An Opportunity

"Grimg, what should we do? Those damned piles of bones suddenly went quiet. Without the threat of the skeletons, things between us and the humans won't go well!"

Orcs were usually rather thickheaded, but the Shattered Hand Clan was an exception. Not because they were especially clever, of course, but because they could sense danger in the air. After all, those who came from the arena were especially sensitive to such inscrutable things.

"Tap, tap, tap, tap—"

Grimg kept drumming his fingers on the table beside him. He agreed with Gobard, but at that moment, he and the Orcs under his command were in a very awkward position.

Generally speaking, a war—whether beginning or ending—showed certain signs. The broader its scope, the longer it lasted, and the more races and nations it affected, the more obvious those signs became. That was precisely why Grimg had agreed to Medivh's request. The war against the Undead Scourge was a protracted conflict of unprecedented scale, involving more factions than any war before it. It had begun with the plague in Lordaeron and the Cult of the Damned, yet now it was ending so abruptly that Grimg, who had planned to withdraw as soon as victory seemed within reach, was caught completely off guard.

"Gobard, tell me: if we approached the Alliance now, would they let us leave?"

Grimg stroked his smooth chin, squinting ahead.

"Grimg, the humans won't just let us leave so easily. They'll definitely make trouble for us!"

"But what grounds do they have to make trouble for us? We haven't done anything!"

"Grimg, ah-woo, Gulu eats whatever Gulu wants. Gulu doesn't need a reason, ah-woo."

As the saying went, a single remark could awaken someone from a dream. Gulu's words made Grimg even more wary of the Alliance. It was