The morning light, as sweet as honey, gently painted the curtains of the Theramore residence. Deren woke up on the sofa in the living room and found that a wool blanket embroidered with gold patterns had been carefully draped over him. He rubbed his sore neck and heard the crisp sound of a spatula clattering against a wok coming from the kitchen, mixed with the deliberately hushed conversation of several women.
"Keep your voice down, Lord Deren is still asleep."
"This fried egg needs to be flipped."
How long should black tea be steeped?
Deren propped himself up and saw Vereesa carrying a plate of golden fried eggs out of the kitchen. The little elf ranger was unusually wearing a white dress today, instead of her usual leather armor; she must have borrowed Onyxia's. It looked a little too big.
When her emerald eyes met Deren's, she froze, as if struck by Ice Lance. The plate trembled slightly in her hands, the perfectly browned edges of the fried egg a testament to her care in the kitchen.
"Good morning!" Her voice was eight octaves higher than usual. She slammed the plate down on the table with a "bang," then fled back to the kitchen like a startled deer.
Deren recalled the absurdity of last night; everyone seemed to have entered a relaxed state under the influence of the Dreamgrass.
Anveena skipped down the stairs, her long golden hair swaying merrily with each step. As usual, she naturally took Deren's arm, her upturned face full of innocence. "Brother, let me heat up your milk, and add a little Silverleaf honey, okay?" She exuded the sweet scent of sunshine and malt, as if the figure that had snuggled into bed last night was just an illusion.
Deren first patted her head happily, then urged her to hurry up and heat up the milk, thus escaping the heat of the Sunwell.
Jaina descended slowly from the second floor, the morning light casting a soft glow on her long golden hair. This Princess of Lordaeron, when her eyes met those of Deren, suddenly seemed flustered, nearly tripping over the hem of her skirt as she bowed, two red clouds instantly rising to her fair cheeks.
"Good morning, Mr. Deren." Her voice was softer than a mosquito's buzz, her fingers unconsciously twisting the lace trim of her skirt.
In contrast, Sylvanas's demeanor was exemplary of Ranger General. She sat gracefully at the table, her long, slender fingers elegantly holding a silver knife, spreading blueberry jam evenly on a muffin. When Deren looked at her, she merely nodded slightly, her sharp gaze never leaving her plate.
Jaina was completely absorbed in a stack of documents, her quill scratching on the parchment. Today she was wearing a standard mage robe, her hair neatly pulled back, exuding a cold, businesslike aura.
The two dragons were the most composed of all. Onyxia leaned lazily against the carved chair, the collar of her black silk robe slightly open, revealing glimpses of black scales beneath her collarbone. Chromie dozed in her arms like a kitten, occasionally letting out soft snores. The Black Dragon Princess picked up her gold-rimmed teacup, took a sip, and raised an eyebrow at Deren: "Did you sleep well, darling? The sofa isn't as comfortable as our bed."
Deren thought to himself: Damn bed, it's all shattered into pieces.
"Thanks to you, I slept quite soundly," Deren replied dryly, earning a meaningful chuckle from Onyxia.
Three red Dragon Maid bustled about the dining room. Misha was carefully pouring tea for everyone when she accidentally knocked over the salt shaker. She immediately bowed in panic and apologized, "I'm so sorry! I'll clean it up right away!" Her trembling demeanor was a stark contrast to her boldness last night when she volunteered for a "massage." The effects of the Dreamgrass were truly remarkable.
After breakfast, Jaina immediately resumed her authoritative demeanor as the ruler of Theramore. She handed a parchment Horde the tribal emblem to Deren, her fingertips gleaming with Arcane light.
" Thrall sent an official notice this morning via magical communication," she tapped a line of text on the document, "Effective immediately, travel for work in Theramore is restricted for Horde members. Orcs already in Theramore may continue working, but new applicants require special approval from the Orgrimmar Inspectorate."
Deren took the document, his brow furrowing slightly. The parchment still retained the distinctive smell of orc ink, and the red wax seal on the stamp was deliberately pressed deep, showing the signer's determination.
"This isn't like Thrall," Deren tapped his fingers lightly on the table, "Was it Garrosh's doing?"
"Without a doubt," Jaina sneered, the ice crystals gathering at her fingertips glittering in the sunlight. "According to our informants in Orgrimmar, this proposal sparked a fierce debate at the Horde council. Thrall ultimately compromised, but added a supplementary clause—the orc laborers already in Theramore would not be affected."
Deren spread the documents out on the oak table, the morning light filtering through the stained glass windows and casting dappled shadows on the paper. "If the news gets out, I wonder how the orcs in Theramore will react?"
"It shouldn't affect Theramore in the current situation," Jaina said with a sarcastic smile. "None of them want to go back. The dockworkers' guild report shows that over 90% of orc laborers who come to work in Theramore choose to renew their contracts. In Theramore, they can earn enough to allow their families to live a decent life."
"Back in orcish territory, they're all just lowly laborers. Only when the Warrior and spellcasters above them are well-fed do the laborers get a scrap of soup," Jaina mocked.
Deren paced back and forth a few times and said, "Well, that's good. Don't panic. Let the orcs do their thing. We have plenty of resources and funds here. Even without orc laborers, it won't affect the city's operation. With the weakened version of the Sunwell, elven spellcasters can step in at crucial moments."
"Should we give the orc laborers some special treatment?" Jaina suggested, "Such as lowering tax rates or providing housing subsidies."
Deren shook his head and said, "We will treat the orcs who remain in Theramore as usual—neither giving them special treatment nor deliberately mistreating them. Their wages will be paid on time and in full, and their taxes will be collected without fail."
"There's no need to give them any special treatment," Deren explained. "That would only confirm Garrosh's claim that 'humans are buying off orcs.' However," he paused, walking to the window, "A temporary relief station could be set up in the dock area in the name of Theramore City Hall, providing basic food and temporary shelter for orc laborers who have encountered accidents. It should be done under the guise of 'humanitarian aid,' not special treatment."
Jaina's eyes lit up, and she lightly tapped the ground with her staff. "It shows our goodwill without losing face. Brilliant."
"Remember, this isn't charity," Deren emphasized. "It's about letting those orcs understand that in Theramore, hard work leads to a good life. Let them compare for themselves whether it's more comfortable listening to Garrosh shout slogans in Orgrimmar, or more realistic to earn money with their own hands in Theramore."
Second update. That's all for today. Still asking for votes and subscriptions.