"Azshara?" The moment Tyrande thought of that gaudy queen, she thought of how, even after ten thousand years, Azshara was still dreaming of being the queen of the Elves.
She collected herself. "What use is that expired queen?"
Deren smiled. Ignoring the ten-thousand-year-old priestess's mockery, he continued, "Doesn't she want to become the supreme ruler of all elves? In Azeroth, aside from your Night Elves and the High Elves of the Eastern Kingdoms, there is another remnant elven branch overseas: the elves of Suramar. You can use the excuse that the elven population has been greatly reduced and that you need to seek reinforcements, then say you're going to contact Suramar. No one will have anything to say about it. Azshara will jump up to support your decision and sing praises of great elven unity. No one will be able to find fault with it."
Tyrande fell silent after hearing this and began considering whether Deren's plan could work. Still, the gold she had just handed over had not been wasted. It had at least given her some ideas.
"It's not impossible," the High Priestess said cautiously. "I'm just afraid people will gossip. If war breaks out in Ashenvale while I'm overseas, and relief does not arrive in time, I will bear the blame for any losses our homeland suffers."
Deren still admired her sense of the bigger picture. He gave her a thumbs-up and continued, "Having you advance by retreating does not mean taking the initiative to yield. It means declaring an even tougher stance. Only if you insist on not reconciling with the Orcs, and insist on driving them out of Ashenvale by force, will those who trust you trust you even more, while those who doubt you will doubt you even more. Your presence will block their