Fracture

Meryl had never been this angry. Ever since joining the Forsaken, he had never flown into such a rage. He had openly accused Nathanos of always acting alone without considering the consequences. He had thought only The Witherer could make him feel so helpless and furious, but now there was someone else.

"Get out of my way. Let her come out and see me!" the undead mage roared at the crew of the Blade of the Witherer blocking his path, thinking that these people should only obey Nathanos's orders.

"The commander is in the briefing room," said one Forsaken.

"Thanks for the reminder." Meryl snorted.

At that moment, Jaina suddenly blinked before Meryl with magic. Perhaps the mage was too anxious, because she had not considered that the salty stench mixed with the sea breeze, combined with the foul odor of the Forsaken's rotting flesh, would nearly make her vomit. She had dealt with Forsaken before, but only individual ones; their scent had been faint and easy to overlook. Here, however, surrounded by hundreds of undead, the stench surged over her like a tide. Jaina forced herself to keep it together and silently swore under everyone's gaze that she would never again be caught off guard by this.

"Proudmoore?" Meryl's anger flared again. "You should be evacuating the residents of Southshore."

"Others are handling that. I came to speak with the commander of these Forsaken warships. I want to know exactly why she intends to attack Southshore."

Meryl had wanted to say that this was an internal Forsaken affair, but the mage's expression suddenly made him feel deeply ashamed. She could have stayed out of it; this matter should have had nothing to do with her at all. Yet more and more innocent people were being dragged into it.

"Then...