into strips, and sprinkles it with Orcs seasoning. His skillful technique is as spectacular as his battles.
Tirion Fordring was amazed by Orgrimmar's skill; all he could do was light a campfire.
Orcs guards patrolled nearby, while not-so-young Orcs and humans gathered around the campfire, drinking large gulps of Orcs bitter wine, enjoying the tenderness and deliciousness of venison, and a rare moment of leisure during the war.
Even during moments of relaxation and rest, Orgrimmar, this formidable Orcs leader, still had his war mind at work.
"We have virtually wiped out the humans of Tirisfal Glades. Lordaeron has become a pitiful, isolated city. Before we behead King Terenas, he will sadly discover that his people have become our food."
Orgrimmar burst into laughter, Tirion Fordring frowned slightly and also chuckled awkwardly.
"But you, dear Tirion Fordring, it seems dishonorable that you helped us deceive humanity, lure them into an ambush, and then watch them be slaughtered?" Orgrimmar mocked his ally who had willingly defected.
Tirion Fordring took bites of venison and said calmly, "Do you Orcs have any honor? The war hasn't even started, and you're already secretly slaughtering civilians, and then you try to smear the Undead?"
"Hahaha, this is the cruel reality of war. In the face of victory, glory must take a backseat."
Emboldened by alcohol, Orgrimmar spoke eloquently, "War is the cruelest game, a merciless destruction and slaughter. It requires the use of every despicable and treacherous scheme, utilizing every available force, and achieving victory by any means necessary. What nonsense about honor during wartime? Isn't that putting the cart before the horse?"
"Glory is like a rag, it stinks, but it can be very useful when needed, especially for you Orcs." In a war of words, Tirion Fordring wouldn't lose to an old Orcs.
The war had already begun, and King Terenas probably realized this, but he was powerless to do anything about it. His most powerful Legion, the Silver Hand, had completely become an accomplice of the Orcs.
"If possible," Tirion Fordring said, meeting Orgrimmar's fierce eyes without flinching, "I would gladly fight you Orcs on the Battlefield, to die like a true Paladin, to Consecration my life for Lordaeron without hesitation. But the Guardian has chosen you, and this is an irreversible trend."
"The Guardians ' influence on humanity has lasted for nearly a thousand years. Countless lessons in history have taught us that all resistance is annihilated before the Guardians ' boundless power. In this desperate situation, I am no longer a soldier of Lordaeron, but simply a father, a good husband, and a small lord who wants to protect his people. I am powerless to save Lordaeron; I only wish to protect my family, to safeguard my territory, and to ensure the survival of my people."
"Rest assured, my dear old friend, as long as I remain Warchief, Hearthglen will forever be under the protection of the Orcs, I promise." Orgrimmar patted Tirion Fordring's shoulder firmly, once again reassuring this rare companion.
Tirion Fordring bit into the venison viciously, clenching his fists in resentment before finally letting go helplessly. His dazed eyes were filled with despair. He couldn't guarantee the Orcs' trust, but unfortunately, this was the only way out.
Uther and the others probably shared the same thought.
"Are you resentful, Tirion Fordring?" Orgrimmar glanced at Tirion Fordring's face, guessing his thoughts. "Ha, this is a moment of utter despair for Lordaeron, reminding me of those equally desperate years in Undercity, Lordaeron. Tirion Fordring, you probably don't know, the Orcs' current state is all thanks to what I, Orgrimmar, fought for with the Guardians."
Tirion Fordring stared at Orgrimmar in astonishment, realizing that there was a great secret behind it.
Orgrimmar, slightly dizzy from drinking the bitter wine, seemed determined to vent his frustrations.
"The outcome of the war is already decided; we Orcs will surely win. Some things are unimportant to say. During my imprisonment, I pondered the Destiny of the Orcs constantly, and finally came to a tragic conclusion: there is no other possibility but a brutal massacre."
"The Orcs' Destiny was about to be sealed in my hands. I thought of Gul'dan more than once, dreaming of eating his flesh and tearing him to pieces. If it weren't for his stubbornness in leading Half-Orcs out to sea, Lordaeron would have been our territory long ago. Later I learned that Gul'dan had fallen for a human's trick."
One day, the guards brought me a large bucket of water so I could take a good bath, and they also prepared a clean set of clothes and a fairly sumptuous dinner for me. I thought my time was coming to an end and was pondering how to face the questioning of the ancestral spirits when the guards told me that the Guardian Medivh had come to visit and instructed me to be careful with my words and actions. I inquired about Medivh's identity from the guards and realized that this was the Orcs' only chance. Whether the Orcs could survive depended on whether I, Orgrimmar, could persuade the Guardian.
Tirion Fordring frowned deeply and asked curiously, "How did you convince the Guardians?"
Orgrimmar squinted slightly, recalling the proudest feat of his life, feeling immense pride. He raised his glass to celebrate that day's glorious achievement:
"I took three approaches. First, I groveled before the Guardians, expressing my willingness to submit. I would do anything to ensure the survival of our Orcs and prevent our extinction, even if it meant becoming the lowest and most despised slave."
"But the Guardian just smiled dismissively and said, 'I have enough Servants already. All the humans of Azeroth, High Elves of Quel'Thalas, any one of them would be willing to give their life for the Guardian.'"
"I had no choice but to resort to the second method, speaking at length with the Guardians about the glory of the Orcs, attributing all our crimes to the Demon Blood, emphasizing that we are a peace-loving race, and that as long as we are allowed to live, we would rather return to the treacherous Draenor and never invade Azeroth again."
"Guardian Medivh shook his head, seeing through everything with ease. He said he didn't want to hear false lies; glory meant nothing to him and couldn't touch his heart. If that was all there was to it, the Orcs were doomed."
At this point, Orgrimmar breathed a sigh of relief, feeling fortunate for his quick thinking that day:
"Fortunately, at the most critical moment, I finally understood what the Guardian needed, and thus revealed the ultimate secret of the Orcs, secrets kept for thousands of years."
"The ultimate secret?" Tirion Fordring's expression shifted, and he listened with great interest.
"It's really not a secret." Orgrimmar smiled mysteriously.
"I was just telling the Guardians the truth, about the undercurrents beneath that fabricated history."