Fishing

The Warchief had ultimately died. Though he had fallen to a sneak attack, he had still died honorably on the battlefield. His black plate armor had been repaired, and Thrall put it on, picked up the prophetic Doomhammer, and rallied his spirits to lead the Horde in search of a new path. First, he needed to personally meet these potential Troll allies, so he contacted the Syndicate.

Through the Syndicate's mediation, Thrall successfully met Bash, the former administrator of Jintha'Alor, the Amani city. Of course, the new Warchief was somewhat surprised, because the Forest Troll he saw had a different build from the Trolls he had seen before.

During his conversation with Bash, Thrall had wanted to visit Jintha'Alor as soon as possible, but to his surprise, Bash avoided the subject and instead proposed another plan—one he could not refuse. Liberate Durnholde and deal with Blackmoore.

Several birds alighted on the branches outside the window. A warm breeze swept past, rustling the leaves. Blackmoore slowly turned around and stared darkly at the tense-faced Grant Minsiton, a rising merchant star of Durnholde Keep and a cunning rogue.

"I recall that this seems to be the second time your caravan has been robbed by Orcs, and the second time it was a shipment of supplies meant for me." Blackmoore's face was gloomy, with a darkness in his expression that even the warm spring sunlight could not dispel. The Orc slave he had raised since childhood was gone, his favorite lover had been kidnapped, and now even a lowly merchant dared to play tricks in front of him.

"My lord, this isn't merely the second time our caravan has been robbed. We've been robbed five times already. We can barely keep our business going," Grant said with a mournful expression.

"Oh? The Orcs