"I don't understand. Gunn said. He was the youngest of the clan's warlocks, and still an idealist that Durotan sadly thought of. He saw the wrinkles between Gunn's nose and brow when he was forced to take advantage of those strange minions in the battle against the Draenei. He also saw the young man's face filled with chagrin as he watched the enemy roll in agony in front of him. After Gul'dan issued the proclamation, Drektar brought the boy to Durotan. "What's wrong with hoping that one day the elemental spirits will work with us again, and why don't you let me go to Voshugu?"

Durotan could not answer in the true sense of the word; The practice of shamanism is prohibited, with severe punishment and exile and death for repeat offenders, but this decree seems unfounded. It is true that most of the people who have ever walked on the shamanic path have also moved away from the shamanic path since the elemental spirits turned their backs on them. But what about the ancestral spirits, in this time of panic, in a time of need of guidance, why on earth did Gul'dan forbid the orcs to go to their holiest places?

The boy deserved an answer, but Durotan couldn't give it to him, much to Durontan's chagrin. His voice was low and stiff.

"To defeat the Delaney, our High Chief has made some alliances. These alliances give us the power of the Warlock in your hands. Don't lie, I know you're happy with the results. ”

Gunn listened, using his slender, sharp-nailed fingers to dig ≤out a stone in the lifeless earth∧. He tossed it up and played with it. Durotan frowned, looking at the child's skin. It's a dry place, and they've been working in this harsh environment for almost two years. These now seem to have affected them. Or erosion. Normal brown smooth skin. Tightly wrapped around the muscles, now a little dry and flaky. Gunn absentmindedly clutched at the dead skin on his skin. Durotan saw the new skin beneath the dead skin.

Light green.

For a moment, Durotan was overwhelmed by unconscious, primal panic. He forced himself to remain calm and looked at it again. Make no mistake about the nascent skin, which is indeed light green. He didn't know what that meant, it had never happened before, it was strange and strange, and he instinctively didn't like it. Gunn didn't seem to notice it yet. He let out a loud cry and threw the stone out with all his might. Watch it fly off into the distance.

If Gunn had been older, he would have noticed the admonition in his chieftain's voice earlier. But he was still young, immersed in what he was concerned about, and he didn't hear the warning.

"That magic... The creature that obeys me... I love that kind of utility. But don't like the way it works. It feels bad, Chief. To kill is to kill, and the elemental spirits used to give me the power to kill the enemy. I've never felt this way when they gave me strength. We are in this war because the Ancestral Spirits have told us that we should go and kill the Delaney," Gunn continued. "Then why does Gul'dan now say we can't go talk to them?"

Durotan felt a stir in his heart. He let out a wild roar, grabbed Gunn by the collar and pulled him to him, staring at the stunned young warlock.

"It doesn't matter!" He shouted. "I will make the best choice for the Frostwolf Clan. And now the best thing is to do what Gul'dan and Blackhan say, and obey their command!"

Gunn stared at him. The fiery fury vanished again in an instant, just as it appeared instantly, leaving only sorrow. Durotan added in the child's ear in a shrill voice, "If you don't obey, I can't protect you." ”

Gunn looked at Durontan, a strange orange glow flashing in his eyes, and then he lowered his head and sighed.

"Got it, Chief. I'm not going to disgrace the face of the Frostwolf Clan. ”

Durotan let go of his hand. Gunn took a few steps back, straightened his clothes, bowed, and left. Durotan watched him go, filled with conflict. Gunn, too, felt like he felt that things were not going right. But just one young man trying to connect with the elemental spirits doesn't change anything.

Durotan thought helplessly that there was nothing that could be done with only one clan chief.

A holy place will fall under the authority of the Horde.

The proclamation of a strict ban on shamanic skills was followed by an order to go on a campaign against a place that the Draenei called the Temple of Carabo. Although the temple is located near the Valley of the Shadowmoon, the ancestral land of the Naozu clan, after which their clan is named, no orcs have ever seen a temple. It was a sacred place, and the orcs had great respect for it, at least until Blackhan yelled at his troops about what Draenei called "spiritual beliefs."

"The city we occupy at the moment is just a few exercises," Blackham declared, "and one day soon we will destroy their capital." But before we smash their most important cities, we will crush their race. We're going to raid this place, smash their statues, destroy everything that means to them, kill their spiritual leaders. They will have nothing to turn to, lose their courage, and then... Then capturing their city will be as easy as killing a blind wolf cub. ”

Durotan stood with the other armed cavalry, looking at Orgrim. Almost every time, his old friend stood next to Blackhan. Orgrim was getting better at maintaining a sluggish and numb expression, but he couldn't completely hide his emotions from Durontan. He also knows what that means. The temple is Velon's home. It only happened that the Prophet was visiting Taymor that day, and Orgrim and Durotan were able to meet him. He meditated and prayed in the temple and served as a prophet and guide for his people. There's a good chance they'll kill him, if he's there. It's hard enough to kill Restaran, and Durotan must be praying that he won't be forced to kill Veren with his own hands... Who else will pray like this?

Six hours later, as Durotan stood at the top of the stairs at the base of the Temple of the Draenei, he was breathless by the smell that stimulated his snorts, the familiar smell of Draenei's blood, the stench of excrement, the heavy smell of fear, and the tiresome incense. The soles of his shoes were stained with blood as they rushed around, giving off a disgusting smell, and one of the smells made the others even more unbearable.

Durotan bent down and threw up, his mouth sour, until his stomach was empty, and then he trembled and rinsed his mouth.

He blushed at the sound of a shrill laugh. Turning around, he saw that it was Blackhan's two sons, Red and Maim, laughing at him.

"That's their ethos," Red said, still laughing, "and deserves all this of our vomit and spit." ”

"Yes," Maim chimed in, "our vomit and spittle. ”

Maim kicked the corpse of the priest in lilac vestment next to him, spitting at the corpse.

Durotan turned in disgust, but to no avail, and everywhere he looked, the orcs were doing the same thing to the corpses: insulting them, searching and plundering them, walking around mockingly in their blood-stained robes. Others methodically stuffed carved dishes into their bags, trampling under their feet fruits to worship gods that orcs never did not and were not prepared to understand. Blackhan won another victory that he was proud of, and he found an alcoholic drink, and as soon as he drank it, some green liquid spilled out and splashed onto his armor.

What have we become? slaughtering defenseless sacrifices, plundering what is sacred to them, insulting their corpses? In a sense, I'm glad we're forbidden to go to you... I don't want you to see that