"Captain, the invaders have paused their logging activities. Should we continue our attack on them?"
Not far from the Warsong Lumber Camp, in the forest, a small squad of Night Elves Sentinel Force was closely observing the orcs' movements from the tall tree canopy.
"Don't be anxious. Their unusual actions might be a ploy to lure us in. We'll just watch them from here; the forest will provide us with help."
The Sentinel Captain replied calmly. In her eyes, the orcs were no different from other races that foolishly challenged the Night Elves' authority.
Perhaps their bodies and intelligence were superior, but for the Night Elves, they had the strength to completely disregard the orcs.
The skirmishes in the forest had already made the point clear: the orcs were more troublesome than the Centaur or Boar People, but they hadn't caused the Sentinel Force much more trouble.
At this moment, Grommash, the chieftain of the Warsong Clan, was pacing restlessly in his tent, trying to figure out a way to resolve the Night Elves' problem.
Affected by the previous defeat, Grommash had ordered the orcs to reduce logging activities and stay in the camp to prevent attacks from the Night Elves.
Grommash tried to lure the Night Elves out of their familiar forest, as only on open, flat terrain could the orcs better utilize their physical advantages.
However, the Night Elves were far more cautious than Grommash had anticipated. They refused to leave the Ashenvale forest, as if they intended to trap the orcs alive in the lumber camp.
Instead, Grommash himself grew increasingly anxious because he realized that the current orcs might not be a match for those Elves.
He might be able to withstand one or two attacks, but for the third, or even more, Grommash rationally believed he absolutely could not hold out.
For the first time, the Warsong chieftain felt a deep sense of frustration and powerlessness. He looked down at his hands, clenching his fists tightly—power! If there was enough power to overturn everything, the Warsong Clan and the orcs could escape their predicament!
However, the evil power of the demon blood had long faded, leaving behind only a body full of after-effects and wounds.
Grommash had been a warrior his entire life; he was a hero in the eyes of the orcs and a hated executioner to humans, but at this moment, he was merely a leader trapped in a predicament, desperate to find a way out.
"Chieftain!"
A loud shout dispelled Grommash's thoughts. He regained his composure. "What is it?"
"We encountered a Troll witch doctor. He said he could offer us assistance," the Orc scout reported truthfully.
A Troll witch doctor?
Grommash remembered the Trolls who had been with Thrall. He didn't have a good impression of these newcomers to the Horde, as the Horde had previously been defeated once due to the betrayal of Forest Trolls.
But the current situation didn't allow Grommash to be picky; he had to make a decision quickly.
After weighing the pros and cons, Grommash still said, "Let that witch doctor in."
The Troll witch doctor outside heard Grommash's words. He nodded to the Orc guards beside him, and the two guards pulled open the tent flap for him.
The Warsong chieftain's mountain-like muscular physique came into the Troll witch doctor's view. This aged Troll forced a smile that was uglier than crying. "Respected Warsong chieftain, I am here to offer you assistance."
"Do you have a way to defeat those pointy-eared Elves?"
Grommash scrutinized the Troll witch doctor with a look of doubt. He thought it was a miracle that this witch doctor could even walk with a cane, let alone offer him any help.
"It's impossible for a frail and aged Troll like me to defeat the overlords of this land," the Troll witch doctor shook his head regretfully, "but you can, mighty Hellroar."
"Though I'm reluctant to admit it, with my current strength, I can't defeat those elusive Elves and the protectors of this forest," Grommash frowned, starting to feel that this witch doctor was speaking nonsense.
The Troll witch doctor chuckled oddly. "Somewhere in this forest, there is a powerful force hidden. It can provide you with enough power to crush the Night Elves."
"Go to the southern mountains... the answer is there..."
The witch doctor's voice began to become as ethereal and dreamlike as a whisper. Grommash was stunned for a long while, until a sensation of weightlessness startled him awake from his daze, making him shiver as if someone's beautiful dream had been shattered.
But the Troll witch doctor was no longer in the tent, as if he had never been there.
This made Grommash wary. He suddenly stood up, pulled back the curtain, and shouted at the Orc guards on duty, "Where is that Troll witch doctor?"
The Orc guard froze for a moment, then pointed outside and said, "He left a while ago. Is something wrong, chieftain?"
Left a while ago? He wasn't enchanted by a spell?
Grommash's eyes darted left and right, his mind pondering what had just happened and how much credibility the witch doctor's words held.
Finally, Grommash called his two personal guards and left the lumber camp, heading south along the river.
...
"Tichondrius, Archimonde is very displeased with your progress."
Before Tichondrius was an illusion of an Pit Lord. After much effort to find ancient Elven artifacts, he had temporarily re-established contact with the Burning Legion.
"We've encountered a small setback. Give me some time; I can handle these matters, Mannoroth."
The Pit Lord Mannoroth said scornfully, "You had better, or you failures will face the wrath of Archimonde."
This idiotic lizard, all he knows is to pressure people with that brute Archimonde! If he came to Azeroth himself, he'd surely be torn to pieces and become material for a laboratory!
Despite his disdain for Mannoroth and his reckless master, Tichondrius still appeared very humble at the moment, because he temporarily did not want Kil'jaeden to know about losing control of the Scourge.
If Kil'jaeden were to know that they had practically handed over the Scourge, Tichondrius would rather let Archimonde deal with him.
The title of "the Deceiver" was far more terrifying in the Burning Legion than "The Polluter"; even the cunning and treacherous Nathrezim were unwilling to anger or disobey Kil'jaeden.
"I am naturally willing to accept punishment for failure, but now, this is only the first step of our plan. I will first summon you to Azeroth; I need your power to make those orcs fall into a frenzy once more."
Mannoroth snorted hot sulfuric flames from his nostrils, seemingly confirming the Pit Lord's pleasure. "Orcs? I'd be very willing to enslave those 'lovely' little crawling insects once again."