Urgency

No opinion was sought? Marla couldn't believe her ears. Had Tatsel become so arrogant?

Although Veronalara and Meryl, among others, did not have the authority to command and manage the navy, other leaders still had the right to know the movements of the troops.

Cleya exclaimed in surprise, "To the Eastern Kingdoms! What is she going there for? Is she planning to attack the Alliance?"

"That's obvious," Calila replied. "She's been itching for revenge against the Alliance for a long time."

"But she's not Grommash, and she hasn't fainted enough to start a war for no reason," Marla retorted, looking at Veronalara, wanting to know the reason.

"A bloody conflict broke out in Ratchet yesterday morning, with humans openly provoking us. Those who caused the trouble have been imprisoned by Gazlowe."

"Then the conflict should have been resolved, right? Goblins have the right to maintain order in neutral cities and stop fighting."

"That's not a fight!" Veronalara shouted, startling Marla. The Dark Ranger Commander was usually calm, but Marla had to admit it was the first time she had seen her so out of control; a dead person's voice could make such a loud noise.

More than 30 Forsaken died.

Everyone fell silent, and even Meryl's eyes were filled with anger.

"No matter how serious the situation is..." Marla said in a deliberately calm tone, contrasting with Veronalara's rising voice, "Tatsel shouldn't have been so Recklessness. Where did she go in the Eastern Kingdoms?"

Veronalara shook her head helplessly and turned to look at Meryl.

The monk said, "She went to Southshore."

"The only remaining port stronghold of the Alliance in the northern part of the Eastern Kingdoms? Has Tatsel gone mad? Most of the population there are civilians and orphans of Lordaeron," Cleya roared.

"She only cared about strategic value. To ensure victory, she even took the Withering Blade with her."

Hearing this, Marla's jaw nearly dropped. She instinctively took a step back, so she could look Veronalara in the eye without getting too close. "The Blade of the Witherer? That's the Witherer's master's warship, carrying the most advanced weaponry. How could she..."

"We can't contact the Witherer now, so there's no point in saying anything."

"Madam, we cannot stand idly by while Tatsel acts; we must stop her. If Southshore becomes a battlefield, our conflict with the Alliance will escalate completely."

"Belmont has sent a messenger through the portal to Shadowfang Keep. He wants to warn Lady Proudmoore of Theramore and ask her to evacuate the residents of Southshore." Veronalara sat in her chair, covering her face with her hands. "But I doubt it's in time."

"It's impossible to catch up. Even an emergency evacuation would take several days, not to mention that Tatsel's warships are the elite of the Forsaken Navy."

"I'll stop her," Meryl suddenly said, drawing all eyes to him.

"What do you plan to do?" Marla asked.

"I can do my best to buy time for the people of Southshore, but I'm worried about Maraudon's spies."

"Don't worry." Veronalara stood up, as if she had seen a glimmer of hope. "I have a way to find Vampyr, who is hiding among the Forsaken."

This is a fortress made entirely of steel. After being exposed to the scorching desert sun for a day, the fortress is filled with heat, and there is a human inside.

It's strange for a human to stand before the throne of the Warchief unless that human was secretly sent to Orgrimmar and is not a member of the Alliance.

He was indeed not a member of the Alliance, nor even an enemy of that faction. Farivell was well aware of his own position.

He kept wiping the sweat from his forehead, and eventually his sleeves and clothes were completely soaked. The throne of the Horde Great Chief was placed before him.

He couldn't understand why the Orcs would make the place where their chieftain issued orders so smoky and chaotic. It should be cold, very cold. Especially for a leader, a chilly room would be very uncomfortable. The best way to maintain authority is to create an oppressive atmosphere when meeting subordinates. At least, that's how Farivell managed the Bloodsail Pirates. Grommash Hold, on the other hand, was the complete opposite; the environment inside was like a blazing furnace.

At this moment, Farivell was inside the 'furnace', waiting for the arrival of Great Chief Grommash.

The heavy footsteps broke the Tranquility. Farivell turned around and saw Garrosh, whose body was half a head taller than him, slowly walking towards him, followed by a Blackrock Orc.

At that moment, the human suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. He finally understood why the Orcs didn't deliberately create that tense atmosphere: Garrosh himself exuded that feeling—not the majesty of a chieftain or King, but danger, deadly danger! The Mag'han Orcs's eyes and smile were even more terrifying than his fists.

"Malkorok, there is a human before my throne. Is he a spy?"

"Probably not," the Blackrock Orc replied. Then, without prior arrangement, both Orcs burst into laughter.

Farivell felt humiliated, but he still forced a smile.

Garrosh slowly leaned back on his throne, looking down at the humans below. "Welcome before me, pirate. My men say you wish to see me, so... what brings you here?"

"I have done as you said, Great Chief. The Forsaken fleet has left Kalimdor and is preparing to attack Southshore."

"Do you think my scouts are inferior to your men? That news reached my ears the moment you stepped through the gates of Orgrimmar."

Malkorok let out a hoarse laugh from the side. Farivell gritted his teeth.

"But my men have not yet been rescued, Great Chief. They were ordered by you to cause trouble in Ratchet and have been imprisoned. A large ransom is required..."

"They sacrificed for my cause," Garrosh interrupted Farivell. The human felt a pang of unease; he disliked the words, which implied that they had died a worthy death.

"Yes, Great Chief. They need you now."

"Listen to this, Malkorok, he says the humans in Ratchet prison need me."

Another burst of laughter followed. Farivell's patience was wearing thin.

"Then I will rescue them."

"Really, you're so wise. May I ask when you..." Farivell looked up at Grommash. No matter how arrogant the Orcs had been before, it didn't matter now.

"Don't rush," Grommash continued. "Before that, you have to do something very simple for me."

"What's up?"

The Orcs leaned forward, making a shushing gesture. "Shut up forever!"