Talador, outside Shattrath.
The vast Orcish army set out from the Throne of Kil'jaeden. After a two-day march, during which they had overrun several Draenei cities and villages—most of them long abandoned—they finally caught sight of their ultimate target.
Shattrath, that magnificent city built centuries ago, and the race living within it, whose civilization far surpassed their own.
Having drunk the blood of corruption, the Orcish Horde was no longer a sea of reddish-brown.
It had been replaced by a green tide.
Here, green no longer represented nature and harmony. It meant chaos and fel energy.
The blood of corruption had made the Orcs stronger, and more bloodthirsty.
Already warlike by nature, under the blood of corruption's influence, they had long since lost their last shred of reason. After only a brief rest, they could not wait to launch an assault on Shattrath.
The Orcs charged down the mountain paths, their savage lust for destruction burning as they rushed toward the towering city.
Some of them furiously hammered the stones along the way, letting the crashing sounds cry out their rage;
Others maintained a solemn, deathly silence, gathering and brewing all their strength, ready to erupt at the right moment.
Because of Ye Ting's warning, the Draenei in Shattrath had long been prepared for the Horde's arrival.
At this moment, the walls of Shattrath were already packed with battle-ready Draenei.
Prophet Velen stood among them, observing the approaching Horde from afar.
This was the first time he had seen the Horde after they drank demon blood. Yet with just one glance, an involuntary fear rose in his heart toward this race remade by demons.
These green-skinned creatures charging forward were more terrifying than Ogres wielding clubs, more terrifying than any herd of Talbuk... more terrifying than any enraged Draenei, even